#but then last year was my a level year and around that time I was having a lot of tests

[vicsstufff]

UNDER THE WOODS — princess!p. bueckers x cinderella!reader

۶ৎ - summary: the mistreatments are way to normalize in your household. after the dead of your father, your new step-mother and her daughters new mission is to make your life miserable, serving them as a maid, until you met her, in the middle of the forest.

۶ৎ - wc: 3,045

۶ৎ - warnings/content: abusive behavior, submissive reader, mentions of death of both parents, not 100% accurate to the movie.

authors note | ONE SHOT! happy valentine’s day!! 💗 can u consider this as a valentine’s special? any grammatical errors will be edit after!! (im to lazy) this idea came from me literally watching the cinderella movie (the live action version) im in love with the dress. enjoy!

im back! where are my beautiful ladies?” a silent scream, lingered its way through the walls of the extended house until it reach your ears. your head meeting the direction of the voice, a small sound came out your lips before losing the grip that you had on your tea party set up. running down the corridors, finding the main door that lead to the outside.

the sound of the horses coming filled the garden, your dad, step down from the carriage that held him safely during one of his many trips. you really loved your dad, but not his job—a businessman— he rarely was home, but the hole made because of his absence was quickly filled by the warming love your mother brought. a wonderful woman, a very beautiful one too, she will sing to you every night, lullabying the sleep into you, making your eyelids heavy.

“my wonderful daughter..” your father let out in awe, contemplating your small figure. you jumped into his arms, surrounding yours around his neck. “i brought you something special.” he whispered in your ear, lowering you to take a seat on the edge of a fuantain, his hand grabbed a nearby suitcase, clicking a few locks before it jumped open. he pulled from the inside a small box, placing it on the center of your hands, he pushed a button on the side and it open abruptly, letting out a blue butterfly. “oh..it’s beautiful.” you said low, a smile coming up.

“will you like to dance with me ma’dam?” he said softly, lowering himself to your level, offering his hand, “of course, gentleman.” you spoke in a fail attempt to mock a seductive tone. your hand meet his rough hands, tired from all the work he endured. helping you up, instinctively, you lifted your feet, stepping on your fathers, he let out a series of high groans and ‘ouch’s’ but stilled grip gently your small hand and stared spinning, not strong enough to knock you off your feet but it still made the air move your hair gracefully, giggles scaped from the bottom of your heart.

happiness doesn’t last long.

you wished it did.

a few years had passed and your mother fell sick, her once bright eyes filled with joy and love, were now replaced with a dark glance, her skin was dry and in some occasions, the cold sweat will linger in her forehead. her cold touch brought goosebumps in your skin, she didn’t lulled you to sleep anymore.

the day her heavy eyelids came to their final rest, it felt empty like if the spirit of the house, yours and your father, had disappeared, all of the once happy memories died with her too.

she gave you all her old dresses, shoes and books, she insisted that you should be a intelligent woman that doesn’t depend on her future husband, the last part made your heart drop, you weren’t that interested in getting a husband any time soon, but if you don’t marry someone quickly, your father might even a arrange one for you. the thought of spending your days washing clothes, cooking, cleaning, satisfying your husband and having children haunted you at night, when your bed suddenly felt a little bit to cold even when the spring brought joy to the flowers and practically all the nature, even humans, or maybe not.

the second time a part of your soul died, it was when your father confirmed your worst fears.

he was going to marry a new woman.

you couldn’t do anything to really avoid the disaster that was perfectly planned to happen.

the carriage arrive sooner than imagined, from your window you could hear it from the distance, losing your mind observing the deeps of the forest and the nearby town. you lazily grabbed your shoes and placed them annoyingly, passing your hands through the dress in a attempt to soothe it.

your father was already outside the door when you finally made yourself get there, a bright smile smoothed the corners of mis smile line, its been years since you have seen that smile. he looked at you with hoped, with a clear ambition to start a new life, without any other choice, you smile softly at him as well. “couldn’t you make yourself more presentable? use one of the dress i brought you?” he whispered as the gates opened, ready to welcome their new members, you let out a small sigh but the smile on your face didn’t disappear.

when the carriage stopped it’s journey in front of you and your dad, he jogged quickly just enough for the carriage’s door opened abruptly, giggles came out the door and bright dresses ame from the dark, anastasia was the first one to make their presence known. your father extended his hand in order to help anastasia step from the carriage, once she stepped on the ground, she started overworking her fan as if the hot weather was attempting against her life. the second one was drizella, her exaggerated hair almost made contact with the top of the carriage and high heels making her trip, she wiggled her way over to anastasia who analyzed your house. “you should stile your hair” drizella remarked, your hair was styled messily in a bun. “your house is so… vintage.” anastasia added. “how was your trip?” you asked before they could make another smirky comment. “what did she say?” anastasia whispered—not low enough because you could still hear her. “i think she is asking us about our travel.” drizella explained like if you were speaking in a another language. “it was, um, exquisite.” anastasia replied awkwardly.

it seem like everyone stopped their tracks once the faint sound of a dress and heels made their way into the conversation. the last one was lady tremaine, a mysterious and wealthy woman. she meet your father during one of his long trips, promising her hand in marriage once she moved with him.

without giving you a glance, she maid her way through the house doors, and scanned the main entrance. anastasia and drizella were quickly to follow her and whisper things to her, definitely about your house. you entered the house along with your dad, that’s when she finally took check you out. her penetrating eyes noticing every single flaw in you. “how about you give the girls a tour around the house.” your father spoke as anastasia and drizella chuckled in amusement making their way up the stairs.

“your daughter is beautiful.” lady tremaine mumbled as you and your new sisters disappeared into some rooms. “oh, yes. she took it from her—“ your father stopped mid-sentence once he saw lady’s tremaine prolonged eye contact and her teasing smirk.

later that night, a inimaginable party was celebrated in your fathers and lady’s tramaine engagement, the wine and whiskey made you feel intoxicated just from the smell, your lungs burned as the smoke of the cigarettes lingered as if it was pure air. both of your ‘innocent’ sisters doll themselves up, amused man surrounding them while they took their sweet time chatting only with those that have money. your father was also talking to his friends, although you only recognized one, a really old friend of his, edward, he is your father’s assistant during his travels. talking about travels, in a few days he had been assigned one, after that, the wedding will happen.

“bring me a nice, shiny necklace!” “i want a big, outstanding dress!” “oh! and a tight corset!” anastasia and drizella demanded loudly as they—surprisingly took turns to talk about their needs. “what do you want, my love?” your father asked as his head turned towards you, grabbing his suitcases and throwing them into the back of the carriage. “just you coming back safely.” you quietly said while grabbing his hand, not wanting to let go. edward started to move the carriage with the help of the horses but you didn’t take your hand away from his, following desperately as the carriage made its way outside the house property, when you couldn’t catch up anymore, you staid still, observing the carriage that disappeared.

a knock could be heard, you weren’t expecting any visits. as the knocking continued, drizella called your name “get the door!” she yelled. as when you got to the door, edward was standing there, soaking wet because of the latest rains happening, the carriage behind him, as well as your fathers belongings. “edward? where is my father?” you quickly questioned the poor man who gripped his hat tightly, he just shook his head, letting fall some tears that had pilled up, he will break in a million pieces if he spoke a word.

realization hit you like a brick, suddenly the air had aggressively pushed one both doors, your breath sharp and fast and your lip started quivering, your knees weakening making you fall in front of edward who’s tears where know fully released and came out like a endless loop. “that means he didn’t bring me my dress?” anastasia growled as her other sister and mother soaked in the news. “anastasia! shut that mouth of yours!” lady tremaine spoke up, for the first time in weeks finally doing something that wasn’t against you. “can’t you see? we are ruined!” she snapped, lady tramaine turn around and stormed off to her room, shutting the door loudly.

the hard sound of heels crashing with the weak wooden floor woke you up abruptly, your neck jointed with a sharp pain spreading towards your lower back, your view was blurred as you remember last nights activities—you had fallen asleep in front of the chimney seeking for any warm that your room didn’t offer you. the new room was practically the old attic, the last room of the house and scariest, drizella and anastasia took your room because theirs was too small and lady tramaine had the guts to replace the room of your beloved mother.

“where is this girl?” lady tramaine groaned as she took a seek for you while waiting for her daughters to come and eat breakfast. “i thought breakfast was ready.” she sneered as you walked with chalks of wood. “it is ma’am. i’m only mending the fire.” you replied while inspecting the fire as it refuse to corporate.

anastasia and drizella finally took their seat in the dinning room, waiting impatiently for the food, tapping their nails against the table, as if it were a clock, counting second by second. “what’s that on your face?” lady tramaine asked as she observed obviously your face as you walked in with trays filled with food, your puzzled face became clear as you didn’t know what she was talking about, placing the food as you looked at the three ladies sitting in front of you. “it’s ash from the fireplace.” anastasia was quick to clear any questions. “clean yourself up.” lady tramaine said, avoiding any eye contact with you. “you’ll get cinders in our tea!” drizella snorted grabbing a cup of tea and stared deeply into it, you grabbed a nearby piece of destroyed fabric, bringing it and cleaning up aggressively your face with it.

“oh, girls leave your sister alone.” lady tramaine cheered as her wicked smile came back into its place as you keep walking in and out with plates, glasses and even more food. it was difficult to organize everything by yourself because lady tramaine had dismissed the household. her glance dartered around the table until it stopped in your plate. “who’s this plate for?” she inquired as she pointed out the plate placed on the spot giving to you on the dining table.”is there someone we’ve forgotten?” she asked faking innocence, she knew deep down that it was your plate. “it’s my place.” you added with a soft smile. “it seems so much to expect you to prepare breakfast, serve it and still sit with us.” she explained rapidly, taking a small breath before continuing. “wouldn’t like to eat when all the work is done?” she inquired pushing slightly your plate away towards you.

you were left speechless as the three ladies looked at you teasingly, a desire to run away kicked in. your shaking hands grabbed clumsily your cutlery and walked away as the loud, rotten sound of lady’s tramaine laugh tormented you as you stormed off to the kitchen.

the tears blurred your vision as you placed weakly the glass plate on the table, a wrong movement slipped the plate from the table crashing down into the floor, an unpleasant sound coming from the crash, to see the disaster you caused made you cry even more. sobbing, you kneeled into the disaster and started picking it up.

the pot where you prepared the tea reflected your heart breaking image, your face swallowed because of the endless tears, still covered by ash. it seemed like your stepmother and stepsisters had indeed transformed you into a merely a creature of ash and oil, a desperate groan escaped your shaky lip.

the horses speed quicken as the path was clear enough. you had grabbed a horse and stormed off to the forest to ride a bit, to distract yourself from they’re horrid coments.

as you deepen yourself more, a reindeer came out of nowhere, taking you and your horse by surprise. the horse jumped in horror as your grip into it not wanting to fall. “whoa, whoa, whoa!” you gasped, the reindeer only dedicated himself to look at you, the moment was interrupted as distant horns and shouts approached your area. “run!” you mouthed to the reindeer, how crazy you were to think that it will listen to you? “or they’ll catch you!” you uttered in desperation as the voices became more and more clear.

once the reindeer finally took note of your desperate attempts to help him, he stroked off but your horse had another plan, storming off with the reindeer too, as if they were playing a cat and mouse game, the sudden change of speed made a ear—piercing scream come out your sore throat.

paige separated herself from the group of guards fallowing the reindeer, when se heard a desperate voice coming from the deeps of the forest, a beautiful one.

“easy, boy!” you groaned noisily, not knowing how to calm the beast. “come on, slow down!” you desperately cried. paige squinted her yes focusing on the quickened animal. “miss!” she screamed, directing her horse towards the scene.

“i’m alright! thank you!” you screamed back but she matched your rhythm, calming down your horse for you, as the horse slowed down she questioned you. “are you alright?” “i’m alright.” you blurted out. “but you’ve nearly frightened the life out of him.” you protested making your horse jogg in cirlcles, the blonde girl mocking your steps. “who?” she asked. “the reindeer! what’s he ever done to you?” you yell out of air, the girl peeking a smile “i must confess i’ve never met him before.” the blonde girl giggled “he is a friend of yours?” she continued, both of your horses mirroring the actions of one another. “by accident, we met just now.” you stated, visibly relieved and now calmed after the scary incident.

“i looked into his eyes and he looked into mine, and i just felt he had so much to do with his life.” you explained getting closer to the fancy-dressed girl “that’s all.” you finished. “miss, what do they call you?” she questioned as soon as you ended speaking. “don’t bother.” you muttered rapidly. “you shouldn’t be this deep in the forest, alone.” she remarked as her she’s wondered into the distance, endless trees and animals. “i’m not alone. i’m with you…” you chuckle. “now, what do they call you?” it was now your time to question, she giggled at your words. “you don’t know who i am?” she said while raising her eyebrows in surprise. “they call ‘p’, well, my father does when he is in a good mood.” she replied as you both laughed. “and… where do you live, miss p?” you asked. “at the palace.” she quickly said. “my father’s teaching me his tricks.” she added. “you’re an apprentice?” you said amused. “you can say that.” she said nodding. “that good.” you opined. “do they treat you well?” you mentioned as your horses speed started lacking but you didn’t bother to notice. “better then i deserve.” she responded as both of your horses stopped, almost closing the distance between you both. “and you?” she inquired. “they treat as they can.” you blurted out, avoiding making eye contact. “i’m sorry.” she whispered seeing your facial expressions go down as your mood changed. “it’s not your fault.” you clarified quickly. “not yours either.” she answered softly. “it’s not that bad.” you said, a small smile creeping through your lips. “others have it worse. we simply must have courage and be kind.” you seconded. “yeah, you are right.” she replied as a laugh came out following the words her mouth let out, you both chuckle. “that’s exactly how i feel.” she explained.

before you could respond again, a long horn interrupted the conversation, your head turned to the direction of the horn fallowed by shouting. “please don’t let them hurt him.” you pleaded. “but were hunting, you see. it’s what’s done.” she said not caring about your pleas of desperation. “just because it’s what’s done doesn’t mean it’s what should be done!” you contradicted. “right, again.” the girl acknowledged. “that means you will leave him alone?” you questioned. “i will.” she assured. “thank you very much, miss p.” you said.

“ah! there your are your high—“ the captain suddenly appeared and was quickly interrupted. “it’s p! p!” she exclaimed quickly. “i’m on my way!” she said irritated. “well, we better get going” the captain desperately said. “miss p..” he finished teasingly. “i repeat myself… im on my way!” she argued her horse buckled and jogged away taking a few glances towards you, then she stopped. “i hope to see you again, miss.” she hinted, her blue eyes not moving away from yours. “me too.” you said, a comforting smile lightened up her face her horse finally catching up with the rest of the group, jogging away.

[himasgod]

Sharing Valentine's Day with NRC

IGNYHIDE VER.

HEARSTLABYUL VER SAVANACLAW VER OCTAVINELLE VER POMEFIORE VER SCARABIA VER DIASOMNIA VER

SCENARIO: The morning sun shone down on Night Raven College as students prepared for Valentine’s Day. Classes had ended earlier than usual, and the hallways were filled with rumors of chocolates, a few confessions, and secret dates. Despite the general excitement for that day of remembering and sharing, you hadn’t planned anything special for that day. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But he had been acting oddly suspicious since the night before. You’d noticed his furtive glances and failed attempts at hiding smiles whenever you came near. You knew he was up to something.

With Idia Shroud

Idia Shroud

Valentine's Day at Night Raven College had never been Idia Shroud's cup of tea. The thought of confessing feelings in person or dealing with public displays of affection was simply terrifying. This year, however, was different. He'd spent months building up the courage to do something special for you.

That morning, you received an unexpected message on your magic device. It was from Idia:

"Can you come to my room? I have something for you. If you're not busy, that is."

Curious, you headed to Ignihyde's dorm. The door opened automatically upon detecting you, and you were met by a visibly nervous Idia. His hair glowed with pink hues, something uncommon even for him.

"This is weird, isn't it? Ugh, sorry, I'm so clumsy with these things…"

Idia led you to his gaming console, where a huge screen displayed a game you'd never seen before.

“I spent weeks designing it,” he confessed, looking down at his feet. “It’s a two-player game… well, only you and I can play it.”

You took the controller he offered you, and soon found yourself in a picturesque virtual world filled with warm colors and adorable details. There were flower-filled bridges, shimmering lakes, and starry skies. As you progressed through the game together, you discovered little messages hidden in the landscapes:

“Thank you for always being with me.”

“Having you around makes even the darkest days a little brighter.”

“You’re my happy place.”

Your heart filled with tenderness with each message.

Finally, you reached the final level, a night scene under a giant tree lit by golden lights. In the center of the clearing, an avatar representing Idia awaited you.

On the screen, the avatar began typing a message:

“You are my first thought in the morning and the last before I sleep. Thank you for accepting me as I am. Would you like to spend this Valentine's Day and all future ones with me?”

You turned to Idia, who was now red to the tips of his hair.

“Was it too much? Sorry, I can reset the game if you didn't like it!”

You took his hand gently, smiling.

“It was perfect, Idia. I would love to spend Valentine's Day with you.”

Idia's eyes widened, and his hair sparkled with flashes of happiness.

You spent the rest of the day exploring the virtual world together, laughing and sharing moments that only you would understand. Idia felt, for the first time in a long time, completely at peace.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he said later, when night came.

“Thank you for creating a world just for us.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Louder Than Fear

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Missions involving Hydra often go very wrong. This is different. This is worse. This is a strange bioweapon, nobody telling you exactly what's wrong, and staring at the ceiling as Bucky roars you name. It's echoing in your brain. And you love him.

So you have to fix this.

Author's Note: Sudden rush of Bucky content is doing nothing but feeding my preexisting addiction. Enjoy the result of that!

Word Count: 8.5k

It’s not technically babysitting duty. On paper it’s called monitoring and mediating. Ensuring agents do not get off track or engage in unprofessional actives.

On paper, you were supposed to be waiting in the car. But then Sam had started whining about being put on surveillance duty like he was a five-year-old, and you’d ended up walking them through the forest so he’d have company. Then Steve had pointed out that you’d be best at actually finding the target, and you’d ended up fifty feet underground in a Hydra bunker. 

And he’d been right, you would be, but that wasn’t supposed to be your job. 

You were supposed to be waiting in the car, monitoring and mediating. 

If they’d just let you wait in the car, everything might have been fine. Bucky wouldn’t be strapped to the jet seat with his eyes squeezed tight, Steve wouldn’t be standing between you for reasons you don’t really understand, and Sam wouldn’t be on strict say one word and get stabbed orders.

You shouldn’t have gone into the bunker. 

You shouldn’t have gotten distracted in the bunker.

“I just don’t see how this is a useful conversation-“

“You don’t need to see how it’s useful, Cap, you just need to accept that when it comes to pop culture, I’m always gonna be right-“

“But you’re starting from an advantage, it’s not a level playing field-“

Sam had laughed in your ear, and the sound was a little scratchy and static. “This isn’t a war, there doesn’t need to be a level playing field-“

“Well, once Bucky and I catch up on 21st century media-“

“Bucky isn’t catching up on shit, isn’t that right buddy-“

Steve had stopped in the middle of the hallway, and you’d almost slammed right into his back, stopped only by an impossibly strong, cool arm had wrapping around your waist and pulling you back right before the collision.

You’d leaned back to see Bucky still scanning around the dark hallway as he supported your body, he’d smelled so good, and it had been an effort to focus on Sam and Steve’s conversation.

“That’s rude, Sam-“

“I’m not insulting him.” You’d been able to picture the shit-eating grin on Sam’s face. “I’m just pointing out that the last time we tried to watch a movie, Bucky got mad at the CGI-“

“It was stupid.” Bucky had muttered, frowning at the air around him “Movies didn’t need to be doing so much.”

You’d mouthed along to his words—you’ve heard them before, and you’ll likely hear them again—and when you’d caught his eye, you’d thrown him a winning smile that just made him roll his eyes.

He’d still been holding onto you, even though you’d long regained your balance.

You were almost certain you’d seen his mouth twitch slightly in the dark. 

“Then we’ll find some other movies, Buck, and-” 

Steve had turned around to raise his brows at Bucky, but ended up doing a slight double take at the sight of you. Pressed tight to Bucky’s chest, his arm around your stomach, your eyes wide on Steve’s, and Bucky continuing to monitor the incredibly empty hall.

“I- uh-“ You’d been pretty sure Steve was blushing, and he’d definitely been stumbling over his words. “I can- I’m just gonna turn around-“

“Why?” Sam’s voice had been a little too loud and eager in your ear. “What’s going on? Are they making-“

“I fell.” You’d mumbled, your voice a little frantic. “And Bucky-“

“What did he do? Did he sweep you off your feet-“

“Shut up, Wilson.” Bucky still hadn’t been paying full attention. He still hadn’t let go. “Focus on the mission-“

You could picture Sam’s shrug. “Mission is boring. How exciting, Hydra’s taking up gardening-“

You’d frowned into the air. “It’s not gardening, Sam-“

“Right, sorry,” Sam had said your name, his voice at least a little apologetic. “Didn’t mean to shit on your thing-“

“Yeah, that’s not what I’m worried about.” You’d sighed, leaning your head a little back. You’d almost been resting it on Bucky’s shoulder.

He hadn’t pushed you away.

“Did you read Stark’s mission briefing-“

“No.” Sam had cut you off, and he’d sounded appalled you’d even suggest that. “It’s mostly just Tony kissing his own ass, and you and Golden Boy down there always go cover to cover, so why should I-”

You sigh. “Because then you’d know why it’s not just gardening, dumbass-“

Sam had gasped, and it had been one of the most dramatic ones you’d even heard. “That’s not very nice-“

“Shut up.” You’d raised your brows at Steve, who had been mostly trying to not look you or Bucky directly in the eyes. “Steve, tell bird-boy why it’s not just gardening.”

He’d nodded, staring very pointedly at a spot on the wall. “It’s, uh, they tried to make a bioweapon. With plants.”

“All I’m hearing is gardening-“

“Sam Wilson.” You’d snapped, and that had shut him up. You’d used what Stark called your Mom voice—where you stopped shouting and made your tone firm—and even Bucky had tensed behind you. “Stop acting like a middle schooler, or I’ll make you write a book report about the next briefing. Got it?”

Sam had sighed in your ear, mumbled an agreement, and Steve had shot you a nervous grin before he started shuffling back down the hall.

You’d had to poke Bucky’s face to get his attention, nodding to his arm around your body to get him to release you.

Once he had, you’d just kept walking, because you never allow yourself to think about those odd but frequent moments. The ones where Bucky touches you a little longer than needed, or did something protective that he’d probably do for anyone on a mission, but still made your head feel fuzzy and your gut a little warm.

The rest of the mission had run smoothly. Sam had shut up, and Steve had gotten distracted from the whole Bucky holding you like a doll thing by a few well-timed questions about how he’s doing on his self-inflicted music catch up mission, and you’d taken every single moment Bucky interacted with you and locked them deep in your chest. 

You’d gotten good at that. You were a dragon hoarding gold, only the dragon was your dumb little heart, and the gold was Bucky’s attention.

He’d opened at door for you. He’d stayed on pace behind you like a very stoic, grumpy guard dog. He’d pulled you back by the collar of your shirt before you could walk right into a trap, and you’d ended up half off the ground, in his arms, and repeating to yourself it means nothing.

This means nothing.

To Bucky, this means nothing.

Then he’d spoken to you, and you’d almost tripped over your own rapid and electrified heartbeat.

“I read it.” He’d muttered in your ear, and you’d blinked up at him with a frown.

“What?”

He’d been looking at you. His eyes are an always little more than on yours, because whenever Bucky looks at you it’s feels like something’s branding on your spine. Sending tiny little sparking shockwaves through your body, making you stand a little taller and blink a little less, because it seems your body simply refuses to miss a single moment him.

“I read the mission report.” He’d grunted. It had sounded incredibly important for you to know. “I always do.”

“Oh. Good.”

And he’d looked really handsome. His mission suit fit him too well. His metal hand kept flexing, and it was making your breathing a little short. He’d been bullied into a haircut a few months ago, but most of it had regrown, and it framed his face so distractingly well.

And that had been the mistake.

You’d gotten really distracted. Even after you’d kept walking, Bucky’s voice just bounced and echoed around in your head, and when you’d found the bioweapon—it was just a big flower, but Sam never needed to know that—you’d been too slow to react.

The spurt of pollen had been aimed at you.

Bucky had jumped in front of you because he was a dumbass.

And now, you were here.

The moment Bucky had been sprayed in the face—you’ve strictly forbidden Sam from called it being hit with plant jizz—his whole body had tensed, his eyes had dilated, and he’d… taken off his arm. Let it clatter to the floor as his breathing became labored, and his eyes locked onto yours.

You and Steve had stared at him, you’d opened your mouth to ask if he was okay, and he’d raised his hand as if he could physically block the sound of your voice.

“Steve.” His words had been pushed through his teeth, so strained and weighted that it had ached a little in your chest. “Get her out.”

Steve had just frowned at him. “Bucky, what’s-“

“Out.” He’d hissed, and Steve—the loyal fuck—had listened. 

You’d been carried back to the jet by Sam, Steve had gone back to get Bucky, and you’d had plenty of time to try and work out what the fuck had just happened.

It was a bioweapon. All of you had known that, but you didn’t know what it did. Bucky could be in pain, he could be suffering, he could be dying. 

He certainly isn’t okay. He’d asked to be restrained, every time you speak he flinches, and he’s refused to put his arm back on. Steve keeps trying to ask him what’s wrong, and he just shakes his head and mutters something you can’t hear. Sam tried to sit down next to you and he fucking growls.

“Jesus, Bucky, did you get turned into a dog by the plant ji-“

You slam your fist into Sam’s gut, he doubles over with a groan, and Bucky won’t stop staring at you. It’s worse than the branding feeling. That’s always just from you, and it’s always unintentional. Bucky doesn’t know that you like his pretty face and his grumpy words, that you have very vulgar and inappropriate fantasies about the metal arm, or that every time you draw a chuckle or small smile out him it makes the whole world light up. 

But this is brighter than the usual attention. This is a little feral, and he doesn’t look comfortable. Usually when he looks at you his body relaxes slightly, and you take that and bury it in your collection. Right now his stare seems to be carving right into your ribs and wrapping around your skin, like he’s trying to pull you apart with just his eyes. His breathing is ragged and loud, his nostrils keep flaring, and he’s leaning forward in his restraints.

And Steve’s a big guy, but not big enough that Bucky can’t lean around him to keep watching you.

Then his eyes start to droop, and you can see sweat stains all over his suit. He’s still looking at you.

He’s flushed and pale all at once, and he lets out a high, almost whining sound of pain-

“Sam.” You whisper, afraid to look away from Bucky for even a second. “Can you please-“

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam presses his hand to Bucky’s brow, his eyes widen slightly, and you feel a little sick. 

“Shit, uh, Steve-“

Steve moves without question, and his reaction is an almost twin look of worry.

“Goddamnit.” He looks back to you, saying your name cautiously. “It’s- he’s burning.”

“FRIDAY,” you mumble, because maybe they’re both wrong. Maybe the jet is warm. “Can you please check Bucky’s temperature?”

“Sargent Barnes has a fever of one-hundred and four point six degrees. Would you like me to alert the Compound to prepare for medical response?”

You swallow, your hand curling into a fist to stop it from reaching out and touching him. He’s got firm lines on his brow and you’d like to trace them. Sooth them out.

“Send his vitals to Bruce and Tony too.”

Steve takes over for you, and you’ll have to thank him later, when your heart isn’t pounding and banging in your ribs, and Bucky doesn’t look like he’s trying to fly out of his skin. 

You don’t know why he jumped in front of you. You would’ve been fine. Whatever’s affecting him wouldn’t affect you. And he should’ve known that.

“Why does Stark call you Mother Earth?” He’d asked you once, suddenly a few feet behind you in the kitchen, and you’d blinked at him. 

He’d only just moved into the compound. His hair was still a little greasy—he hadn’t been introduced to the wonders of coconut oil and conditioner yet—and there was still a weary, haunted expression on his face almost every waking second. He didn’t talk to anyone but Steve because it was Steve, his government mandated therapist because he had to, and Sam and Peter because they didn’t know how to not talk. 

But there he was. 

Talking to you.

“Because I have plant powers.” You’d shrugged, turning back to the stove. “And Tony’s convinced he’s a comedic genius.”

Bucky had moved to lean against the counter, and he’d still been watching you. It was the first time you’d gotten that warm, bright feeling up your spine. “What do plant powers do.”

“The technical term Bruce uses is chlorokinesis.” You’d started to fish through the cabinets for a mug, keeping your voice calm and even. “I can control and manipulate botanical life. But I’m also invulnerable. To physical injury and allergies, because I’m basically half-plant myself, so I can like, regrow or whatever. I mean, plant powers is pretty fucking self-explanatory-“

You’d paused, glancing at Bucky with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry.” You’d mumbled. “That was mean.”

He’d given you an odd look, and for a second you’d thought he would leave. Push off the counter and walk away, never sparing a glance in your direction again.

But he’d just stared at you with that unreadable expression. And when he’d finally spoken, his words weren’t clipped or rough. They’d sounded almost easy. Calm.

“Do you need help?”

You’d swallowed, your hand still reaching half over your head. “What?”

“You look like you’re having trouble.” He’d nodded to your outstretched arm, frozen in the cabinet. “I can help.”

You’d nodded, he’d closed the space in one second, and his body had been warm. Almost radiating heat, setting your skin on fire when just his fingers brushed yours. He’d handed you the mug with an expression on his face that was almost a grin, you’d smiled back, and that had been it.

You’d been gone.

You’d barely even stood a chance.

Your heart had passed itself into Bucky’s hands, and he’d held it so carefully without ever knowing. He stayed near you and fed your hunger for him all the fucking time. He literally fed you, because the thing that seemed to fascinate him the most about modern times was the food—to the point that Tony put a weekly cap on his DoorDash account—and whenever he knew you were at the compound, he’d make you eat with him. 

And Sam had been right. Bucky did have an odd, amusing determination to remain entirely an old man, but it was also adorable and charming in a way Sam simply did not know how to appreciate. You’d learned that—to make Bucky consume any remotely modern media—you just had to let him show you something in trade. You’d listened to a lot of Bing Crosby and Duke Ellington just to make Bucky experience one Beyonce song.

His eyes had been so wide the entire time you’d been worried they’d pop out of his head.

You’d caught him listening to it again almost two weeks later, mumbling along to the lyrics in a way that was more sound than word.

And you’d fallen a little further. Over and over in small moments like that one, stronger and stronger as Bucky’s smile turned from a grimacing, almost mechanical movement as he relearned how his face worked, into a broad, almost goofy expression that he seemed to reserve for the people that sat with him in silence when he needed it, and smiled at him without expecting one in return.

The list was short. Limited to you and Steve, as well as Sam under very dire circumstances.

You’d never allowed yourself to read too far into that. 

But it was hard not to now. 

Because Bucky wasn’t looking at anyone but you. Whenever his eyes flutter in his sleep, or he wakes up with a low moan, his gaze locks onto your open expression of worry. He keeps groaning something that sounds like your name in his sleep.

You want to help him.

He curls away from you with almost a snarl every time you try to even get out of your seat. 

And you’re so confused.

Steve mutters your name when the jet lands, and he’s not looking away from Bucky as he speaks. “Don’t get out of your seat until we get Bucky sedated.”

You nod nervously, right up until the word sedated catches up with your brain. 

“Wait, don’t-“

“We have to.” Steve’s voice is firm. Low and unwavering. “I’ll explain later. Stay in your seat.”

He’s not asking. That’s an order.

And it only takes a few moments for you to realize why.

Bucky fights. The medic team wakes him up as they try to move him out of the jet, and he fights like an animal. This isn’t his usual, controlled and calculated movements. This is wild, with roars and noises that are almost primal ripping out of his chest. 

He doesn’t stop looking at you, or saying your name, and the noise is almost pleading. 

You have to cover your ears. If you heard any more you would’ve damned it and helped him, and you have a feeling it would’ve made everything worse. 

It takes Steve, Sam, the whole med team, and a very concerned Natasha to get him down. 

And you’re alone in the jet. Left to wander your way back to your room, your hands shaking slightly and your head spinning.

He would’ve been fine. If you’d just stayed in the car, or you’d been fucking paying attention and had moved faster—dodging the spray yourself or making sure it hit you instead of Bucky—everything would’ve been fine.

Nobody tells you what’s happening. You lay on flat the bed, stare up at the ceiling, and your brain begins to feel a little foggy.

You can still see him staring at you. The sight is almost seared onto your vision, and everything seems to be lined with blue wherever you look. He’d been in pain. This building has the most advanced medical technology in America, and these people have access to all the best doctors in the world, but as far as you know he’s still hurting. Still screaming and thrashing, still burning up and probably all alone, because this is the exact type of thing that can’t happen to him.

Fuck. This can’t happen to Bucky. If it was Steve they’d be worried, but he’d be treated with more care. No brutal slamming of his body against the jet wall, no sedative specifically tailored to make him go down. If it was Sam there wouldn’t need to be as many resources exerted to get him down. Bucky would’ve just punched him in the face with no shortage of glee in his expression, and everyone would be fine.

But Bucky’s going to have to get mental clearance. That wasn’t the Soldier, but they’ll be worried it was. You’d still seen Bucky behind his eyes—simply a panicked and desperate version of him—but no one’s going to see that but you. Even Steve will elect to be safe rather than sorry.

You’d fucked it up for him. He’d been doing so well, and you’d fucked it up with your dumb, distracting infatuation. And you don’t even know if he’s still in pain.

“FRIDAY?” Your voice is soft, barely audible even in the silence, but the AI hears you anyway.

“How can I help you, Mother Earth?”

You’re going to need to stab Tony later. Right now you have bigger worries.

“Is Bucky okay?”

“I’m sorry, agent,” FRIDAY says your last name, and her voice doesn’t sound very sorry. “I have been blocked from sharing any information about Sargent Barnes with you indefinitely.”

You sit up on the bed, glaring around the room. “I’m- what? Why would- what? Who blocked me?”

“The order was issued by Agent Romanov.” 

“Can you please unblock me?”

“Unfortunately not. Your admin privileges have been removed from my system until further notice.”

You gape at the ceiling. “Who did that?”

“Dr. Banner put in the request, and it was approved by Mr. Stark. You are also under strict orders not to leave your quarters. I have an audio recording from Mr. Stark for you that can be played upon request. Would you-“

“Play it.” You snap, then flinch at your own harsh tone. “Sorry. Please play it.”

“Hey, Mom.” Tony’s voice fills the room, the usual light apathy in his voice filled with something heavier. Almost tired. You almost forget to be mad about him calling you mom. “Before you get all pissed and turn my house into the Amazon, we didn’t want to do this. Tall, dark, and murdery keeps saying your name, and until we work out what’s wrong with him I’m not comfortable having you wander around. Sorry.”

The audio clicks off, and Tony’s getting stabbed twice now. 

“FRIDAY,” you chose your words carefully, keeping your tone even and natural. “Can you please tell me who’s near residential room sixty-seven?”

“Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark are standing the hall, Dr. Banner recently entered the room, and Agent Romanov just left the wing.”

“Can you patch me to Natasha, please?”

“I am alerting the agent of your request now.”

It takes a long, painful second, but Natasha picks up. You barely wait for the static hum of the call to fill the room before you’re talking, staring at the corner of your room where you know Tony keeps the camera.

“What’s wrong with him.”

Natasha sighs over the speaker. “I can’t tell you that,” she says your name in a worryingly gentle voice, and your hands curl back into fists. “You know I can’t.”

“I’m not-“ You swallow, holding your gaze on the camera. “Please. Just tell me what’s going on-“

“We’re going to fix it. Tony and Steve are looking at options-“

“Options for what?” Your voice is pleading. You don’t care. “Nat, I’m can’t- I’m really worried-“

“I know you are.” Her voice is still gentle. You can taste bile in your throat. “Which is why we can’t tell you. I’m-“

“Don’t say sorry.” You snap. “Just, just tell me he’s okay. Please.”

There’s a long silence. It’s an answer enough, and it sinks too deep into your skin. 

Natasha’s a good liar. 

Why can’t she just lie.

“He will be okay.” Her tone is cautious, and you can picture her frown. “We’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“Can I help?” You whisper. “With anything? Please?”

She’s silent again. You’re going to throw up.

“Nat-“

“I’ll call you back.” 

The line goes dead, and that time, she’d lied. She doesn’t call you back. Time drags on and comes to odd, stuttering halts as you sit in the silence, and when you finally clear your throat and sit up once more, it’s dark outside.

“FRIDAY, can you please give me the feed of the hallway outside residential room sixty-seven?”

The AI doesn’t bother to answer you, silently patching you through. 

You don’t think she’s really supposed to. But she seems to like that you say please.

Natasha, Steve, and Bruce are huddled outside of Bucky’s room, their voices low, but not enough for FRIDAY not to pick up the audio.

“He’s not getting any better.” Bruce mutters, his head turned down. You can see him fidgeting with his glasses, and you can picture the frown on his face. “And I am beginning to worry. There’s just- there’s nothing else I can do.”

Steve shakes his head, and the panic in his voice sounds a lot like the wired, tense little bubbles rising in your throat. “But- Bruce there’s got to be another option, we work in a miracle factory-“

“And I’m afraid I’m out of them, Cap. I’m sorry, it’s- it’s the only option.” Bruce sighs. “Hydra was very thorough.”

There’s a long moment of silence you can’t understand, the hum of the audio clashing horribly with the ringing in your ears, and then-

“He won’t take anyone else?” Natasha sounds desperate. It’s louder than an alarm echoing through the compound. “What about- Have we tried the pocket pussy?”

“He broke it.” Steve mutters, his face red, and a lot of things click into place at once. 

The heavy breathing, and tension in his body, and animalistic sounds and behaviors. The dilated eyes, and restraints, and intense gaze. 

Lustful gaze.

Oh.��

Fuck.

“And Bucky’s been very clear with us that he refuses to do… that with anyone but her.” Steve’s still talking. The room around you is a little hazy. “Tony even offered to hire someone, and he said he’d rather uh, castrate himself.”

Natasha lets out a slow breath, her words slow and careful. “She’d say yes-“

“I know she would, Nat, that’s not my worry.” Steve shakes his head, frowning at the door. “She’d say yes to help him, and he’d- It would break him. If that was it.”

“And I’m trying to get it into your skull, Rogers, that wouldn’t be it-“

“You don’t know that-“

Natasha lets out a dry laugh. “I’m pretty sure I do. You’d have to be blind not to see it-“

“I’m not blind, I just don’t want Bucky to get hurt-“

“He wouldn’t get hurt, that’s what I’m saying-“

“And when he does? We can’t kick either of them out, and he- You don’t know how serious it is for him, Nat.” Steve sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “He called it a love a first sight thing.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “That probably makes two of them.” 

And Natasha says your name. Everything slows, but not like in a movie. More like being underwater, where it’s just a little harder to see and hear, and you’re pushing against something that all around you, and it’s cool and easy but you’re drowning-

Then you breach the surface. 

And the world becomes too fast around you as Natasha just keeps talking.

“She was begging me to help, Steve. She wouldn’t regret it-“

“And Barnes is running out time.” Bruce jumps in, giving Natasha an apologetic look. “I don’t believe he’ll allow another, no matter what levels or heights his desperation reaches, especially if he’s as… infatuated as you say.”

“He is.” Steve mumbles. “It’s… Geez, Bruce, he’s like a lost puppy.”

“So let’s go get his owner.” Natasha gives Steve a pointed look, and you swallow. “She at least deserves a choice.”

You. 

You deserve the choice. 

The feed drops black, and you’re going to get a choice.

It’s barely a choice. It’s more of an instinct. Steve and Bruce shuffle into your room with nervous smiles, explain the situation—you don’t want to give away that you’d been spying, it would likely just make things more complicated—and the words are Bucky’ll only, well, he’s refusing anyone but you are barely out of Steve’s mouth before you nod. 

You say yes. And Steve stares at you, opening his mouth to say something he seems to think better of, and you hold is gaze. 

You mean it. 

And no amount of shock over the situation, no amount of stunning revelations or Tony’s worrying about you coming out, no pun intended, right side up will make you not mean it.

They give you an escape plan.

You won’t use it.

Bucky’s entirely naked when you walk into his room. Pulling a blanket over his lap before your eyes can wander further down from his darkened, painfully handsome face and broad chest. He’s sitting tall and rigid on the edge of his mattress, almost tracking your every movement as you walk through the door, jaw ticking when it closes behind you.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” He mutters. “I told Steve I’d be alright-“

“Steve told me you’re in love with me,” you blurt, and Bucky stares at you.

You hadn’t meant to just say it. You’d been planning a large build up, where he’d accuse you of pitying him and you’d say I don’t pity you, I love you, and I know you love me too.

But his first few words had been barely a rasp. He was flushed all over his body, his breathing was somehow far too deep and shallow all at once, and you can see the muscles twitching in his body. He seems to be forcing himself to barely even shift on the bed, and the mattress is creaking under the weight of his metal arm.

He put the metal arm back on.

Based on how the sheets are stained and the blanket over his lap has shifted, you have a good idea why.

Your knees are a little weak from just the sight of him. 

And it’s no longer just Bucky who needs the whole we’re both idiots, because I love you conversation out of the way quick.

“Steve fucking told you-“

“He didn’t know he was telling me.” Your voice is quick, your eyes widening slightly as you cut off Bucky’s growl. “I may have been, um, spying.”

Bucky scans you over slowly, and his mouth does the small curve that means he’s dangerously close to a real smile. “Spying doesn’t really sound like you,” he says your name, and where it would normally be a drawl it’s a growl. Your legs are going to give out. “Hydra blast you with something too?”

“I’m branching out.” You mumble, playing with the fabric of your shirt and forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Are you? In love with me?”

Bucky’s nostrils flare, and he’s watching you like he thinks you’ll disappear. Like he’s certain you’re a trick or lie or something sent to hurt him, but he’d really like you to be real.

You’d like to be real. For Bucky, you’d like to be almost anything.

And he nods, and you’re lucky the adrenaline and fear for Bucky’s health are outweighing how your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

“How-“ You have to clear your throat, your voice weaker than you’d like. “How long?”

He suddenly won’t meet your eyes. “You gave me flowers.”

You blink at him. “Bucky, I don’t-“

“Steve was introducing me to everyone.” He mutters, bowing his head. “I don’t even know where you came from, but we turned a corner and you were just… there. Like you’d formed out of thin air or something. We startled you, and you screamed. Really loud.” You think your skin might be burning up, but Bucky’s voice has a soft sort of fondness to it that keeps you from exploding on the spot. “You were really pissed, yelling at Steve about how he should know better, and your hands were full. You handed me your flowers, and you shoved Steve. He didn’t budge, and that just made you angrier. Another flower grew out of the wall. You gave me that one too.”

“Oh.” You whisper, and Bucky just nods. “And you- when did you-“

“The moment you screamed.” He frowns at himself, shaking his head. “Not because of the scream, it was a- You weren’t afraid. You screamed but you were mostly just angry, and you gave me flowers. Helped that you were beautiful.”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I-“ You swallow. “I thought you didn’t remember that. You asked me what my powers were-“

Bucky’s flush deepens. “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” You swallow, titling your head at him. “And- When you jumped in front of me-“

“Instinct.” He’s glaring at the floor like it’s personally responsible for this whole situation. “Didn’t think. Saw you were going to be hit. Jumped.”

His words are starting to become more and more clipped and strained, as if your very presence is bending him to a snapping point.

“That wasn’t very smart, Barnes.”

“I know.” He mumbles, shoulder dropping like he’s trying to cave in on his own body, and you sigh.

“But I get it. And I- I just don’t want- I need you, Bucky. Don’t do that again.“

He nods, you don’t think he actually heard you, and you need him to look at you.

When you take a careful step forward, he glances up, but it’s weary. 

“You grabbed my mug.” You whisper, giving him plenty of time to stop you before you’re standing between his legs. He doesn’t, and you take his face in your hands, your smile widening as he stares at you. “It felt like I- I could’ve died, Bucky. It was… Very big.”

It’s a strange thing to say, but there’s no other way to describe the true mass and power of how fast your love for Bucky had hit you, how quick it had sunken into your bones and mixed with your blood, and how fast your entire body had been rewritten with that knowledge as code. You love Bucky. 

It’s just as natural as you need to breathe air.

He seems to understand, because he nods slowly, but it quickly turns into shakes of his head, limited between your hands.

“You don’t have to do this-“

“I don’t.” You shrug, holding his gaze. “But I’m going to. Because I love you.”

He grunts, his body almost vibrating under your touch, a visible spasm wracking his body at the words. “I- Not like this.” His words are barely audible, pushed through his teeth. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

“Bucky-“

“No. I’m not- I could hurt you. I’m not going to fucking hurt you.” 

You sigh. “You can’t hurt me-“ 

He lets out a dry laugh. “As romantic as that is, doll, I very much can hurt you-“ 

“No. You literally cannot hurt me.” You raise your brows at him, your voice flat. “I’m invulnerable.”

He blinks at you, and somehow goes redder. “Oh. Right. That- I forgot.” 

You giggle, running your fingers through his hair and he scowls.

“There are million assholes with a million powers, how the hell am I supposed to keep track-“

“I’m not laughing at you, Buck. You’re cute.” You smile at him, and all the tight annoyance vanishes from him expression in a single second. He’s staring at you again.

And no one’s ever looked at you like that. Like you’re maybe brighter and more critical than the sun, and you’re pulling them in stronger than the moon and the tides.

But he’s still shaking under your touch. And fuck, up close you feel even weaker. You can see every flex of his muscles, every bit of desire in his blown-out eyes and expression, the way he’s poking through the sheets over his lap and how there’s already a dark spot of pre-cum forming a stain-

You cough, your head already going a little hazy. “I want to help, Bucky. I really do, and you won’t hurt me, but if you really don’t want it, I’ll go-“

You’re falling forwards before you know what’s happening. And any yelps or squeaks of surprise are swallowed as Bucky slams his mouth into yours, and everything else in the world fades to humming color. 

Everything becomes second to this.

To Bucky.

He mostly tastes like salt from the sweat dripping down his body, but under that is a heavy, strong thing that might just be him. His tongue shoved down your throat and his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline, every low and feral grunt that rumbles through his chest making you moan down into his mouth.

Nothing about this is controlled or careful. It’s teeth and spit and brutal want, bubbling up and bursting over as he nips at your lower lip and you start to grind down against him, his touch starting to wander and squeeze at the skin of your back and ass and thighs, the touch of his metal hand soothing as you scratch at his shoulder, the heat of your bodies feeling strong enough to start a small fire. Bucky’s whole arm wraps around your waist, pinning you to his chest, and when your hands fist in his hair his hips jerk up, the bump of his cock against your core making you almost melt into his body. 

He’s throbbing. With the barrier of the sheets gone you can feel every inch of him wedged between your legs, and God, he’s so hard you’d think he was just a stick if you couldn’t feel every jump and twitch of his cock against your clothed thighs.

“Bucky-“ You force yourself to pull back, keep your brow pressed to his as your hips continue to roll against him. “We- Fuck, I-“

Words are a little too far away, and it doesn’t help that he won’t stop kissing you. He’s in pain and you need to fix it, but he also keeps sucking and licking over your jaw and cheeks, he’s dropping down to just bury his face in your throat, and this isn’t about you but fuck, that feels good-

You give up on words. You’ve spoken enough for now, and right now you just need to-

Bucky grunts your name as you push him off of your neck, squirming back until you’re falling to your knees before him.

“What’re you-“

You trace one hand up his thigh, trying not to spend too much time marveling at his dick. You’ve dreamed of this moment, devoted whole long and boring meetings and sleep cycles to it, and it’s still better than you’d imagined. 

He’s perfect. Not big enough that you’re worried for your health, but enough that you might need to be carried around tomorrow. And he’s thick, and firm in your hand, and when you swipe your thumb over the weeping head of him, Bucky makes a sound that settles right between your legs-

“You don’t-“ He groans as you pump him once, twice, squeezing at the base of his cock and rubbing his thigh with your free hand. “Jesus, this- you’re not playing fair, doll-“

You smile up at him, and you’ve really never seen anything better than Bucky’s wrecked and desperate expression, his hair sticking to his brow and his jaw clenched so tight you’re shocked he’s able to speak. 

“I think you’ll live,” you whisper, letting your hand drift down to cup his balls. “And I want to.” 

Something like wonder glows behind Bucky’s eyes as he hisses your name, and the sound quickly turns to the loudest, most primal sound you’ve ever heard as you take him in your mouth in one movement. 

You set a quick and even pace, bobbing up and down his cock until he’s bumping the back of your throat before pulling almost all the way off and licking a long stripe along the underside. It only takes a moment for Bucky’s hand to shoot in your hair, not guiding your movements but almost trying to keep you steady around him, his grip tightening every time you squeeze and play with his balls, his movements still painfully controlled against you. 

He needs not to hold back. You don’t want him to hold back. 

You reach back to hold his hand on your head—it’s the right one, and you make a comfortable bet that it’s on purpose—tangling your own fingers in his, and you start to move. Properly fucking your own face against him, squeezing his hand in silent encouragement whenever you almost choke on him, grinding your hips near his calf in silent encouragement.

Bucky moans you name when you swallow against the tip of his cock, and it’s a final warning.

You moan around him, and that’s it.

He starts to slam up into you, and you have to grab his knee to keep balance, tracing small circles with your thumb to let him know you’re okay.

You’re more than okay. Every sound Bucky makes is slurred and unintelligible, but you can get the idea. It’s odd combination of your name and praise, all sparking further heat in your gut as Bucky grows sloppy, his cock jumping and twitching in your throat. 

He roars your name as he cums down your throat, and you need to hear that sound again. It spurs on your desperate grinding—half against the air, your clit bumping against Bucky’s leg if you get the right movement—and you barely manage to swallow all of his release before he’s pulling you off his cock and hauling you back up like you weigh nothing.

The kiss he moves you into—your body curled back on his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist—is a little softer than before, and you think you managed to take just a slightly edge off his problem. It’s still devouring and deep and filled with so much passion you might cum just from the feeling of Bucky’s tongue tracing over your lips and teeth and throat, but it’s slower. 

“So fucking good, doll.“ His voice is a growl down your throat, and you wiggle in his hold, every bit of your own need suddenly slams into your body. “God- Don’t know how I got you, but I’m never- Wanna keep you-“

You nod, not really registering anything but Bucky saying your name and a warm feeling of good. Bucky and good, that’s burning and rolling around in your chest and stomach.

“You like that?” Bucky squeezes at your ass, and you whimper. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweet girl, make you feel just as good as I felt, seeing those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock-“

You’re not sure how he’s capable of speech right now, but he’s talking and it’s ignite every fiber of your body, and you can only barely shake your head, pulling at his hair as you try to drag yourself together, because this isn’t about you-

The sound that leaves you when Bucky flips you over—pinning you between his body and the mattress—isn’t dignified or coherent, but you don’t really care. Not as his knee moves between your legs and your clothing gets ripped off of your skin in effective and feral movements, leaving you a puddle of need and loud moans beneath Bucky’s touch.

He’s hard again. You can feel him poking against your lower stomach as he kisses you into a dazed and high mess, and it must be painful but you still can’t really figure out how words work. How to say anything that isn’t a loud moan of Bucky. 

You try to squirm, to off him at least a little friction because this is supposed to be about him, but his metal hand traps your hips, halting your every movement as he hauls himself up.

He’s just staring at you. You’re drooling a little, your chest heaving as you try to get in a breath, and your hands are still tangled in his hair for balance.

You’re lying down, but you need balance.

Because Bucky rolls his knee against your bare pussy, and your back arches off the bed with a gasp that makes his eyes flash, his dick pulsing right on your skin-

“Please-“ The word is barely audible, but it’s all you can manage. “Bucky, I- You need to-“

He nods, diving down to a long, heavy kiss and groaning as you try to grind up into him, but then he’s gone.

Not gone.

Moving down to settle between your legs, his breath hot over your cunt and his eyes wholly black as he takes in the mess between your legs.

“Wait, Buc-“ You whine as he pulls your legs further apart, the metal hand dragging two fingers between the soaked folds of your pussy. “Shit- You don’t- This is supposed to be about you-“

“This is about me.” He grunts, his right hand trailing slowly up your inner thigh, and when you crane your neck to look at him there’s almost a fascination on his face. “Said you’d feel good.”

“I do- I am good-“ Your hips fly off the mattress as he kisses right over your clit, and the metal arm moves to pin you back against the mattress. “You don’t need-“

He latches his lips over your clit, sucking and licking as his free thumb presses right over your entrance, and you choke on the air. 

“Bucky- fuck-“

“Want to,” he growls, the sound humming and deep and right over your pussy, and you can’t gasp his name enough. “Hold on.”

Your hands blindly follow his order, one fisting in his hair as the other grips his metal arm, and you’re not sure how you don’t black out.

There’s something a little clumsy to his movements–decades without practice will do that—but that only seems to make it better. He’s not calculated and deliberate. You’re not a mission or a means to an end.

Bucky eats your pussy like he wants to. Like he’s been starved for it, and there’s nothing more he needs in the world. It’s not gentle but it’s attentive, he’s keeping you right on the edge—pulling his hand away and replacing it with his tongue, letting his nose bump you clit until he moves back to pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering cunt—and you can hear the bed start to squeak as his own hips rut against the mattress.

You try to moan his name, but you can’t think, so all that comes out is a high, needy whine. 

He understands. His metal hand moves to tangle with yours, grounding you slightly as you hang right over the edge of release, and when his finger crook on that one, sensitive spot deep inside of you, fireworks burst in over your body as you cum with a strangled scream. 

Bucky makes a deep sound against your pussy as you start to roll in his hold, and you don’t get a chance to catch your breath before he’s crashing back up to your mouth.

He moans your name against your lips, his cock pressed right against your still fluttering cunt, and you nod. 

“Now,” you manage to whisper, spreading your legs widen in a silent invitation. “Bucky, need more-“

Whatever amount of control he’d had only a few minutes ago is almost completely. Bucky flips you onto your stomach without effort, hauling your ass into the air with firm but gentle hands, and slams himself into you with one movement. You gasp as he bottoms out, and he doesn’t move.

Somehow Bucky manages to still have enough of a hold over himself to give you time to adjust, even if it’s not without effort. You can hear the low grunts leaving him as he half folds himself over your body, kissing slowly up your spine and resting his brow on your shoulder, his breathing ragged and sharp as you clench around his cock.

“Fuck-“ Bucky hisses your name, shaking his head. “Can’t do that, I’m not-“ You do it again, and he moans. A real, loud moan. “You’re- fuck-“

“Please,” you wiggle your ass against him, and his hands tense on your body. “I- I’m good-“

“Yeah, you are.” His mutter is filled with low wonder, and it just makes you squeak. “You want it, babydoll?”

You moan, nodding stupidly. “Yes-“

The word is barely out of your mouth before Bucky starts to move, and you’ve never been higher. He’s in so deep, and you’re fuller than you’ve been in your life, and drunk on how big he is, how he hits every right spot and how he keeps grunting low praise and moaning your name against your skin-

You bury your face in the sheets to try and muffle your whines of desperation and Bucky’s hand catches your jaw, turning your head to capture your lips in a long, searing kiss as he hammers into you. 

“Bucky-“

“Feel so good,” he mutters again your lips, thrusting with a brutal movement and groaning when you squeeze around his cock. “Jesus, you’re so good, doing so well, pretty girl, so fuckin’ close-“

The Brooklyn accent is coming out, and his words are starting to slur, and you only manage to moan down his throat in a silent plea of more. 

Bucky’s pace picks up into uncontrolled and frantic movements, his skin slapping against yours as his metal arm snaked around your stomach and his fingers start to rub furious, impossibly fast circles around your clit-

Your second orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave, and the only thing in the world is the dizzying and perfect pleasure washing over your body as Bucky roars your name, something warm filling you up and dripping down your thighs with your own release.

Bucky tries to move away—pulling out and pushing off of where he’s wrapped himself around your body—but you grab his arm, keeping him splayed over you.

“Need to clean you up-“

“I’ll be okay,” you mumble, a dazed smile covering your lips as you reach back, trailing your finger through his hair. “Stay.”

He pauses, but only for a second. Then his weight is settles back over your body, and everything is alright. 

Bucky’s alright. His cock in still twitching and jumping near your ass, and you think it’ll take a while to fully fuck the bioweapon out of his system, but you’re more than up to the task. For now you can just drown in his warmth, half petting his hair and humming as his lips trail over your shoulder in featherlight kisses.

“Did you mean it?” 

You twist your head, a small frown on your face. “Mean-“

“The-“ He sighs, staring at you like he’s trying to pry something inside of you out. “The thing.”

“That I love you?”

Bucky’s throat bobs, and he nods. 

“Of course I did.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth that takes only second to turn into Bucky rolling your onto your back, his tongue pressing on your lower lip in a silent request-

You push on his chest slightly, holding his gaze as he pulls back with a frown.

“Did you mean it?”

He looks almost offended. “Yeah, I meant it. I’ve never meant anything more-“

You tug him back down, and that can be the end of it for now. It could be the end of it forever, and you’d be happy.

You don’t need a long explanation about it. You don’t need justifications for why neither of you ever said anything, or to repeat it until you both believe it.

You already believe it. And telling Bucky won’t do anything, so you’ll just have to spend a long, long time showing him.

And as long as you have that time, with Bucky, you’ll be happy.

End Note: Love making Steve talk about pocket pussies. That's an America I want to be a part of <3

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[thedarklingdude]

#YES YES YES THIS #i have had this as a headcanon floating around in my head for a long time #Like low key imagine Ford builds the house out of some enchanted wood for it's mild self-regenerating properties #but its actually mildly more alive than the average tree and has like a cat/dog level intellegence at maturity; but it takes a LONG time #to mature to that level (its a tree. they're slow. its how they go lol) #(and maybe its sustained by the emotions of creatures around it. birdsong and happy squirrel-chirps and gnome laughter. idk) #and at first Ford takes such good care of it. and it wakes into sentience slowly. it wakes to laughter and magic and equations and warmth #but then Ford starts inviting all these dark terrible things in. and it isnt being taken care of anymore. and the laughter dies #Building the portal in it's basement is like surgically inserting a parasite; a viscous cancer into her core that slowly eats at it #it tries to protect. (but it's so very young) and it's fight drains. and it shrinks into itself and fades #but then comes stanely after the fight. and like- Stanley's never kept a house. he doesn't know shit about it #But Stanley's kept his (ancient ass) Stanley-mobile in driveable condition for 60+ years #and he's got a brother he's trying to get back. and he's gotta live here. so by god he's gonna take care of the ol' thing #So he grabs (steals) some wood-putty for the cracks and some spare 2 by 4's to patch the rotten floorboards and gets to work #Superficial work at first. just enough to make the place livable; but then structural. foundational. #and the house- the Shack- she slowly wakes up. #(And isn't that nice. she's a “her” now. Because Stanley calls her “old girl” and “the shack” and- and he talks to her.) #sure. she wakes up to loneliness and quiet- but she wakes up to laughter too as the tourists come in. #To creativity. to /care/ and /devotion/ And slowly that tumor in her belly fades to a dull ache #and she grows proud. she is a museum. she is something that brings awe and joy in the daytime. #and at night she is a home and a shelter and a man's last hope.... #ugh i need to write this fic #anyway #Sentient Shack Au

tags from @coffee-shop-gay get peer reviewed, also sobbing

Sentient Mystery Shack, who is really biased towards Stan, so when Ford tells Stan he has to give it back after the summer it’s on sight.

Ford keeps tripping over nothing, nothing is where it's supposed to be and somehow he keeps running into closets when he tries to go outside.

But the worst part, the WORST part is that Ford's lightbulb just won't. Work. No matter what he does it keeps flickering and exploding.

Ford is spiraling. 

There is no reason why it shoudln’t work. All his trial runs work perfectly. He’s already checked the Shacks wiring three times and relearned this dimensions science from the ground up. 

Nothing works.

The Rift? Bill? The impending apocalypse? Eating? Sleep? Who cares about that. 

WHY. WONT. THE. LIGHTBULB. WORK???

It doesn’t help that Stan keeps laughing at him.

“Then you do it!” Ford eventually snaps at Stan.

Stan shrugs and with a little song under his breath screws his own lightbulb in. It works perfectly.

Stanford screams.

[rainofcolours]

[ One-shot | Kaijou/Puppyshipping | Valentine's Day '25 fic ]

Summary: Seto knows what he has with Katsuya is a quiet kind of love, built upon small actions and passing moments. So, each morning he wakes, converging the essence of self in the stillness of the hour, and asks: what is it that he, Kaiba Seto, considers his centre? An introspection-driven relationship study of Seto and Katsuya. Note: Happy Valentine's to our boys! I decided to write them quietly happy for once (mostly; it's properly happy this time, really!) and living in bliss – because despite my withered husk of a heart, I only really want them to be (kinda realistically) happy c':

Click below for a few preview paragraphs!

It was 4.57am.

Seto awoke in the quiet, right on cue.

Whatever the impetus, this had been the single constant that followed him throughout his life. It was a habit he had cultivated from years of necessity – school, work, Gozaburo, stress. Once a product of authority and fear, Seto had since reclaimed its association, determined to cycle its rebirth from a past buried into a present of peace and rest.

Now, these hours he reserved for the anchoring of self before the ionisation of a day; a moment of him, for him – reflection rotated around the tightrope of interlude that separated his twilight from the awakening of the day.

It was one of the few luxuries Seto allowed himself.

He slipped, from his bed warmed by two into the embrace of quiet, footsteps light even though the bed hardly stirred. The shadow of his form the manual flicker against the slice of the city projected into the cover of their bedroom – constellations of city lights scattered across the corner of their duvet – gliding past the sliver at the edge of the curtains, one that fell just wayward of its seam against the corner of the wall. An imperfection, from when Katsuya caught the tail of the fabric a morning moons ago, sleep heavy in the clumsiness of his motions. 

An imperfection that neither had rectified since.

(Read the rest of the fic here!)

[nqueso-emergency]

hey queso! how are you?

How have you managed your expectations for the show? I sometimes have hope, or think that I have to let go, but most of the time a shadow of disappointment, and the idea of ​​continuing to be disappointed, haunts me. I still love the show, and I love Buck, and I hope his bi arc doesn't get erased regardless of who he ends up with, but I still can't rewatch it as I used to do, and I need Buck to talk about his bisexuality, and also talk about what he took away from Tommy's breakup speech, about his experience and how he feels about what they went through on that six months... It all seems too important to be a "Tommy dumped me, I'll be backing it out of my system and move on."

Deep down I want so badly to believe that at the end of this season Tommy will return not just for closure in their relationship, but for second chance love, but I fear the show won't go there. And I end up thinking that I would be content with a good last Tommy appearance. I want this season to end soon, I guess...

Hey! I'm doing good! ❤️

The most important thing that I try to remember is that this show does not revolve solely around romantic ships.

The stuff that Buddie fans want and are expecting would absolutely make 911 into The Buddie Show, which is a direction the show will never take. At the heart of it, 911 is about the job of a first responder.

And that's why I think Oliver said he was shocked that the show is exploring Buck's feelings because we only really get them at surface level. We've never had Buck admit he loves someone. We've never fully seen Buck emotional when it comes to relationships.

But it seems like we're about to, and yes, that shift has some people believing the last 7 years they spent chained to a pole is finally going to pay off, but I don't see that. It's blatantly clear that Ryan has no interest in playing Eddie as queer. NOT THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO PLAY A QUEER CHARACTER... JUST NOT EDDIE.

So, for the show to make the break-up between Buck and Tommy revolve around both wanting more... the show has to explain the reasoning.

If Buck had been the one to breakup with Tommy, they wouldn't have to bring him back because Buck is the main character, and we see everything through him. But because they made Tommy breakup with Buck... we, the audience, are left just as confused as the main character, and that isn't something that typically happens unless there's more to find out and learn.

[vshiftsss]

MY RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS - (MULTIPLE DRS)

hello everyone!

since it’s valentine’s day, i’ve decided to finally commit to a post idea that’s been sitting in my drafts for-fucking-ever. i’m going to talk about my relationships in my drs and small things about them <33

HOGWARTS UNI DR: MATTHEO RIDDLE

dynamic: enemies to lovers (ofc) / brother’s best friend

honestly, the only reason i’m shifting for mattheo in particular is because i like his archetype, and from what i’ve seen about him, he intrigues me. i feel the same way in my dr, though the subtle fascination is paired with a rampant irritation i feel every time i look at him. we keep the insults to a minimum since my brother blaise is close with him, but in the rare moments we’re alone, we don’t hold back. there’s a deeper level of respect that prevents us from going too far, but ultimately, it’s the typical enemies-to-lovers pipeline. i’m excited for this one because it also has an academic rivals aspect to it.

FAME DR: SABRINA CARPENTER

dynamic: friends to lovers / friends with benefits / secret dating

ah, sabrina…the loml here and in my dr! i adore her and this was just a sudden realization i had when i was listening to her music. in this dr, me and her were both on disney channel around the same time, so we knew of each other’s existence. however, we don’t really become friends until 2023 (the year i’m shifting to). then, yk, its the classic “will they, won’t they” situation until we start dating. no angst here (hopefully). sigh, i love her.

SPIDERVERSE DR: PETER PARKER

dynamic: friends to lovers / opposites attract

MY MAN!!! the man i’ve been wanting since i first watched into the spiderverse. love him, love his concept, and i really like his voice. and his face. so i’m dating him. as some of you know, in my spiderverse dr, i’m from the future, so it’s the opposites attract trope. i’m looking forward to the interactions we’ll have. also, we’ll meet through the whole kingpin situation. eek i love him.

BAKERY DR: MYSTERY MAN #1

dynamic: soulmates / nonbeliever & hopeless romantic (me 😞)

last but not least, the man with no name. or face. literally just gave him a voiceclaim and said he was a rich ceo. he is extremely handsome though! he also appears in my dreams. we’re soulmates, and in my dr your soulmate appears in all your dreams. could be a main character, could be a background extra. doesn’t matter. i’m hella invested in this whole soulmate thing, so imagine my surprise when dreamy man from my dreams shows up at my bakery late at night. HE DOESNT EVEN BELIEVE IN SOULMATES!!! so i have to convince him somehow. i’ll pull him in with my croissants and coffee, for sure.

(i hope.)

sidenote: i’m cutting it close, but i’ve been distracted all day. also, i’ll be posting about my outer banks dr soon. happy valentine’s day!

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART THREE)

I stirred in bed and heard Braden shuffle on the other side of the mattress. My son wasn't a morning person, and now that Bill Jr. was 4, Brade really preferred to sleep in. I loved to let him, and on weekdays I'd fix breakfast for Junior and get him ready and off to preschool on my way to work.

I would let my son-husband sleep in on Saturday, too, but we now had this ritual.

"Hmmm..." I heard his deep morning voice growl as his thickly muscled body scooted over to mine, resting his strong arm on my chest. Braden always had a great body, but he'd spent the last few years dedicating an hour at the gym on most days and I found myself married to a 28-year old who could be a freakin' porn star.

I always woke up with morning wood, like clockwork, but the warmth and body contact had me raging hard.

"Morning, babe," I said, kissing his forehead and running my hand along the knotted tricep.

"What time's tee time?" I heard his groggy voice ask.

"8:30," I said.

"Goddamnit," Braden said. He made a point never to curse around Junior, which meant when it was just us, his sailor mouth was in full force. "Fucking Fiedler."

I chuckled. My son and I had become good friends with both of the Dr. Fiedlers, Adam, father, and son Todd, and we often did double dates. There was the bond of being incest couples and the shared experience of navigating parenthood in that context. While both were "Dr. Fielder" to me, Braden used Fiedler to refer to his doctor, Todd, while he called the dad Adam.

"My golf date is with both of them," I said. "With a new fourth. Todd says he found another man in a relationship like ours."

That woke Braden up. "Yeah?" he asked, looking at me to see if I was on the level. Brade no longer had a buzz cut but his hair was short and thinning already. In the morning it was matted down in a sexy bed head way.

I nodded, patting his side. "He was cagey about the details, but I don't think he was bullshitting me."

"Wow," my son said. "That would be incredible." We both craved to connect to other father-son couples, Braden especially. Incest was amazing, but a lonely experience.

Braden's hand traveled down slowly from my chest over my furry stomach. I didn't have my son's six pack, nor his thick muscle, but I kept trim and in shape for 45. Brade seemed to love what I had going on.

Particular a few inches lower. I grunted when I felt his strong fingers circle around my prick.

"That feels nice, buddy," I hissed.

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah. Always does."

"I love this cock, Dad," my son said. "It fucking made me."

That dick surged in his fist. Even if we had a ritual, it never got old. To the contrary.

I looked Brade square in the eye as I lay back and let him stroke me. "It made Junior, too."

"Aw fuck!" Braden grunted. That was the button to push all right. He pounced forward for a kiss. He tried to take charge of it, but I battled back with my tongue. I won that battle, but otherwise my son was in charge, climbing on top of me. Braden was four inches shorter than me but with his brawn I definitely had that pleasant feel of his weight on top.

We made out as Brade kind of humped and writhed.

"Let me drive, today, Dad?" he hissed.

"You got it, Sport."

This was going to have to be a quickie. Bill Jr. would probably wake soon and while our son probably could content himself watching cartoons on his ipad, as a married couple you have to find the private moments when you could take them.

We had a discreet container for our lube next to the bed, and I watched Braden's thick muscle flex as he reached over to pump a good bit out. For longer sessions, we didn't use so much, but for a quick entry, my son loved a super slick cock.

I was gonna be really frickin' wet, I realized, as that palm wrapped around my phallus once more.

Braden was horny but more in his quiet, relaxed early morning way. And maybe lost in thought. "The new guys..." he asked. "You think the dad is the top or bottom?"

"Dunno, Brade," I said. "Some guys are both. Or neither, I suppose," I answered.

Braden didn't comprehend that. He'd told me that for him sex was about being penetrated, or getting me to cum. Maybe if he'd been more vers, he could have talked me into switching things up, but I loved being his father that way. Dad on top. Being the breeding stud for my Brade.

Still, I knew some men were wired differently, like the Fiedlers.

Braden settled over my lap, looking down and bracing one hand on the headboard of the bed as his other reached behind to guide my cock into place.

"You're horny, Dad," he said.

I nodded. "It's been a couple of days, buddy."

"I know," he said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," I said, running my hands along his thighs. Brade had really been hitting leg day. "We get sex when we can."

Brade got a shyly playful look on his handsome face, as he wiggled his hips back on to my dick, nudging his hole into place. "It's gonna be even trickier when the next one is born."

This was frequent with me and my son. Talking about impregnation and procreation, talking about the family we were raising and the sons we were going to sire.

But this was more than sex talk, I knew. Brade was feeling me out. "You itching to get knocked up again, Brade?" I grunted. This was sex talk, and real talk, and the fact they were one in the same was getting to me.

He pushed himself down. Even with out experience, Braden's experience, his kind of quick entry was tough for him, but he relished the way my slickness meant he was being bored with a few inches of dad cock. He winced but his cock twitched and bounced from his crotch.

We were incest fucking once more, like we could never get enough of.

"So ready, Dad," Braden hissed. "Whenever you're ready, Dad, just tell me and I'll stop taking those fucking pills."

I loved the tight hot feel of Braden's guts clenching my prick and descending down. "We'll talk about it, OK?" Real talk and sex talk could collide, but Braden and I were going to make the next pregnancy a planned one, decided in a sober conversation, not while fucking.

"Of course, Dad," he said, maybe a little too loud. Jesus, he was gonna wake Junior.

He rode me slowly, sensually. His goal was to relax his hole and his insides, but it also felt amazing on my lubed dick, like I was being slowly jacked.

"But say the word and I'm ready.... I wanna be so fucking fertile for you, Dad."

I gripped his hips now and pumped in. Ready or not, I need to actively fuck my son.

"Yes!" Braden hissed. It was intense for him, but I could tell he was imagining me planting my seed in him, my sperm fertilizing his egg.

"You're such a handsome fuck," I growled. "Love you, Sport."

"Love you, Dad. Oh shit!" he let go of his prick to keep from cumming. Instead he angled his upper body up to focus on taking my cock.

"I thought you were driving today, Brade," I teased, pumping up more excitedly into his ass.

"You're in charge, Dad. Fucking take me."

"I am..." I grunted. I was so close, and this was one of those fucks where I was riding the edge of orgasm without topping over. "Can't wait to knock you up, kiddo."

"Please dad. Impregnate me."

"Make another incest baby?" OK, I was getting real close now. My hips were thrusting gaster.

"Hell yeah, Dad. How many grandkids do you want?"

Something about those words but also the tone in which Brade said them had me coming, hard. I held onto his hips in a vice grip and fired several jets of my cum into his guts.

Excitedly, Brade gripped his bone and tugged and like that I was getting showered with my son's seed. It had been a while since he'd ridden me and I enjoyed the novelty of a Braden cum shower.

We kissed, softly, catching our breath and letting our heart rate come back to normal.

Our shower together was efficient and quick. I had to get to the golf course, and the sex had taken longer than I expected.

***

This was our way of maintaining a healthy balance as parents and as a married couple. Saturday was my own personal day for me-time, which in good weather meant playing golf. On Sundays, Braden got to do his own thing, which usually meant hanging out with his buddy Jackson, either going off to do some outdoor or athletic thing, or just watching football.

The Fiedlers sometimes played golf separately, but on Saturdays, both Adam and Todd were there in their knit shirts and shorts. Adam was an incredible golfer, whereas Todd had the power swings that could either make for a great game or a lousy one. I was a decent player but mostly enjoyed the game and the break from the routine of work and parenting. And I'd enjoyed bonding with the Fiedlers.

I related to Adam and Todd in different ways, but with either man... well, we'd opened up a lot. Guy talk, discussing the emotional side of married life, particularly in an incest couple, and even frank talk about our sex lives. With anyone else it would feel like a betrayal of trust with Braden, but I knew these guys would keep anything private, and I knew a lot about them. I had no one else to talk to, and maybe it's something a man needs.

Sure, there was some sexual tension, too, but we channeled that into crude jokes and double entendre, without danger of slipping into anything more.

When I got to the club house, I saw the fourth in our party. He looked to he a high school kid, until I got closer and figured he was closer to 19 or 20. About 5'8" with a compact body.

"Hey," came the voice. Adult but very young sounding, like a frat dude rushing at university.

"Bill Drake," I said, offering my hand to shake it.

"Jeff Connors." He smiled but seemed nervous.

Adam Fiedler patted my shoulder. "Bill's part of our special fraternity, Jeff... you can be free around him."

"Yeah?" the young man asked excitedly. But maybe feeling out of his element.

I nodded. "I don't know what these men have shared, but yes." I was nervous too, but something about Jeff's shyness brought out my protective side. I looked over at Todd. Dr. Fiedler. "I guess we got all morning to get acquainted."

My doctor grinned. "Especially cause you get to ride in the cart with him, Bill. Dad's upset he doesn't get to flirt with the dude."

Adam gave a hearty laugh. "Todd told me to be on my best behavior."

The younger doctor gave a mock-annoyed look. "Come on, Dad. You're teeing off first."

***

The first hour was a lot of small talk. Jeff was a college freshman, rising sophomore, home for the summer. My guess that he was a fraternity man was a good one, and in most ways young man Connors seemed like a typical college kid. Into partying but also finding himself and his goals in life. Kind of goofy in his humor but naive and serious about the world, too.

It was after the tenth hole, when he opened up. We'd gotten into the cart after a long drive. I pulled off and I heard him say softly. "Dad doesn't want me talking about things with anyone else, but I feel like was gonna explode if I kept it all inside you know?"

I looked over at him. I almost patted his knee but felt that would be appropriate. "Your dad has a point, but I know how you feel, buddy."

He smiled, a nervous but genuine smile. "Thanks, Bill. You, um..."

I could tell he thought it was too wild to ask. I leaned into the trust of the situation and wanted to show Jeff he could trust me. "I've been with my son Braden for ten years... been married for seven of them."

The frat dude's face lit up. "Wow! That's amazing."

"I think so," I said. "I'm a very happy, very lucky man."

Jeff hesitated. "Like Dr. Fiedler."

"In more ways than one," I said. And seeing that Jeff wasn't following I added, "Brade and I have a son. Together." I felt proud to make that announcement, and I remembered Todd Fiedler's tone of pride when he first mentioned how many kids they had.

"How's that?" Jeff asked. Earnest as hell.

"Amazing. Even if it cuts into the sex life some," I said with a wink.

Jeff laughed. I could tell he was arranging his crotch. "It's so crazy to talk about a father and son having sex."

I looked over. "Well you and your dad are, right?" Maybe I'd misread the whole situation.

He nodded and blushed. "Yeah. Like, um, a lot."

I laughed and Jeff laughed too. It broke the ice a lot.

I figured I could share more. "Braden and I love the idea of incest. Always gets us going."

I could tell Jeff was getting worked up. I was getting hard, too. I was wired for incest talk, and just discussing this openly was way hot.

But we kept the conversation more serious. "I'm pretty sure Dad and I don't want to have kids," Jeff said. "But we've been talking more about what a relationship would mean."

"Parenting's not easy, you both gotta be on the same page."

Jeff and I talked more, off and on, between shots, and it was amazing to see him open up and his happiness at being able to talk about incest.

I listened, but I had to speak up. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice, Jeff?"

"Sure," he said. Over two hours we'd built up a high level of trust.

"If it's going to be more than sex with your dad, if the emotional part is important... well, you need him on board, buddy. About talking to others."

"Yeah," Jeff conceded, chastised.

I now patted his knee, paternally. "It goes both ways, too. He needs to know how you feel and your need to bond with other man. He may be your dad, but he needs to listen to you, not just lay down the law."

Jeff seemed quiet as he took that in, then finally replied. "Thanks, Bill."

***

I got home to find Braden playing catch in the backyard. I don't know how much of it was Junior into baseball and football, and how much of it was Brade's natural enthusiasm in sharing that masculine rite of passage. My son was such a natural father, it was touching to watch. And to hear Junior alternate between giggling and trying to imitate his daddy's game-focus mannerisms, was endearing.

I decided then and there that it was time for another kid. To give Junior a younger brother.

***

I brought it up on Monday night. Junior was in bed by 9. Brade and I took turns make sure our son did his nightly routine and brushed his teeth. I was grateful that night, because work had been a real long, tough day for me. I sat on the couch and watched some mindless TV with the sound turned down.

Finally Braden came and sat down next to me. "Exhausting, huh?" he said with a laugh. We never bitched about parenthood, but we did bond on the work it took and enjoyed approaching the challenges with humor.

"I'll say," I replied. Then, "You up for feeling more exhausted, Braden?"

He paused as it sunk and looked at me. Then, "You saying what I think you're saying?"

I nodded. "If you're up for it. It's your body, son."

"Oh god, Dad. I'm gonna go off the pills tomorrow."

I smiled. Proud. Excited. Maybe more than a little horny. My dick was firming up. "I figure it's time for Junior to have a little brother."

"Yes, sir," Brade hissed as he scooted closer and leaned forward into my lap.

I'd never turn down a blowjob from my son, but now that he was pawing at my crotch, a started tone entered my voice. "You sure Junior's asleep?" I asked in a whisper.

"He's out, Dad," Braden said with an impish smile as he pulled down down my zipper. "But you can keep watch if you like while I suck that cock that's gonna make our next son."

I lay back and enjoyed the slowest most sensual head I could imagine. Brade was making love to my dick and my balls, and I knew what he was thinking. How he was sucking his father, tasting the dick that made him. Getting closed to the breeding power that going to knock him up once more.

I made myself be quiet, almost silent as I orgasmed, feeding Brade a huge load. This was going to be a fun, emotionally powerful month or two. Or three. However long we had to mate to get the job done. I wasn't even going soft now, not even after Brade suckled at the dribbles and kept licking.

"Bedroom, Dad?" he asked, leaning up with a wild-eyed look on his face. I could tell he was thrilled by my amped up sexual response.

"You bet, Sport," I hissed, leaning into kiss him.

[livmightlive]

LU Maze Runner AU (actually explained this time)

Okay, I got way ahead of myself in my last post 😭 I forgot that maze runner didn’t have the same impact on everybody as it did me. Here’s the actual plot of my AU so that it makes sense to everyone 😭

Hyrule has reached an incredibly advanced age of technology and other sciences. (So think like, hunger games, or any sci-fi movie that takes place like, 200 years in the future.) Most of Hyrule has fallen to a horrible virus called the gloom. This gloom grows through plants and taints water sources.  This virus was engineered by a terrible cult called Demise, a group of people under the control of a man named Ganon who wishes to take control of Hyrule. 

In retaliation, a group sponsored by the royal lineage of Hyrule creates a research facility called HYLIA to study ways to take down Demise and fight against the gloom. They take individuals from across Hyrule who show either great resistance, sometimes even immunity to the gloom, and/or significant resistance against the cult of Demise. Demise has some type of brainwashing technology that causes people to either become submissive under its rule or compliant to the cult, often joining it. 

Of course in this story the people taken are the boys from the chain and also all the Zeldas. They’re all taken young, at least in the quarter HYLIA that they live in. Most of them were surrendered by their parents but others were either found or taken. HYLIA cannot afford to be kind. 

So in essence, everyone is stuck there, but it’s not horrible. They spend a lot of time getting “normal” schooling. They’re subjected to tests but it’s not necessarily like a horror lab AU. They’re not treated like animals or anything but they certainly can’t leave. This of course leads to a lot of resentment from the chain.

Eventually HYLIA starts getting frustrated. They aren’t getting very far with their testing. It just isn’t… natural. One of the key discoveries is that gloom resistance and resistance to Demise mind control is really hard to replicate in practical labs. The labs can’t be unbiased with literally the same exact sample each time. They realize that the only way they can actually get results is through real life experience. But how can they get that when all these people have been living in HYLIA for years? 

The Maze is born. It's huge, spanning hundreds of acres of land. In its very center lies the glade, a safe spot of land in the middle of it all, the maze surrounding it. (I’ll try and draw a rough map at some point.) They build two of them. One for the boys, one for the girls. They fill the mazes with genetically engineered monsters that they infuse with low levels of the gloom in order to see how the “participants” react when they fight them. 

The mazes are full of different puzzles and beasts so that HYLIA can study the participants and how they react. Through these means, they believe they will understand how to defeat Demise and the gloom.

I mentioned before that they send in each chain member going off of their game release dates. This starts with Hyrule and ends with Wild. They time this just around the span of a full year, sending in a member around a month or two at a time. 

Before they send in each member, they completely and FULLY erase their memories so that when they wake up in the glade, all they can remember is their name and age. They do remember how to do things, like math, reading, survival skills, etc. but they don’t know how or when they learned it. Sometimes they might get strong feelings, but that’s all they have. They’re essentially new people once they hit the maze. 

I’ll get more into the chain members and dynamics next time! Or I can write about anything you want 💕💕💕 please lmk thoughts!! They keep me motivated

[euniexenoblade]

Miss Mordred I have a very important/silly question and you seem like a smart person that can come up with a clever answer. As per the old internet lore since last year I am a wizard (rotated around the sun 30 times since last month), and I am wondering if that title would be lost of I went and girled myself. Would it change to a sorceress or something similar? (A witch is off the table - that requires some high levels of confidence I think). Be honest with me, do I get to at least keep my pointy hat or is it straight into a cute apron with me...

Be whatever you want anon. You can be a girl wizard. Fuck with gender I guess :p lol

[colettebronte]

30,000 Feet Up in the Air (Drop Down)

Taglist Form

Ao3 Link

Bridgerton Masterlist

Pairing: Modern!Anthony Bridgerton x Fem Reader

Summary: A sequel to (Not Exactly) A Fairytale in New York, our couple decides to join the Mile High Club on a Transatlantic flight for two on Valentine's Day

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+ specifically for vaginal fingering and anal sex. Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: I knew I wanted to revisit this version of Anthony and Reader for Valentine’s Day. The title comes from a line from the Gregory Porter song, Concorde. This was a another fun one to write and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to @fayes-fics for betaing. Yoda best, my friend! 🫶❤️

If someone had told you that having the entire contents of a large cup of iced coffee dumped all over you just days before Christmas would lead to you dating a viscount, let alone one had his own airplane, you’d have told them they were nuts. And yet . . . . 

In the month and a half since you met Anthony “Please for the love of everything, stop calling me Lord” Bridgerton; you’ve amassed more stamps in your passport than you have in the last several years you’ve had one. First, it was ringing in the New Year in Paris. Then it was a long January weekend in Bruges. Next it was an overnight stay in Amsterdam. In between all those were weekend jaunts across the pond to stay at his apartment in London.

So you were unsurprised when on your lunch break, just days before Valentine’s Day, Anthony texted to see if you wanted to spend a long weekend in the UK, this time meeting his family at their country estate. While you were nervous, you were also excited to take your relationship to the next level. Never mind that you and his mother were already texting on a regular basis.

It’s early evening when you step out of the town car and onto the tarmac, the plane you dubbed “Anthony One” sitting with the bay door open and the stairs down, waiting for you. You thank the driver as they pull out your luggage and hand it off to Mary, one of the flight attendants. Taking hold of the silver railing, you climb up and into the plane.

Once aboard, the sight before you leaves you speechless. The long, plush couch that spans half the length of the main cabin of the plane is lined with six of the largest bouquets of roses you have ever seen, each a different color, the air fragrant with the scent of fresh petals. Anthony emerges from the back and chuckles softly at your shocked face.

He comes to stand beside you, taking your hand and says, “I wasn’t sure which was your favorite color so I . . . .”

“Bought out an entire florist’s shop supply of roses,” you finish for him.

He shakes his head and smiles. “Something like that.”

You reach up and tug him down into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as his tongue dips effortlessly into yours. After a few moments, you break apart to catch your breath. 

“Ant, this is too much,” you gesture to the half-dozen bouquets. He gently pulls you back against his body, wrapping his arms around your waist.

He nuzzles against your cheek and then murmurs into your ear, “Think of them as a thank you gift in advance for dealing with my family this weekend.”

You huff a laugh. “Still. What am I going to do with all these roses?”

Anthony presses a kiss into your hair and then pulls back, entwining your fingers together. “You could just enjoy them all,” he suggests.

What you choose to do instead is pick your two favorites and before the crew makes the final preparations for departure, you give the remaining four bouquets to Mary, the other flight attendant Theo, the pilot and co-pilot.

Once the door is closed and secure, you and Anthony sit in a pair of large, plushly cushioned captain armchairs and buckle in as the plane prepares to depart. As you taxi down the runway, you look out the window and watch as the city lights begin to fade in the distance, becoming tiny dots of light as the plane takes off and begins to gain altitude.

Soon enough, Theo comes into the cabin to let you know you’re able to unbuckle and move freely about the cabin as he takes your drink and dinner orders.

Toeing off your shoes, you get up and move to sit in your favorite spot, Anthony’s lap. He smiles up at you as you tangle your fingers into his hair and press your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne. You reach down to undo his tie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Anthony shifts around you to tug off his suit jacket. Before you can unbutton his shirt all the way, Theo returns with a bottle of champagne and a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Surely not dessert before dinner,” you gasp in mock horror.

Anthony smiles and shrugs as you go back to your seat and swivel it around to face him. Theo says nothing as he sets the bottle and strawberries down on a small table and places it between you and Anthony. A moment later, Theo produces a pair of champagne flutes as well. You take a strawberry while the bottle is uncorked. Once Theo hands you both filled glasses, you toast each other and then enjoy the strawberries and chat about your day while you wait for dinner to be served.

You’re flying over the Atlantic Ocean when Mary comes into the cabin carrying your dinners on a large tray. You and Anthony move to the other side where a large table with cushy seats on either side sits near a large tv mounted to the wall in front of it. She places the tray down on the table and you both sit and tuck into the meal. After being assured you both have everything you need, Mary excuses herself back into the crew cabin.

Dinner passes pleasantly as you continue to catch up, a movie playing on the screen while you eat. Once you finish, Mary returns to clear your meal while Theo offers to turn down the bed.

The bed. The first time you ever entered Anthony One, your eyes had been drawn to the queen-sized bed that sat at the rear of the main cabin. Lavishly decorated in a plush, light blue comforter, adorned with gold and light blue accent pillows, it was your second favorite spot in the whole plane. After a long day of work you love snuggling under the soft blankets and against the 500 thread count sheets. None of this has ever been your normal, but if this was the price that came with being in love with and loved by Anthony Bridgerton, it was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

While Theo turns down the bed, you step into the bathroom; which has an actual shower, to wash your face and change into something cozier to rest in… along with a little surprise you have for Anthony underneath your fleece sleep pants and loose-fitting sweatshirt.

When you emerge, ready to beckon him to join you in bed, you find the window shades closed, the cabin lights dimmed and your boyfriend nowhere in sight. After a moment, he emerges from the cockpit, still fully dressed, his messenger bag in hand.

“Apologies, Love,” he says softly. “I have to check in on the Asian markets, but I’ll join you in a bit.”

You pout inelegantly and Anthony places his bag down and comes over to you. He tugs you into a heated kiss, pleasure zinging through your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and hop up to wrap your legs around his waist. He rocks back to land on the couch and you get lost in each other for a few minutes, hands roaming up and down his back, attempting to free his dress shirt from his pants. Anthony finally pulls back, out of breath, hair adorably mussed. The glint in his eye holds a promise even as he gently extricates himself from you.

“You are far too distracting,” he murmurs as he pulls out his laptop.

You stand, your smile unrepentant as you head to the back of the cabin. “You have ten minutes to get your work done, Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony laughs and counters, “Thirty minutes.”

You turn around and shake your head, putting an extra sway in your step. “Fifteen,” you call out.

“Deal,” Anthony says with a laugh as you pull closed the curtain that separates the bed from the rest of the cabin.

**********

You awaken alone sometime later, unsure of the time, but you’re certain it’s been far longer than fifteen minutes. Sitting up, you push back the blankets, pick your phone up off the charging station and check the flight path tracker to see where you are.  Frowning, you note it’s been nearly two hours since you fell asleep. With a sigh, you get up and push aside the curtain, ready to give Anthony a piece of your mind for not joining you.

But as you stride into the main cabin, you stop short at the sight before you. Anthony is fast asleep on the long couch, his partially unbuttoned shirt and dress pants rumpled, head lolled to the side with the blue light of his laptop illuminating his handsome face. You wince as you imagine how much his neck is going to be hurting. Sighing, you close his laptop and gently shake his shoulder. He comes awake with a jolt, blinking up at you in the dimly lit cabin, his hair adorably sticking up in all directions. 

Taking in both you and his surroundings, with a wince he offers up a quiet, “I’m sorry.” He sits up and rubs his neck as you push away his laptop and sit down on his lap. You feel Anthony’s interest, hot and hard, through your sleep pants as you grind down. He tugs you closer, hands banding around your ass.  You undo three more buttons on his shirt, exposing the dark thatch of hair on his chest that you love running your fingers through.

As you do just that, fingers slowly walking across his pecs, you lean into his ear and whisper, “My Lord, I would love to join the Mile High Club. I don’t suppose you can help me with that, can you?”

Trapped between the couch and your body, Anthony leans back a fraction of an inch to stare into your eyes. Even in the semi-dark, you can see them glimmer with mischief. “We can join it together,” he murmurs hotly.

Without another word, you pull your sweatshirt over your head, tossing it behind you, showing off part of your surprise. Anthony moans as the top of your see-through black lace lingerie is revealed.

In one fluid motion, Anthony stands with your legs wrapped around his waist. Drawing you into a heated kiss, he starts to walk you to the bed, but you tug on his hair and he pulls back to look at you curiously.

Standing on your own feet, you gently push him back down on the couch. Anthony glances towards the bed and you gently chide him.

“We fuck in beds all the time, My Lord. I think for the true Mile High experience, we ought to use the couch,” you pause to add, “or better yet, one of the captain’s chairs.”

Anthony growls and then you squeal as he picks you up to carry you bridal style over to one of the large, plush swivel chairs, dropping you carefully into the seat as he unceremoniously strips off his clothes. You pull off your sleep pants while he kicks off his boxers to land in the pile with the rest of your clothes. You take his hand to tug him down towards your body. He gently lands on the floor before you on his knees, staring up at you reverently, pushing aside sheer black lace as you part your legs.

“No panties,” he murmurs as he runs a finger along your slit.

You can only moan as you slouch down in the chair, allowing him full access to the lower part of your body.

Breathless, you ask him, “What do you plan to do about that, My Lord?”

Anthony’s smile is sharp as he rocks back onto his heels. “Why don’t you ask me very nicely what it is you want and find out.”

Widening your legs, you say, “Please My Lord, touch me.”

Anthony clicks his tongue. In a low growl, he says, “Look how wet you are. Surely My Girl can do better than that.”

Nipples instantly hardening into pebbled peaks, you squirm in the chair as you try, and fail to keep the whine out of your voice as you beg, “Anthony, please, please use your fingers to make me come. Please.”

Anthony shifts only a fraction closer. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

His tone alone could bring you off, but you look him straight in the eyes and say, “My pussy, please.”

Anthony smiles another sinful smile and at last rucks your lingerie up around your hips, exposing your lower half to the warm air of the cabin. Leaning in, he nuzzles against one of your thighs as he dips his index finger into your soaked folds. You reach up to grasp the top of the chair to keep yourself from slipping down.

“You are so wet, aren’t you, My Girl,” Anthony murmurs. You moan in response, which seems to satisfy him as he adds a second finger. “How many fingers can you take, I wonder,” he muses.

You cry out, “All of them!” as he adds another one and swirls around your clit. He makes a thoughtful noise as he adds the fourth, continuing to move around inside you.

“We’ll save my thumb for another day,” he says softly and you nod. He strokes your clit with expert precision, your pleasure ebbing and flowing under his careful ministrations. Just when you’re sure you’re about to come, he carefully withdraws his fingers. You watch in fascination as he takes his wet digits into his mouth and stares into your eyes and smiles as he sucks your juices off them. Your eyes shift from his face to his fingers, down to his flushed, leaking cock.

Once finished, he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. Sitting up, you moan and tug him up into your lap. Grabbing his face you whisper, “Forget your fingers; I want to ride you in this chair, right here, right now, until we both come.”

Anthony’s shocked face gives way to another sharp smile. “As My Girl commands,” he says, rising up and then you’re shifting on shaky legs to sit on his lap as he takes your place on the chair. 

For a moment, you fight for balance as the chair starts to swivel under you, but Anthony plants his feet down firmly, steadying you both. Lifting the hem of your lingerie, you seat yourself fully onto his cock, which feels like velvety steel inside you. Anthony whines as you settle yourself as comfortably as you can, both of you feeling every minute movement you make. You grab onto his shoulders and he takes hold of your hips. You stare deeply into each other's eyes as you begin to move in tandem, easily building a rhythm. You’re still near the edge from his earlier ministrations and it’s not long before he joins you, leaning forward to gasp into the side of your neck, keening with pleasure.

You reach around to run your fingers up and down his bare back, something you know he loves the feel of as you continue to bounce gleefully on his cock. He reaches up to support your back and then soon enough, Anthony is throwing his head back against the chair and starts to yell out your name as bright, hot white light overtakes your senses as you, too, tumble over the precipice, crying out his name in return.

After regaining your breath a few minutes later, you carefully unseat yourself from him and, on even shakier legs, pull him towards the bed. Clearly spent, Anthony leans heavily on you as you walk slowly to the back of the cabin. Anthony falls onto the bed and you go into the bathroom to get a wet washcloth to clean you both up with.

Once the task is done and you’re both settled comfortably under the blankets, Anthony pulls you onto his chest, your head resting under his chin. Sleepily, he says, “The sex was wonderful, as always, but I have to say . . .”

“Joining the Mile High Club in an airplane seat, no matter how cushy is not all it’s hyped up to be,” you finish, your last word punctuated with a yawn.

Anthony nods and with a yawn of his own says, “Exactly. Let’s stick to the bed from now on, shall we?”

You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I like the way you think, Lord Bridgerton.” On the charging stand, your phone chimes with a notification that it’s officially midnight back home. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” you murmur sleepily.

Anthony kisses the top of your head. “Happy Valentine’s Day, My Beautiful Girl.”

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @kwbaby24 @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

[oz-me]

How are you doing? I hope things are looking up for you. May your pillow be cold on both sides

So real talk here. But TLDR; I'm trying. I'm both simultaneously doing great, but also trying to recover from being in fight or flight constantly for the last 2 years. Technically longer, but thats.. a story I'll never be able to tell sadly. But recently? Stress levels down, partially because I'm just.. safe now, and partially because I'm on medication to forcefully lower stress hormones. While the injection isn't fun, it's been nice to feel healthy again and sleep normal. Hell I've lost 20 pounds since everything started to turn around. (Despite being on a calorie deficit my stress was making me gain weight.) As for content? The Vault channel, or my second channel "Oz's Vault" has been back to running daily narration style posts for almost 3 weeks straight (new record), and has over 160+ videos on it. It's been a godsend for my finances and making sure I have food and bills covered.

Up next though? Working on the main channel. Hoping that with time I can adjust to getting both vault content and main channel content up on a regular schedule, and maybe even start up a gaming channel. (That will literally just be for streaming where I will upload the vods. Nothing crazy.) I want to get to a point where I can live a comfortable life with my partner, and maybe just spend the rest of my 20's trying to be normal again. I also really want to buy 15 year-old me's dream car. A decade in the making treat for myself.

[kathlare]

double tap disaster

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando Norris spends Christmas Eve with his family, but his mind keeps drifting to Amelie. When he accidentally likes a beach photo of hers on Instagram, a seemingly harmless mistake spirals into a panic as he scrambles to undo it before anyone notices.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

December 24th, 2021 - London, United Kingdom

liked by kit.connor, landonorris, and others

ameliedayman: back home for christmas 🎄✨ turns out the beach is still hot, the food is still elite, and i’m still the family favorite 😌

View all 5,482 comments

charles_leclerc: You forgot to mention the ocean is boiling now too. → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc don’t be shy, just say you miss me 😌

madisonbeer: i’m convinced you were sculpted by the gods. unfair. → ameliedayman: @madisonbeer tell them to give me a tan that lasts longer then 🙄

jackdayman: Mum said stop posting thirst traps, it’s embarrassing. → ameliedayman: @jackdayman mum also said you’re not funny, but here we are 🤷‍♀️

lanation44: THE WAY SHE JUST CASUALLY DROPPED THIS BOMB ON US??? MA’AM, WE CAN’T BREATHE.

mxmexican: i’m filing a complaint bc how is it legal to be this hot?? → sunsetmelie: @mxmexican respectfully, i’m on my knees.

elysiadayman: wow, can’t believe i’m related to this. → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman u mean perfection? yeah, crazy.

lilacvibes: my toxic trait is thinking i could pull amelie.

mickschumacher: Not even the sun is shining that bright ☀️ → ameliedayman: @mickschumacher poet era??? omg

lovingamelie: my wife. my queen. my reason for living.

-------------

Lando stretched out on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, absentmindedly watching Home Alone while his family chattered around him. His mum had insisted on putting on a "Christmas classic," but honestly, he wasn’t paying much attention. His phone was in his hand, screen dimly lit, thumb mindlessly scrolling through Instagram.

It had been a long day—Christmas Eve at home always was. His mum buzzing around, making sure everything was perfect, his younger siblings running around in excitement, and his dad attempting to keep some level of order. It was warm, familiar, and exactly what he needed. But despite the comfort of being home, his mind kept drifting elsewhere.

To her.

It was stupid. He knew that. It had been months—more than half a year, actually—since they last spoke, and even longer since things between them were good. Lando found himself on Amelie’s Instagram.

She had posted earlier today.

A beach photo.

Lando's fingers hovered over the screen as he took it in.

She was sitting on the sand, legs stretched out in front of her, skin sun-kissed and glowing under the golden Mexican sun. Her pink bikini stood out against the warm tones of the beach, the fabric hugging her body in a way that made his stomach tighten. Her hair was styled in two neat braids, and she had that effortless, relaxed look about her—one he had seen a hundred times before but still managed to make his chest ache.

She looked happy. Peaceful. Untouchable.

And he hated that it still got to him.

Lando bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating before tapping the comments. They were flooded with heart emojis, compliments, and a fair share of thirsty replies—some in Spanish, some in English. He skimmed through them, jaw tightening at a few particularly bold ones.

Right. Because that’s what he needed to be doing on Christmas Eve—getting pissed over some random guy calling her “mi amor” in the comments.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. He should exit out, close Instagram, and focus on the movie.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his thumb absentmindedly hovered over the screen, and before he could even process what he was doing...

Double tap.

The little heart turned red.

Lando froze.

For a second, he stared at the screen, waiting, hoping that maybe—maybe—he imagined it. But no, his name was there, clear as day.

Lando Norris liked this post.

—Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.—

Panic slammed into his chest. His body moved before his brain fully caught up, bolting upright so fast that he nearly knocked over the bowl of popcorn on the table. His mum shot him a questioning glance, but he barely registered it.

He needed to undo it. Now.

Fumbling with his phone, he bolted out of the living room, ignoring his dad’s confused “What’s going on with you?” as he took the stairs two at a time.

—No, no, no, no, no. Fucking hell, you absolute idiot.—

Reaching his bedroom, he slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, heart pounding. His fingers scrambled over the screen as he reopened Instagram, tapping on the post.

The like was still there.

—Delete. DELETE.—

Just as his thumb hovered over the heart, his phone screen went black.

Lando blinked.

No. No fucking way.

He pressed the power button. Nothing.

—No, no, no, no, no, NO.—

His phone was dead.

—You have got to be shitting me.—

He threw his head back against the door, staring at the ceiling in sheer panic. He needed a charger. Now. He needed to undo the like before anyone saw it, before Twitter got a hold of it, before someone took a goddamn screenshot.

—Fucking hell.—

Lando tore through his room like a madman, pulling open drawers, yanking blankets off his bed, rummaging through his duffel bag. Where the fuck was his charger? He always kept one in his nightstand—except, of course, when he actually needed it.

—Think, Lando, THINK.—

He rushed to his desk, throwing papers and random cables aside, but his charger was nowhere to be found. His breathing was quick, panicked, hands trembling as he ran a frustrated hand through his curls.

—Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.—

He darted back out into the hallway, nearly colliding with his younger sister.

—Lando!— Flo huffed, clutching onto the railing. —What are you doing?—

—No time,— he mumbled, brushing past her and sprinting downstairs. His mum called something after him, but he wasn’t listening. His brain was on autopilot.

Charger. Find a charger.

He darted into the kitchen, yanking open drawers. Nothing. Living room? He scanned the area, but his siblings were sprawled across the couch, tangled in blankets. He didn’t have time to dig through their mess.

—Think, think, THINK.—

The guest room. His cousins were staying over, and they always left their shit everywhere. Without hesitation, he rushed down the hall and flung the door open. Sure enough, there it was—an iPhone charger plugged into the wall, abandoned.

—Thank fuck.—

He lunged for it, nearly tripping over a suitcase in the process, before bolting back to his room and slamming the door shut behind him.

His hands were shaking as he plugged his phone in, eyes locked onto the screen, silently begging it to turn on faster.

—Come on, come on, COME ON.—

The Apple logo appeared. Lando swore he had never been so relieved to see it.

His knee bounced impatiently as he waited, fingers drumming against his leg. The second his lock screen appeared, he unlocked it, rushing back to Instagram.

He tapped onto Amelie’s profile, her post still staring him right in the face. His heart was racing as he pressed the heart again, removing the like.

For a second, he let out a breath, relief washing over him.

And then...

Lando Norris likes Amelie Dayman’s post.

Trending.

Lando felt the blood drain from his face.

—Oh, for fuck’s sake.—

Twitter had exploded. Screenshots. Reactions. Theories.

—NO NO NO NO NO NO.—

His fingers gripped his hair as he scrolled through the tweets. Some people were freaking out, some were making jokes, and others were just straight-up confused.

Lando groaned, collapsing onto his bed.

He was so fucking stupid.

He had spent months pretending she didn’t exist. Acting like they were nothing. And now, he had practically announced to the world that he was still checking her Instagram.

Lando shut his eyes. He was never going to hear the end of this.

[papa-abel]

Update as promised on where I've been / where I am / what's to come.. But overall; I am astonished and touched by those who have stuck around and cared and have reached out from time to time, ily all <3

So! I disappeared for a couple of years; I can't remember what my last 'life update' was but to put it in a summary;

**July 2022** I secured a foreign government job in the United States and moved here for that; due to the level of clearance I had, I opted to limit my online footprint. But this job was also.....so crazy busy... I loved my job but I will not deny it took over my life.

***August 2023*** Boyfriend moved to live with me in the DMV area!

***May 2024*** Boyfriend finished his PhD! SO proud of him - he started looking for jobs in DC and PNW (because we knew we wanted to move across at some point and he got a job offer in September 2024)

***December 2024*** Left my job and then we moved from the DMV to the PNW (with our two cats!) which was a HUGE road trip because we had to go alllll the way down through Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and then all the way up the West Coast to avoid as much bad winter weather as possible. ((Our timing was IMPECCABLE because the week following our departure is when bad weather hit a LOT of where we went through))

My PC is in the shop AGAIN because of a CPU issue???? But I should have it back next week and then I will be getting back into art and y'know... grovelling to those who have commissions with me....

I think I also mentioned at one point that I FINALLY had my ADHD diagnosed and am on medication for that which has been very helpful but I still struggle at times - my struggles are more in the home-space than at work, unfortunately lol...

So I will be coming back online and I can still be found here or over on my X (dad_abel) and will post a summary at some point of what accounts I am maintaining.

[0tenshi]

🌻Positive Result ~ The Eulogy of Someone Still Alive (TW: discussions of death, physical and mental illness)

HEY!! It's been a bit since I wrote one of these. I kind of wanted to do one for Neuron Explosion Show, but I feel like I don't have much good to say about it. At any rate, NES is a bit of a successor to Positive Result despite having been released first. I wrote Positive Result first and in a far longer amount of time and put a lot more thought into it, that's for sure.

This song has been a long time coming for me. I'm not super open about my own mental state online as a safety measure since I am still young, but my music has always been a way for me to... unleash what I feel without guilt, if that makes sense. I'm quite a reserved person despite wearing my heart on my sleeve, but the lack of pressure with music really draws me to the craft as a whole. After all, most of my listeners do not know me on a personal level (nor should they). Those who do know me, however, are able to get a better insight on me through listening to what I have to say in a way that doesn't put as much direct burden on them as talking face to face would. Perhaps my mindset isn't the healthiest, I am aware that it's cowardly. But it's one of the only ways I am able to process my own emotions, trauma, and regrets while I navigate my young adulthood as of now.

That being said, I'd like to talk as openly as I can about the meaning of Positive Result here. This song features a feeling that I know all too well: pure, unfiltered panic. Powerlessness. An extreme sense of mortality.

I was officially diagnosed with OCD when I was around thirteen, but my symptoms started at a very young age, manifesting mostly in the form of health anxiety. The first instance of this I can recall was how at six years old I would check my lung capacity over and over again, convinced that my breathing was constrained and there was something wrong with me. Checking myself mentally and physically for symptoms of something arbitrary and untrue was routine for so long, for so many years, that I thought it to be normal until I discovered the nature of OCD. The disorder is ravenous. It's time consuming. At times, it is inescapable. It is scary. It is completely irrational. And it's shaped me and my personality in many ways.

"I can't halt the fear

To appreciate

everything I seem

seem to have today

(Now I am contorting wildly, feelings clashing, overwhelming)

And I can't control

what's controlling me and

living while I'm dying every day

(Understanding math so vague, I graph a picture of a morbid day)"

Positive Result features my struggle with the part of my OCD that makes me fear contracting and dying of a physical illness. A lot of the lyrics allude to cancer specifically, ("Even though I cannot sense it, I can tell that my cells are revolting/Turning paradigms to sickness"). The imagery of physical cells "revolting" is something I wanted to portray sickeningly straightforward. I considered using the word "turning" as well, like rotting, or like a multiplying cancer, but "revolting" felt more akin to the betrayal I feel when my mind tries to convince me that my "paradigms" are turning to sickness. In this case, "paradigms" also refers to cell mitosis and the multiplication of cancer cells. "Felt only by these hands of mine" refers to the sense of feeling something or seeing something, a symptom, an imperfection, anything, that isn't actually there.

My episodes of panic with my OCD have lasted me months at a time before. At times, they leave me feeling that my fear will last an eternity.

"With a fear that lasts an eternity, counting one, two, three, to the metronome of destiny

In love with earthly frequencies, the ripping sound of frantic waves

It's growing, flowers exploding, round and round, they're breathing, eating me alive"

Now, the visceral earthly imagery in the chorus is more evocative than meaningful. The thought of a flower exploding, wrapping around you, breathing and eating you alive is an uncanny enough thought. But it's the way mortality feels to me. It's the way I imagine slowly dying. Even though I have never been close to that state physically (knock on wood) getting a very scary phone call from a doctor some years ago got me well acquainted with the proximity that we as animals have to the dirt beneath us. ("Letting go and letting blood can never be rehearsed/Oh, you know I'm gonna claim that I'm only getting worse!") That last line in the yelling section in particular refers to the endless requests for reassurance about my own potential, unreal conditions and my inability to believe the people that told me I would be okay.

I'm also really proud of the next little section where the lines, "This survival rate, forever it is plummeting/these statistics aren't re-re-reassuring me," pop up. This refers specifically to checking compulsions via looking up symptoms on the internet/checking survival rates for various illnesses (I used to do that a lot.) This section also alludes to the loss of control, which, in reality, might be the scariest part of the fear of illness for me.

Also, notice the repeated rhyming of "me" with itself. ("Can't you answer me/those looking down on me"... "These statistics aren't re-re-reassuring me"..."Heal me"). When you're stuck in your head, it's quite impossible to live outside of yourself.

"'Cause the world never pauses for the cowardly

It pushes past the plagued and pageless poet’s elegies

But after all, the only person that's without disease

is only six feet deep"

This section refers to the world seeming to move on without you when you're trapped in panic, along with a slight reassuring thought that 'everyone goes through some sort of illness.' Also this interpolates Glass Pen hey guys ahahahahha, I also reference Cryin' Cryin' with the background line "Don't try to fight what you can't see," interpolate an unreleased song with [ REDACTED ], and reference Neuron Explosion Show with "I don't think I'm gonna make it out/with an ardent voice I scream it." I may or may not be going through an inspiration phase of someone I look up to who motifs a lot ahahahhahahahahah

"BRACING FOR IMPACT, WHAT’S REAL IS PLAIN TO SEE

'THESE THOUGHTS ARE JUST PROTECTING ME'

THE BIBLIOCLAST

TO MY OWN STORY"

The line "'These thoughts are just protecting me'" being in quotes specifically refers to something I learned in therapy about the nature of OCD brains and anxiety. How your brain is constantly trying to protect you despite there being no immediate threats to speak of, sometimes none at all. Also I'm really proud of the line "The biblioclast to my own story"!!! I'm a sucker for a good big word.

And that's really the core of Positive Result as a song. I hope it resonates with y'all however you decide to interpret it! In the scope of MACHINA MORI (which you should check out RIGHT NOW BTW) I see it as staring your mortal self in the face and being afraid of what you see. There's nothing comforting about being mortal. At the same time, there's everything comforting about being mortal. But, yeah. It's scary, it is. However, for me at least, even as I live side by side with this disorder, I'm a certified Lover Of Life and no amount of fear will ever change that for me. Despite how hopeless my music has been sounding lately, I hope you are aware that I, as a person, am not one to let go of hope.

Be prepared for what I have in store for this year. Big things coming!

~Kain Angel, 2/15/25

Thank you: Mage, Io, Tomi, Olay, absolutely every one of my friends, MM TEAM

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

Saw all these beautiful women with long hair today and thought to myself "why do I want to do that" so now I'm debating if I want to chop all my hair off again