#ever just need to be reminded of good things

[kateschi]

explosions in the curtain aisle

synopsis: you and katsuki (after much convincing) are out to buy decorations for your home.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

after spending months merging your lives together as a married couple, you and katsuki are finally taking the plunge to decorate your shared home.

excitement bubbles within you as you navigate the aisles, envisioning how each piece could reflect both of your personalities.

“y/n, how long are we gonna be here?” katsuki complains, arms crossed, his usual fiery demeanor dialed down to a low simmer.

he’s standing a few paces behind you, his foot tapping impatiently on the polished wooden floor.

you turn to him with a playful grin. “just a little longer! we need to find the perfect throw pillow. this is important!”

“important?!” he echoes, incredulity lacing his tone. “they all look the damn same! can’t we just grab one and go? it’s a pillow, not a weapon!”

you laugh, enjoying the banter. “but it has to match the couch! you know how colors work.” you gesture toward a vibrant array of pillows, each one seeming to call your name.

katsuki’s eyes narrow, glancing at the colorful display as if it’s the most boring thing he’s ever seen. “you’re the one with the weird taste in colors. I’m just saying, if it’s ugly, I’m throwing it out the window.”

“fine,” you tease, “but if you pick it out, you have to live with it.”

he huffs, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “whatever. just make it quick, or I’m heading to the snack aisle.”

you roll your eyes, knowing that katsuki can be both impatient and stubborn, but you also understand that this shopping trip means more than just picking out a few decorative items.

it’s about creating a home together, a place filled with memories and laughter, and every detail matters.

after a few more minutes of searching, you finally spot a pillow that catches your eye—a rich teal with a textured pattern that perfectly complements your couch.

you pick it up, turning it this way and that, feeling a surge of happiness. “katsuki, look at this one!”

he strides over, feigning disinterest but unable to hide his curiosity. “let me see.” he takes it from your hands, inspecting it with a critical eye. “not bad, I guess.”

you can’t help but beam at his praise, even if it’s gruff. “you really think so?”

“yeah, but if it clashes with my stuff, it’s going in the trash,” he warns, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“promise!” you laugh, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “I’ll make sure it fits your ‘tough guy’ aesthetic.”

“good,” he replies, but there’s a hint of warmth in his tone. he places the pillow back in your hands and turns to walk away, already scanning for the next item on your list. “now, what’s next? we need some curtains or something.”

you can’t help but feel a rush of affection for him. it’s moments like these—when he pretends to be annoyed yet goes along with your whims—that remind you just how much he cares.

“how about we find some that are a bit more… cozy?” you suggest, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

he snorts, shaking his head. “cozy? what are we, grandmas?”

you roll your eyes, laughing softly. “just wait until you see them. you might actually like them!”

katsuki raises an eyebrow. “yeah, right. but I guess I’ll humor you. lead the way.”

you guide him to the next aisle, the soft rustle of fabric creating a comforting ambiance.

you sift through various curtain styles, holding up a set that features a delicate floral pattern. “what do you think about these?”

katsuki glances at them, his expression unreadable. “they’re… fine, I guess. but are they durable? I’m not having some flimsy stuff that’ll tear the first time I brush against it.”

you chuckle at his practicality, appreciating that he wants your home to feel strong and safe, just like him. “they’re made of durable material. plus, they’ll let in a lot of light.”

he tilts his head, still unsure.

you laugh again. “we can always return them if they don’t work out. and just think of how nice they’ll look with the pillow!”

he pretends to consider it seriously, squinting at the curtains as if they hold the key to world peace. “fine, fine. let’s get them.” he then turns to you with a quick glance, “you will not hang them.”

“oh, I don’t mind,” you giggle, as you lean in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “you will look so good hanging them up in your ‘tough guy’ way, husband.”

katsuki’s lips twitch, and for a moment, you think you can see the tip of his ears turn a soft shade of pink. “shut up,” he mumbles, though there’s no real irritation behind his words.

with the curtains selected and the throw pillow secured, you both meander through the store, stopping occasionally to admire various decorative pieces.

you find a small potted plant and hold it up, grinning. “what about this? it’ll add some life to the space.”

katsuki raises an eyebrow, eyeing the plant. “you think you can keep it alive? remember that one time with that cactus?”

you wince at the memory, laughing sheepishly. “okay, I admit I’m not great with plants. but this one seems low-maintenance!”

“yeah, sure, but if it dies, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll take full responsibility!” you promise, huffing. you don’t see your husband’s eyes lookting at you with subtle fondness, while you place the potted plant into the cart.

finally, as you reach the checkout, you feel a sense of accomplishment.

katsuki stands beside you, the small plant in hand while you juggle the curtains and pillow. “not bad for a day’s work,” you say, looking up at him.

he nods, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “yeah, I guess it’s alright.”

as you both head outside, katsuki glances at the bags in your hands, then turns to you, takes the bags, his expression softening in that rare way that only you ever get to see.

“let’s get outta here,” he mutters, running his empty hand hand through his hair. “this shopping crap’s a waste of time.”

you laugh, slipping your hand into his. “you did great, hubby.”

he grumbles, but despite that, he doesn’t let go of your hand, his grip tightening just slightly as you walk together out of the store.

you can’t help but smile at the simple gesture, so you squeeze his hand lightly.

as you approach the car, katsuki pauses, turning to you. “hey,” he starts, looking a bit bashful. “you really love this stuff, don’t you?”

“of course! it’s our home, after all,” you reply.

“then… I guess it’s worth it,” he mutters, scratching the back of his head. “just don’t make me do this every weekend.”

you chuckle, squeezing his hand. “no promises, but I’ll make sure to keep it interesting.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[nativegirltapes]

RAFE AND HIS BISEXUAL BEST FRIEND

notes/warnings: been thinking about them forever and i'm happy to finally be posting this and sharing my thoughts <3 i hope this isn’t too self indulgent and that this will find an audience that resonates with it lol

rafe and BISEXUAL!READER who complain about their girl problems to each other but ultimately both know that none of it matters because they have each other. there's this unspoken love, platonic or romantic? neither of you are really sure, that you both have that make you both okay with not having anyone else.

BISEXUAL!READER who actually hated rafe before their friendship blossomed. you didn't see much appeal in the kook king himself, but that was until you attended one of his annual ragers ... where you drunkenly overshared about your life and your recent break up with your girlfriend. to which a drunk rafe cameron told you "you'll be okay. bitches ain't shit." and you've been friends with him ever since.

BISEXUAL!READER who really was a life changing friend for rafe. they're constantly throwing jokes at each other but they can both be serious when needed. you really helped rafe with his addiction and just overall become a better person. he doesn't say it much but he is beyond grateful for you.

rafe and BISEXUAL!READER who don't really know what they are. you're the deepest friendship rafe has ever had, but there's this intense attraction you both have for each other that makes it hard to keep things purely platonic. when you're drunk you'll both get really touchy and sometimes even have sex if it goes that far, which it usually does.

BISEXUAL!READER who has beeeennnnn aroundddd. you'd never ever tell rafe but you've even had your fair share of his sister sarah cameron. when sarah sees you coming around more frequently it's kind of awkward, you'll both just weirdly wave to each other.

rafe who is kind of in love with BISEXUAL!READER but tries his best not to act on it because he thinks you deserve someone so much better than him. but heavy emphasis on tries, he's not very good at these said attempts of not giving into you. rafe's love for you is so intense and real that he's willing to let you go when the right person rolls around for you. and when these feelings are finally confronted, you have to remind rafe that he can't make up your mind for you. you love him too and you want him to feel it.

rafe who never lets BISEXUAL!READER talk down on herself. the minute you start he's shutting it down, "that's the dumbest shit you've ever said. you done?" he'll say as he takes a swig of the beer you're sharing. you find comfort in his tough love, he's rarely really sweet to you, but you like it that way.

[shanastoryteller]

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[ssahotchnerr]

love ur writing!! 🥰😌

would love to see a one shot (or anything tbh) of reader waking up early on vday hoping to make aaron breakfast but he’s beat her to it instead! she just wanted to do something nice for him since he takes care of everyone else but he’s physically incapable of not taking care of her!!

a sweet start

thank you🫶🏻!!! ugh aaron and valentine's day is my favorite thing ever <333 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, descriptions of food, a lot of fluff 🥰

Your phone vibrated beneath your pillow, rousing you from what had been a restful sleep. You had purposely set the alarm low, needing it to be enough to awake you, but not so much as to disturb Aaron.

It was early. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, the bedroom still profusely dark. It was only six, but the hour would guarantee you the time you needed.

You quickly clicked it off, holding still for a moment before looking over your shoulder to ensure he hadn't stirred - your morning plans depended on it. But to your surprise, you found Aaron's side of the bed completely empty.

Shaking off the remnants of sleep, you fumbled with your robe, tripping over your feet as you slipped into your slippers.

You found Aaron in the kitchen; still in his pajamas, standing at the stove with a soft concentration. A bouquet of red roses was perched on the counter, catching your eye and sending a flutter through your chest. Sweet man.

The savory scent of buttery eggs, melting cheese and a touch of spice filled your nose as you inched closer. The floor creaked underneath your feet, causing him to turn.

"Morning sweetheart."

"What are you doing up?" You asked, your words laced with a yawn.

"Making you breakfast," Aaron grinned, averting his focus to fold over the omelet in the skillet. "Happy Valentine's Day."

You sidled up to him, allowing him to throw an arm around you and chastely pressing a kiss to your temple. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

Your words left you softly, causing him to crane his head down, lips in a soft smile before he brought them to yours, kissing you adoringly. You smiled into the kiss, and he mumbled an I love you.

"You're up early." He commented once he pulled away, filled with a light sense of urgency - fear your omelet would burn.

You burrowed into his side as much as you could, trying to soak up as much warmth as possible. Aaron, in his simple t-shirt, felt like a furnace against you. "You had the same idea as me."

His spatula slowed as he soaked in your sentence. His gaze shot to you with some alarm in his eyes - the sudden guilt of spoiling your plans.

"No no no," you laughed gently, kissing him once. Twice. "It's okay, I promise. I still have surprises planned. I just wanted to do something for you. You’re always giving so much - whether it's for me, your team, or anyone who needs you. I wanted to remind you that you deserve to be cared for, just as much as you care for everyone else."

"That's crazy talk. Sweetheart..." He trailed off as he transferred your omelet to a plate, turning off the burners as a safety precaution.

Aaron leaned back against the counter and pulled you forward at the hips, so casually and natural it brought a blush to your cheeks. "Don't even get me started on how much you do for me. Truly. You're here when I come home each day. You support me and understand when I don't. You remind me that despite the horrors I'm subject to encounter daily, there's still good in the world. You've accepted Jack with open, loving arms."

Your expression softened, your lips pouting slightly in a flattered manner.

"You're just, here. My shoulder to lean on. That's all I can ask for and as a result, this is the least I can do. Although you deserve it every day, I want you to have the perfect day today. I intend to go all out."

"I already am, simply because I have you." You wrapped your arms firmly around his middle, closing the gap between the two of you. "How in the world did I get so lucky?"

"That's funny, I was asking myself the same question."

"Thank you for the flowers," you mumbled into chest, pressing a kiss right over his heart. "And thank you for loving me so deeply."

"It's the easiest thing I've ever done. Mean it." He squeezed his arms around you, letting up only to resume doting on you. "What kind of jelly do you want on your toast? Strawberry? Grape?"

"Surprise me." Your lips pulled into a gentle smile as you nestled back into his side, right where you belonged.

A grin tugged onto Aaron's face in return, reaching for the bread, "Anything for my valentine."

[atzhrts]

Omggggg just saw your prompts post!! Can you please do smut 31 with Choi San from Ateez<3. And I want them real subby vibes from, like he CANNOT wait to get down to business, but wants to make sure everything is good first.

prompts: “is this okay?' as he stares up from between your legs

“is this okay?” sans hot breath hits your sensitive thighs and the question almost makes you roll your eyes back into your head. only your boyfriend would spend hours undressing and worshipping you to then stop seconds before his pink lips actually hit your clit to ask for permission he knows he has.

of course you love san and his constant need for consent and reassurance, normally you’d even think it is incredibly hot. seeing your boyfriend between your legs, eyes filled with pleasure as his tongue runs over his lips to wet them, his nose gently nudging against your thigh before he inhales, the strong scent of your arousal hits his nose. as your eyes move down his muscular back you can make out sans hips grinding into the mattress lazily, trying to get some pleasure of his own as he waits for you to answer his question.

a question that seems so unnecessary, given the way sans lips where all over your body just minutes earlier, tracing their way from your ear down to your neck, leaving little kisses on their journey before he sucks a sweet reminder of him into your skin. his clothed cock grinding against your center before he gently moves his body down, his arms supporting his whole weight looking ever so delicious as he positions himself between your legs. pressing teasing little kisses against your thighs, but the thing with san is he does not do it to tease, he genuinely loves pressing kisses all over your skin to show you how much he loves and appreciates you.

you throw your head back as he takes the hem of your panties between his teeth, eyes looking up at you as san rubs his thick finger against your clothed wetness before gently taking your panties off.

san does not need to ask for permission at this point, you have given it to him before all of this even started and told him multiple times to keep going. but that's just who your boyfriend is, something about you begging for his touch and telling him it's okay for him to pleasure you does it for him.

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Taking a bath

The warm water embraced you like a second skin, the scent of lemongrass swirling in the steam-filled bathroom. Your earphones played a slow, sultry melody as you leaned back against the tub, eyes closed, letting your fingers lazily trail over your skin. You missed him - missed his touch, his voice, the way he completely consumed you when he was home.

Simon had been gone for days, maybe longer than he should have been. The silence of the house felt heavier without him, and the only escape was sinking into your thoughts, letting your mind wander to memories of his hands on you, his rough voice whispering things only meant for you.

Lost in your own world, you didn’t hear the front door open. Didn’t hear the slow, deliberate steps moving through the house, pausing just outside the bathroom. You didn’t even notice the shift in the air until—

A rough, calloused hand slid through the water, wrapping gently around your wrist. Your breath hitched, eyes flying open as your head snapped toward the intruder—only to find Simon kneeling beside the tub, his mask discarded, his eyes dark with something molten and dangerous.

“You weren’t expectin’ me, were you?” His voice was deep, gravelly from exhaustion, but there was something else beneath it—something possessive.

Your pulse pounded as you met his gaze. “Simon… you’re home.”

He hummed, his thumb stroking the damp skin of your wrist before his hand trailed further down, fingers dipping below the water’s surface. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, love,” he murmured, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Heat pooled in your stomach as he traced over your thigh, his fingers pressing just enough to tease, enough to remind you that he was here now. That you didn’t need to reach for a memory when the real thing was in front of you.

“I come home early, and this is what I find?” His lips curved slightly, his other hand reaching to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “You missed me that much, huh?”

His voice alone sent a shiver down your spine. You bit your lip, heart hammering as his grip tightened ever so slightly, demanding an answer.

“Yes,” you admitted, breathless.

Simon smirked, his lips brushing against yours. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve missed you too.”

And then his mouth was on yours, his hands moving with slow, deliberate intent—reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

[writing-for-marvel]

Alright, so I know what kind of pain I’m in for with this first part, I’ve prepared myself as best I can but something tells me that I still won’t be able to handle it without sobbing my eyes out

“I only scream when there’s good reason.”

This feels like foreshadowing and if she ends up screaming it *will* be the end of me

“You’re hovering again, Barnes,” you say without looking up, and feel his gaze move away from you. Even after all this time, he still doesn’t trust you one bit.

“Show-off,” you mumble as you slip past Bucky and his smugly raised eyebrow.

Eeeeeep it’s the start of their journey and I cannot wait to see them eventually so mushy in love 🥰

Then, there’s a sickening cracking noise, and the pressure is gone from your throat. You stumble forwards, coughing, before you’re pulled back to your feet, fast but not roughly. Blue eyes find yours, a look almost like concern in them.

I know they’re teammates, and I know he’d want to save her anyway, but that *concern* ahhh I just sense he’s already got a soft spot for her

“Well—it’s—tradition!” Each of your words is punctuated by a punch. “And why are you looking at my thigh, Bucky?”

Yes sir exactly whatcha eyes doing gazing down there hmmm

He looks like he’s going to kill you himself. “Geez, I hate you.”

Yeah I *totally* believe you Buck

He catches you by the elbows and shoves you to the side in one fluid motion the same moment another shot sounds.

IM NOT READY

You fall to your knees next to Bucky, frantically pressing your hands on the wound in his chest. There’s so much blood. How is there so much blood?

WHY MUST THIS BE SO PAINFULLL

His blue eyes find yours. They’re impossibly wide. “So—so stupid,” he pants and his face distorts in pain.

HE IS ON THE BRINK OF DEATH AND HE IS STILL TEASING HER IM SOBBING BUT THEYRE STILL SO CUTE

You scream.

I KNEW IT

You scream because nothing is okay, because you’re useless, because none of this should have happened and it’s all your fault, and you’re clutching Bucky’s hand in yours because maybe if you hold onto him tightly enough, he’ll come back and all of this will seem like a bad dream.

THATS IT IM DEAD NIKA YOUVE KILLED ME ALONGSIDE BUCKY 💀💀

Okay I needed to take time to calm down… even though I knew what was going to happen, I couldn’t handle all the emotions.

You swallow down the bile that rises in your stomach and carefully twist your rings around on your fingers, one after the other. All of them are completely pitch black, darker than you’ve ever seen them.

Why is it that even though I’m in the comfort of my own bedroom that I need to actively remind myself that this isn’t actually happening to me… the emotions are just so vivid

Still, you’ve never gone this far back. And isn’t this about making today a better day, really?

Mmmm something in my gut is telling me she’ll somehow find a way to make this day worse if that’s even possible

Damn those dopamines your therapist keeps telling you about.

lol this made me laugh, just hits a little close to home

“You used that one earlier,” you say, shaking your head in faux disappointment. “Are you running out of nicknames, Sammy?”

Their banter is EVERYTHING 🥰

You turn, surprised at the question, to find Bucky’s gaze lingering on your hands. Not for the first time, you silently curse his perceptiveness. “Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms.

Just his perceptiveness… or perhaps it’s his interest in you 👀

AHH AND THE ENDING!!!! I’m so excited to drive back into this series Nika, I know it’s your baby and I can’t wait to read all the love and care you’ve put into creating such a unique story, you’re fucking brilliant

My favourite thing about how you write is just how many emotions you can make me feel in such a short span, and this chapter is the best example of this, how you give a snippet of hope only to crush it each time (you’re so cruel for that but it makes me love you even more)

time after time [1]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 6.0k

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, accidentally starting a time loop, banter, pretty angsty to start us off with ngl, reminder to read the fic premise. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: happy groundhog day and welcome to the first instalment of the series i’ve been sitting on since july. i’ve always loved time loop storylines, so i thought, why not indulge myself and put my own twist on it?

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

one: turn back the clock

Your mother used to call it a gift, but for most of your life, your powers had felt more like a curse.

It began when you were a toddler; small hops backwards through time barely noticeable to anyone but yourself, or an afternoon lost to everything speeding up around you. Sometimes, the world would just stop spinning for an hour or two and you would wander between the frozen people, crying and confused, until things finally picked up speed again and your parents would shout your name because you’d simply disappeared before their very eyes.

When you got older, you found out that this little quirk of yours could be useful every now and then. If a teacher asked a question you didn’t know the answer to, you learned to will yourself back just enough to keep up your participation score. It didn’t particularly feel right, but it was one of the few benefits your strange powers provided, then.

For the most part, you couldn’t control it, though. For the most part, it meant having to relive painful moments and rush through the good ones. It meant screaming into people’s unmoving faces until your voice got hoarse because you couldn’t figure out how to get time to move again.

You assumed what you were going through was what everyone was talking about when they spoke of déjà-vu, until you mentioned it to your mother one day and she sighed deeply and said, “oh honey, I thought it had stopped.”

Maybe your family had more secrets than you’d given them credit for.

“You’re such a special girl,” they would tell you later. Such a special, clever girl. This is a great thing, you know. It’s your talent to make things right, make them the way they should be.

It was your own mistake that you started to believe their lies.

*****

“Something is very, very wrong here,” you say quietly.

“You always say that,” Sam says, securing the room ahead and then nodding for you to follow him.

“Yeah, and I’m usually right.” Your fingers are itching for you to flick them and speed up this terrible silence so that you can at least know what’s going on. You ignore the urge, but keep one hand held out in front of you, your thumb and first two fingers pointing upwards. The other hand grips tightly around your automatic.

The hallway doesn’t stretch out very far, but what little of the low sunlight makes it in through the dirty windows gives it a strange, eerie atmosphere. Maybe that’s what you’re picking up on, you try to tell yourself. The air is thick with a stench you can’t identify.

“Lovely interior design,” Sam mumbles. You follow his gaze to a pile of bones that lie scattered in one of the rudimentary holding cells you’re walking past. A spider runs from his flashlight and you grimace.

“Sam,” you say, focusing on the half-extended wings on his back again. “Did you invent this mission to get us to go to a haunted house with you?”

He snorts lightly as he pulls the cloth off the crates that are stacked alongside the wall. There’s a single red handprint near the bottom right of each of them. You almost sigh.

“Do you think I’d pass up the opportunity to hear the two of you scream in terror when the vampire puppets creep up on you?”

“Gotta disappoint you, cap,” you grin and wait for him to check the map. “I only scream when there’s good reason.”

“I don’t wanna interrupt,” Bucky interrupts over the intercom, “but they’re heading your way now, so get a move on.”

“You’re no fun, Bucky.” Still, your eyes flick to your rings. Almost all of them have turned a deep black, with specks of emerald few and far between. Useless. “I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again.”

“I prefer heroic,” Sam says and turns back to you, a concerned look on his face. “You alright?”

You nod. “Just haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since London.” Between Sam’s snoring on the plane ride back and the early mornings, you are currently running mostly on strong coffee and lots of sugar. “It’s gonna be fine. Just try not to get killed.”

“Good old-fashioned survival. Reminds me of old times.” Sam’s voice might be light, but you know him well enough by now to tell he’s still worried. Your stomach twists with it.

“Can’t say that, bud,” Bucky says. “Twenty seconds.”

“You need to repair Redwing,” you tell Sam. “Being the lookout makes Barnes cranky.”

“You forget that he’s always cranky.”

While you’re still bantering, you place the explosives you’ve brought next to the wall Sam has pointed out. It’s not the most elegant way, but there hasn’t been time to research key codes or break in quietly, so you’re going in with a bang.

Sam and you take cover behind the shield. The little timer starts counting down from ten.

“Any time, Buck,” Sam says. “Five. Four.”

Two shots find their marks outside. You turn your head to see one of the people in white fall through the far entrance of the hallway, holding their knee in pain.

“One.”

You shut your eyes just in time before the door gets blasted off its hidden hinges. A cloud of dust hits your face and you start coughing violently.

“Everyone alright?” Bucky shouts and you grimace at the volume of his voice in your ear.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Our wrinkle in time here just decided to inhale some metal.” He claps you on the back a few times until the grime has finally cleared from your lungs. “You good?”

“All good,” you rasp, roughly drying your eyes with your sleeve.

It’s times like this, you think, that your powers are truly the most useless. There’s no way for you to go back and unclog your lungs of whatever atrocities you just inhaled. You’re cursed to always stay exactly as you are.

“Are you guys waiting for a formal invite?” Bucky asks, walking past you without a single glance in your direction.

“Any more comin’?” Sam looks down the now opened entryway. Just like you expected, the lab on the other side seems empty.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Bucky answers, “but I’d rather not stick around to find out.”

You take a look over your shoulder back down the hall at where the white jacket is still lying, unconscious. In the gloomy light, there are strange reflections moving across their goggles, and you can’t help but frown as the uneasy feeling sinks deeper into your bones. Like a tingle that claws its way down your spine to settle in your fingertips. You pull your gun out of the holster.

“Don’t you feel like this is way too easy?” you say quietly, reassuming your position between the two of them.

“Yup,” Sam says, shield still held up in front of him. He keeps moving forward.

The lab is smaller than you expected, crammed with tables that are overflowing with strangely colored concoctions and stacks upon stacks of papers. You take a step closer, trying to make sense of the strange chemical formulas scribbled next to a bunch of tables and graphs. It’s not exactly your strong subject, though, and you can’t really concentrate with someone else breathing down your neck.

“You’re hovering again, Barnes,” you say without looking up, and feel his gaze move away from you. Even after all this time, he still doesn’t trust you one bit.

“This isn’t it,” Sam says, closing the last of the filing cabinets with a bang. “They must’ve cleared out before we got—here. Alright.”

Bucky makes him take a step to the side before hooking his metal arm into the cabinet and pulling. With a screech of protest, the entire thing slowly moves open to reveal a broad winding staircase leading downwards. Another wave of the horrid smell hits you, even stronger now, like something metallic that’s being set on fire.

“Show-off,” you mumble as you slip past Bucky and his smugly raised eyebrow.

The stairs go down deeper and deeper for a lot longer than you'd expected, lit by motion detector lights that turn your shadows into overly large figures on the opposite wall. It doesn’t ease your premonition in the slightest. Finally, everything opens up and you look down into a large, almost cave-like room. It extends pretty far backwards before it splits into several tunnels that remind you of the one you spotted when you got out of the quinjet earlier.

But despite the stone walls and your being several feet underground, it is surprisingly warm down here, probably due to the several giant containers placed along one of the walls that seem to be the source of the atrocious smell. They are also faintly glowing.

“Are we gonna get radiation poisoning?” you ask. “Because you definitely don’t pay me enough for that.”

“I doubt they’d send their own people ‘round the perimeter with nothing more than a face mask if those things were radioactive,” Sam says. “And you’re here voluntarily.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” you mumble, but you follow him anyway.

Unlike the lab upstairs, everything here looks orderly, almost pristine. Not a single sheet of paper is unfiled, the metal tables are empty and wiped clean. There’s a gentle whirring sound that leads your gaze to several monitors, some of which are showing different maps and security camera footage while others seem to be tracking the progress of some sort of test.

“Look at that,” Sam says, stepping closer to the containers. “What is that?”

A dark blue liquid is slowly dropping out of a hole near the bottom of one of the containers. Bucky kneels down next to it.

“Don’t touch that!” you say quickly and he rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to.” Sam hands him a little glass vial and Bucky carefully scoops up some of the liquid with his left hand.

“Maybe we can send that to Banner, have him take a look.” Sam walks over to the computers and plugs in a drive. “We’ll make a copy of that for Torres and then get out of here.”

“What do you think that is?” you wonder, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Once again, this mission has you feeling unbelievably superfluous.

“Not the serum. Wrong color,” Bucky answers as if he could read your thoughts. He pockets the vial in his jacket and stands up. “You’re hovering again, Y/L/N.”

You’d roll your eyes, too, if you didn’t know that’d only make that stupid smirk reappear. “Can we leave before I do something he’ll regret?” you shout at Sam.

“That’s sweet,” Bucky smirks anyway.

“I think we have another problem right now,” Sam says, looking up from the monitors. “We’re getting company.”

Only a moment later there’s a thunderous crash and the table to your far left bursts into flames. You stumble backwards. Right overhead, there’s a large round hole where the floor of the small lab on the first floor used to be.

All of a sudden, dozens of people descend upon you from all directions, swarming the lab and surrounding you within seconds. They’re all dressed exactly the same, white jackets over their black overalls, identical white face masks and goggles, and matching black berets.

“Oh, this is like a nightmare flash mob,” you shout as you avoid the first kick to your face. “They must’ve sounded a silent alarm!”

“D’you think?” Bucky huffs, punching another white jacket in the jaw.

You aim your gun just as Sam flings his wings out, swishing your target off their feet. Behind them, another group closes in. You fire without a second thought, and three of them drop to the ground.

Just as you try to reload your weapon, someone rips it out of your hand and hits you across the face with it. You stumble, eyes welling up, as they grab you around the neck, dragging you backwards with such strength you are forced to the tips of your toes. Your heart is thundering with panic, unbidden mental images threatening to come back to the surface as you try to pry their hands loose to no avail. Black dots are starting to dance across your vision.

Then, there’s a sickening cracking noise, and the pressure is gone from your throat. You stumble forwards, coughing, before you’re pulled back to your feet, fast but not roughly. Blue eyes find yours, a look almost like concern in them.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you gasp. “Thanks.”

“You tryin’ to suffocate today?” He hands you your gun back and you shrug, pressing the memories all the way back down again.

“Sam might give me a day off if I faint.”

Another explosion has both of you turn your heads up. A shower of glass splinters and burning pieces of paper rains down through the hole on the first floor, taking bits of the ceiling down with it.

“We better get moving,” Sam shouts. “If you take care of the drive and these idiots, I’ll clear the tunnels for a way out of here!”

Wordlessly, Bucky holds up his arm. Sam throws the shield, hitting two more white jackets in the face before Bucky catches it with ease. You kick another one of them in the groin, wrangling the weapon out of their grasp.

“Who the fuck brings a knife to a fight like this?” you shout.

“And what’s that thing on your thigh, you planning a picnic?” Bucky replies, holding up the shield to protect both of you from hailing gunshots.

“Well—it’s—tradition!” Each of your words is punctuated by a punch. “And why are you looking at my thigh, Bucky?”

Before he can answer, there’s a string of curses and the sound of breaking metal directly in your ear. You let go of your weapon as your hands move up, and it stops its fall in mid air as time screeches to a stop.

The sudden silence in the middle of everything that’s been going on would be disconcerting if you weren’t so used to it by now. Everyone is frozen around you as you turn and take a step from behind the shield to see what’s happening on the other side of the room.

Sam is still up in the air, and even from a distance you can see the grimace on his face and the splotches of red on his stomach. One of his wings is at a strange angle, and you look around quickly to find the white jacket still aiming the blaster that must’ve hit him.

You take a deep breath and reach backwards until you feel the old familiar tingling between your fingers. It’s fickle, like it always is, and all the more unpredictable because you’re tired. Still, you force it to wind back, if only a little.

Time resets with a start.

“—on your thigh, you planning a picnic?”

“Two o’clock,” you gasp.

Bucky reacts almost on instinct, taking out the shooter before they can do any harm while you punch your opponent in the face again. It takes you two more blows than last time to take them down. When you look at your hands, they’re shaking. There’s nothing but the slightest wisp of green left swimming in the black of your rings.

“I’m really gonna need you to not be stupid from now on,” you shout as soon as you catch your breath again.

Bucky curses. “Sam, we’re coming now. There’s too many of ‘em to wait ‘round for this stupid thing to copy.”

“Do you need me to come get you?”

“No.” He bashes a white jacket on the head with the shield and throws it against the last one that’s still standing. It doesn’t fly quite in the same elegant way as when Sam does it, toppling over itself and landing on the ground next to the unconscious guard. “Just get the jet started. Can you walk?” he asks you.

“‘Course I can walk,” you say, slightly annoyed, but your eyes are fixed on the monitors on the far side of the room. “I think it’s done.”

“Just get out of there,” Sam says through the comms. “I can see at least another dozen heading in up here.”

You look at Bucky and his eyes narrow at the resolute look on your face. It’s your fault you’re even here in the first place, though. You might as well fix it. It’s only going to take a second, anyway.

“No—” Time glitches. “—thing—” Time stumbles over itself. “—stupid, damnit!” Time moves at an unsteady pace and then moves again as you almost trip over your own feet, pulling the drive out of the computer and holding it up triumphantly just as Bucky reaches you.

“See?” you grin. “All good.”

And then the computer explodes.

You’re thrown against Bucky, who catches your fall somewhat, rolling both of you over and out of harm’s way. Your ears are ringing, and you can tell by the buzzing that your intercom is probably broken. Surprisingly, you both seem unharmed apart from that.

Bucky stares at you, face only a few inches from yours and fury still blazing in his eyes. It almost makes you want to laugh. In fact, it’s exhilarating.

“Do you wanna get out of here or what?”

He looks like he’s going to kill you himself. “Geez, I hate you.”

You get to your feet with a low snort, the adrenaline making you strangely giddy as you catch up with Bucky, who is already stomping back in the direction of the tunnels. “I think this was a great success,” you say lightly, stepping over another body. “If Sam hurries up, we might even make it in time for the fireworks—”

He catches you by the elbows and shoves you to the side in one fluid motion the same moment another shot sounds.

Your head whips around and you throw your knife without hesitation. The assailant slumps backwards. There’s still steam coming out of the blaster that never hit Sam, but you barely notice it. You fall to your knees next to Bucky, frantically pressing your hands on the wound in his chest. There’s so much blood. How is there so much blood?

“No, no no no, this isn’t happening. Bucky!” Your head is empty of coherent thought. There’s just panic. “Sam!”

“Ther—half a—”

You tear the broken intercom out of your ear. “Buck, you have to stay with me. We’re, we’re going to get you home, okay?”

His blue eyes find yours. They’re impossibly wide. “So—so stupid,” he pants and his face distorts in pain.

You feel sick to your stomach. “I know. I know, I’m so—I’m so sorry, I’m gonna fix this.”

You flick your fingers, again and again, but there’s nothing. There’s absolutely nothing. You don’t feel the pull, not even the tiniest bit of a quiver. You’re just grasping at air, your powers betraying you once again. A curse.

Bucky starts blurring in front of you and you blink the tears away, refusing to let him out of focus. “Please.”

With concerted effort, he raises his hand to lie on top of yours. “S’okay, doll,” he gets out, his mouth contorting a little. “Y/N. S’okay.”

And then his eyes glaze over.

You scream.

You scream because nothing is okay, because you’re useless, because none of this should have happened and it’s all your fault, and you’re clutching Bucky’s hand in yours because maybe if you hold onto him tightly enough, he’ll come back and all of this will seem like a bad dream. Maybe if you try again, and again, and again, you can make this go away, make it actually okay again, because you don’t know how you’re going to live with yourself if you can’t do the one fucking thing you were supposed to do.

Useless.

You don’t let go of his hand as you press your eyes shut and try to grasp at the edges of your power, try to feel the ridges and flickers in the fabric of everything, reaching out for something, anything, any point in time or space that they can connect to and drag you out of here.

And then they do.

It’s tiny at first, a miniscule spec of something, and you cry out again as you reach out. You feel like your soul is being stripped bare by the effort alone.

Then, it crashes over you like a tidal wave, knocking you forward into Bucky once again. You feel yourself covering his head, cradling it as if that would make a difference. It’s an almost automatic reaction.

Your self seems to expand further and further and shrink at the same time, way worse than it ever has when you’re using your powers, and you feel almost seasick. You press your forehead against Bucky’s.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “It’s going to be okay.”

There is an explosion of green light all around you that lifts you up into the air, and then nothing but darkness as you fade out of consciousness.

***

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

For a moment, you’re completely disoriented, staring at your surroundings in confusion. You’re in your own bedroom back at the Tower, your feet tangled in the sheets and eyes still bleary. You almost let yourself believe that it was all just a nightmare, another horrible dream conjured up by some subconscious remnants of the past, although even the worst of your dreams haven’t felt as real as what you just went through.

The idea is short-lived, anyway.

Your hands are still shaking when you lift them to your face. There’s blood all over your palms and stuck under your fingernails, leaving crimson stains on your bedding. Bucky’s blood.

You swallow down the bile that rises in your stomach and carefully twist your rings around on your fingers, one after the other. All of them are completely pitch black, darker than you’ve ever seen them.

Then again, you’ve never tried anything like this.

You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “FRIDAY?” you say cautiously. The music quietens as the A.I. comes to attention with a gentle tinkle. “What day is it?”

“Today is Friday, July 4th,” FRIDAY tells you.

You huff incredulously, your heart still pounding wildly. Somehow, you did it. It’s yesterday morning again. You actually did it.

Stumbling, you reach your tiny bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. There’s a tiny nick on your left cheek from where the white jacket hit you with your gun last night, but you couldn’t care less because you’re back. It worked.

You scrub your hands under the hot water until it runs clear again, still stunned. You can’t remember ever jumping backwards that far, not without feeling completely exhausted anyway, but right now, you’re strangely alright, even though the adrenaline is still rushing through your veins.

The mix of emotions running through your head is so confusing that you don’t notice the band around your wrist until you’re drying off your hands.

It’s so close to your skin it almost looks like a tattoo, partially translucent and glowing dimly emerald. Instinctively, you try to rub at it, but your fingers go straight through it and you feel a tiny spark of electricity. When you hold out your hand at the right angle, you can see it’s made up of tiny symbols forming geometric shapes, moving around your arm in a slow, seamless circle. The longer you stare at it, the more hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

There’s a pounding at your door, followed immediately by Sam’s voice. “Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!”

You look at the clock on your bedroom wall. It’s shortly before 8 a.m., which gives you almost the entire day before you’re called on that mission. More than enough time to recuperate your powers and figure out a plan to make sure everything goes smoothly this time.

Until then, you just have to act normally.

“Not gonna happen, birdbrain!” you shout back, just like you did yesterday, and go through the pile of semi-clean gym clothes by the foot of your bed. As you get changed, you take another second to look at the strange emerald band around your wrist. Then, you pull a sweatband over it to camouflage it. You’ll deal with this later. For now, it’s training with Sam, a shower and breakfast.

And discreetly checking up on Bucky in a normal, non I Just Watched You Die kind of way. You can totally manage that.

“Don’t ever wake me up like that again!” you call out to Sam, closing the door to your room behind you.

He pushes away from the wall and falls into step next to you, grinning. “Sweet white teenage angst not your style?”

“You’re the worst.” The song is stuck in your head now, too, just like yesterday, but unlike then, you can’t find it in you to be mad about that fact. You did it.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sam remarks as you’re climbing up the stairs and you look at him in surprise. This is new.

Yester-today you didn’t talk at all on your way to the gym, what with you being both tired and annoyed at him. You’re usually wary about changing details during your redos, because the tiniest things can make the outcome of a situation unpredictable.

Still, you’ve never gone this far back. And isn’t this about making today a better day, really?

So you smile. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” Sam says, eyebrow still raised. “Suspicious, maybe. Are you gonna salt someone’s coffee again?”

“I did that one time.” You roll your eyes as you push open the door to the gym. It’s a lot smaller than the one at the Compound was, and you particularly miss the swimming pool, but the view from the Tower is without compare. Midtown looks magnificent in the early sunlight.

You drop your rings into the little metal bowl you keep next to the window and climb into the boxing ring after Sam, stretching your back.

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

Before Sam and Bucky found you, you hadn’t sparred for months and not exactly missed it. Training with soldiers and former assassins who held back every single punch and still managed to drop you on the mat with infuriating ease had never been very fun for you, and what with the universe saved and all, you hadn’t really seen the point in keeping up the practice once the dust blew over. Now that you’re regularly going on missions again, though, you have to stay in shape.

And although you hate to admit it even to yourself, there is something calming about being back in a routine like this. It keeps your head from getting stuck in the fuzzy grayness of it all. Damn those dopamines your therapist keeps telling you about.

Today, though, this today, your eyes are continually drawn to the door while you’re dodging and blocking Sam. It makes you sloppy even by your standards, which are mediocre at best thanks to your impatience. Of course it doesn’t escape his notice.

“What is up with you today?” he asks when he helps you get back to your feet for the third time this morning.

You dab the sweat off your face, hissing when you accidentally rub the cut on your cheek. At least Sam hasn’t said anything about that. “Slept weird,” you say evasively.

“Nightmare?” he offers with a compassionate look.

“Sort of,” you answer. “Feels a little … déjà-vu-y.”

“I know the type,” Sam says. “Wanna talk about it?”

You do. But the time stuff is your problem to deal with, and so you shake your head.

“Alright,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and raising an eyebrow. “Come on, then. You gotta get one kick in, at least, and hurry up, because I’m starving.”

“You could stop moving, then we’re done faster,” you grin. Your stomach is growling, too.

“Nice try, McFly.”

“You used that one earlier,” you say, shaking your head in faux disappointment. “Are you running out of nicknames, Sammy?”

“I’m not gonna be creative for someone who can’t kick above their waistline.”

“How dare you!”

You lose that round, too, but Sam deems you motivated enough to call it a day. He throws his towel over his shoulder and heads to the showers while you lay your head down on the mat and close your eyes for a moment. Waiting.

Yester-today, you didn’t hear Bucky come in, either. He was just sitting next to the ring when you looked to your side, hair sticking to his forehead and shirt clinging to his muscles, still a little damp after his shower. Then, you felt a slight rush of embarrassment at how much of a sweaty mess you were.

Now, you couldn’t care less.

“You look like shit.”

You turn your head and there he is. Living, breathing proof that you actually did do it. And for the first time in a long while, you feel nothing but gratitude for your powers.

Oh, fuck you, Barnes. If you’re sticking to the rules you’ve set for yourself long ago, that’s what you’re supposed to say, because that’s what you said the first time. Change as little as possible.

But even if you hadn’t broken them earlier, you couldn’t do it now. Not when you’re feeling this happy to see Bucky alive again. Alive and well, and slightly grumpy as ever.

So what falls out of your mouth instead is, “You’re looking good.”

Bucky squints at you and you smile at the way his cheeks are still slightly pink from his morning run, proof of his heart still beating. “Did Sam hit you in the head?”

You laugh. “Why, can’t I say that you look good and mean it?”

Bucky tilts his head slightly, but then shakes it. “Nah. You’re messin’ with me.”

“No, I’m not,” you tell him earnestly, sitting up to look at him properly. At his chest, solid and whole and moving calmly. “I’m just … glad you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he frowns.

“I don’t know,” you say, tugging at your sweatband. “It’s been a weird couple of days.”

“Yeah.” He looks at you for another beat, then he shakes his head again and gets up. “Take the towel on the right, I already used the other one.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You smile at him again, but he averts his eyes.

***

“I probably only have one reset left,” you say, trying to ignore the chill that goes down your spine. “Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again.”

“I prefer heroic. You alright?”

And for a moment, you hesitate. Because even though the rest of the day has passed pretty much exactly the same as it did the first time up until this point, you’ve felt the doubts creeping in ever since you laid down for a nap in the early afternoon, tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, only to find your rings hadn’t regained even the slightest speck of green.

You’re terrified of the moment you’re going to have to use your powers, because what if with this large jump, you overdid it? What if this time, there won’t be any redos?

No. You’re made of stronger stuff than your doubts, you know that. Things are going to be okay.

You nod with newfound determination. “‘Course I am. It’s gonna be fine.” You flex your fingers to reassure yourself. “Just try not to get killed.”

It’s a plea more than anything else, but of course Bucky doesn’t respond, not to you. Not to it.

“Can’t say that, bud,” he says instead. “Twenty seconds.”

But who’s counting? You close your eyes and hold your breath, balling your hands into fists so tightly it hurts.

“I don’t wanna complain,” Sam says as the dust settles. “But I did expect this to be more difficult.”

“Don’t jinx it, Sam,” you say wrily.

“You’re such a pessimist.” He still raises his shield a bit higher. “Any more comin’, Bucky?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Your heart twinges slightly, but you bite your lip. Your job is to make sure the mission gets done and everyone stays alive. Both of those things, not just one. “I’m right behind you.”

The lab looks exactly the same as it did the first time, small and crammed and somehow even gloomier today, though that’s probably just your imagination. Now that you know to look for it, you can tell the file cabinet on the far side of the wall doesn’t quite touch the floor, something that Bucky must’ve picked up on immediately.

You feign interest in the papers on the table again, shuffling them to keep your hands occupied. “You’re hovering again, Barnes.”

“You sure you’re alright?”

You turn, surprised at the question, to find Bucky’s gaze lingering on your hands. Not for the first time, you silently curse his perceptiveness. “Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms.

His jaw sets, but he doesn’t comment on your dismissiveness. He just moves to open the cabinet. You don’t find it in you to say anything, and so he doesn’t look quite as happy with himself. It doesn’t give you any pleasure.

When the downstairs lab fills with white jackets, your stomach is still threatening to drop, but you grit your teeth. This is exactly the kind of situation you’ve trained for; the most important thing now is remembering the order of things. Like a dance recital.

Duck to the side. Bucky steps right. Wait for Sam’s move. Shoot. You take another step back before the white jacket can drag you away by the throat again and kick them in the stomach until they stay on the ground, which is a way kinder fate than yesterday’d brought them. You shudder slightly as you turn to look at the hole in the ceiling. Three. Two. One.

The second explosion goes off at the same time as someone shouts your name, and you whip your head around only to be roughly shoved to the side and fall the ground. A large piece of ceiling lands right where you’d just been standing. Which is obviously a different place than yesterday because you knocked that white jacket unconscious. Wow, you’re an idiot.

Bucky seems to agree. “Whatever’s happening right now, you gotta snap out of it.” There’s something about the look on his face that makes your blood boil.

“What’s happening is that I’m trying to fix this,” you say sharply.

“By getting yourself killed?!”

“We need to get moving,” Sam’s voice says on the intercom before you have time to reply. “If you take care of the drive and these idiots, I’ll clear the tunnels for a way out of here!”

Bucky stares at you for another second as if he’s trying to decide on the thing that’s most wrong with you right now. You shove him off you.

He rolls his eyes and gets back on his feet, holding up his arm for Sam to throw the shield his way. By the time you see the white jacket aiming their gun, they’re already pulling the trigger. You throw up your hands.

A surge of emptiness goes through you, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Time seems to still for just the blink of an eye as Bucky’s head is thrown forwards.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. The room seems to wobble in front of you as you scramble to your hands and knees in bed, trying to get a proper breath of air.

“FRIDAY.” You almost flinch at the panic in your own voice. “FRIDAY, what day is it?”

“Today is Friday, July 4th.”

chapter two

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[saebyeokbliss]

Helloooo!!!

Could you maybe do one where the reader and sae byeok are polar opposites. That like the reader is very girly and just really a girls girl while sae byeok is yk sae byeok lmao. But that just makes them such a good couple with great chemistry! ���️

Thank youuuuu

MY GIRL

synopsis: you and sae-byeok are total opposites. you love curling your hair, putting cute bows on almost everything, and pink. see-byeok, on the other hand, hates things like that. however, she doesn't seem to hate you or your silly little obsessions. paring: kang sae-byeok x fem!bimbo/girly girl!reader

warnings: opposites-attract dynamics, mentions of sae-byeok’s tough upbringing, protective behavior, mild possessiveness, fluff overload, slight bimbo!reader characterization, sae-byeok being emotionally awkward but loving in her own way.

a/n: this is such a cute idea!! i love grumpy sae. thank you anon!!!

Opposites attract has never been more true than with you and Sae-byeok. You’re a walking, talking Barbie doll—pink nails, cute outfits, and an air of carefree energy, while she's all sharp edges, quiet stares, and an eternal “don’t mess with me” aura.

The first time you met, she thought you were too much. Too giggly, too talkative, too… pink. But somehow, she found herself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame (or in her case, a grumpy black cat to a warm sunspot).

You, on the other hand, immediately adored her. She was like the mysterious, broody love interest in a romance novel, and you were determined to crack that tough exterior.

You bring color into her life. Literally. If it were up to Sae-byeok, she'd wear nothing but black and gray, but you sneak pastel accessories into her wardrobe. One day, she absentmindedly wears a cute pink scrunchie you gave her, and when she realizes, she grumbles—but doesn’t take it off.

She protects, you support. You’re soft, bubbly, and sometimes a little ditzy, but you’re also fiercely loyal. Sae-byeok might act like she doesn’t need anyone, but you always remind her that she’s not alone anymore.

You spoil her. Sae-byeok isn’t used to being pampered, so when you insist on painting her nails (“Just clear polish, please.”), buying her little gifts, or running your fingers through her hair when she’s tired, she melts—though she’d never admit it.

In return, Sae-byeok is your personal bodyguard. She glares at anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way. If someone flirts with you and you don’t like it, she’ll step in with a cold, “She's taken. Fuck off.”

You love PDA, she doesn’t. You’re always clinging to her arm, holding her hand, or peppering kisses on her cheek. At first, she’s stiff and awkward, but over time, she gets used to it. Now, if you don’t hug her at least five times a day, she gets grumpy.

She secretly loves your rambling. You talk about shopping, reality TV, or the latest gossip, and even though she pretends not to care, she remembers everything. One day, you offhandedly mention your favorite perfume running out, and the next week, she wordlessly hands you a new bottle.

She even got the scent right.

You teach her how to have fun. Sae-byeok has spent her life surviving, not living. But with you, she learns to enjoy the little things—like matching pajamas, late-night ice cream runs, and dancing around the apartment in fuzzy socks.

She’s your biggest supporter, even in her own quiet way. If you’re ever insecure, she holds your face in her hands and tells you, in her blunt but sincere way, “You’re beautiful. Stop being stupid.”

You balance each other out. You remind her to smile more, to enjoy life, to let herself be loved. And she reminds you to stand your ground, to be strong, to never let the world dim your light.

In the end, you’re the softness to her sharp edges, the sunshine to her storm, the warmth to her cold. And somehow, it works. 

sae-byeok taglist: @everly-summers-solace @stellssxo @lyzem @wlvlurvsfimmia @ellen0009

[caitified]

i love family series sm!!!! i need to see jelly cait, ok imagine kate visited bella after not seeing her for months and bella was just so excited that kate was finally there to play with her, so cait felt jealous that bella was giving her FULL attention to kate, that bella unintentionally ignored her and cait was flabbergasted and tried to prove she was the better cait/kate 😭😭😭

FAVOURITE

CAITLIN CLARK X FAMILY READER ( FT KM )

notes: this is SO cute thank you for the request.

you were already sitting on the couch, watching the whole thing unfold, when caitlin dramatically gasped at bella choosing kate as her favorite. you knew this was about to be good.

kate barely had time to set her bag down before bella had fully latched onto her, arms wrapped tight around her neck, talking a mile a minute about everything she had done since kate’s last visit. and to make things even funnier, caitlin had been the one to open the door, and bella hadn’t even acknowledged her.

you bit back a smile as caitlin stood there, completely flabbergasted, arms crossed over her chest. you could already see the storm brewing behind her eyes.

“uh, hello?” caitlin tried, hands on her hips. “your mother is standing right here.”

bella, still playing with kate’s necklace, barely spared her a glance. “yeah.”

your lips twitched. oh, this was good.

caitlin’s mouth fell open. “bella, i do everything for you, and this is how you treat me?”

bella blinked at her like she had no idea what the issue was. “what?”

kate, meanwhile, was grinning ear to ear, clearly enjoying caitlin’s misery.

“she’s two, babe,” you reminded caitlin, amused. “she loves you more than anything, relax.”

but caitlin was not relaxing. she was spiraling.

“bella,” caitlin tried again, “who’s your favorite?”

bella barely even hesitated. “auntie kate.”

the way caitlin actually gasped like bella had just stabbed her in the back had you hiding your face in your hands. you knew you were supposed to step in, be the mature parent, but watching caitlin lose her mind over your toddler’s very temporary favoritism was just too funny.

kate was thriving in this moment.

caitlin, however, was going through a full-blown crisis. “bella! are you serious right now?”

bella just shrugged, like she hadn’t just broken her mom’s heart.

you watched, fully entertained, as caitlin proposed a competition to determine the better cait/kate. when she announced it with full confidence, you almost choked on your drink.

“are you really doing this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

caitlin pointed at kate. “she’s not winning. i’m the better cait.”

you just sat back, letting the chaos unfold.

it didn’t take long for things to spiral even further. caitlin lost every single round. kate was better at airplane rides, better at tickles, better at snacks. by the time bella was curled up on kate’s lap, looking more content than ever, caitlin looked absolutely defeated.

you reached over, patting caitlin’s thigh. “hey, at least she still likes you.”

caitlin groaned, flopping against the couch dramatically. “this is the worst day of my life.”

bella must’ve finally taken pity on her because she slid off kate’s lap and climbed onto caitlin’s instead.

“mommy?”

caitlin sighed, rubbing her face. “yeah, baby?”

bella grinned before planting a sloppy kiss on caitlin’s cheek. “you’re my favorite too.”

caitlin melted immediately, wrapping bella up in the tightest hug possible.

kate rolled her eyes. “oh, now she’s your favorite?”

caitlin just smirked, holding bella close. “guess i win after all.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you both are ridiculous.”

kate pointed at you. “and you’re no better for sitting there laughing the entire time.”

“i was being an objective observer,” you defended. “very neutral.”

caitlin scoffed. “neutral, my ass.”

bella yawned, resting her head against caitlin’s chest, fully content now that she had thoroughly traumatized her mom.

you leaned over, kissing caitlin’s temple. “you know she loves you more than anything, right?”

caitlin sighed dramatically. “yeah, yeah. but next time, i’m the favorite first.”

kate snorted. “good luck with that.”

and just like that, you knew this definitely wasn’t the last time you’d be watching caitlin fight for bella’s attention.

[suzukiblu]

hi, question for you, have you ever experienced prolonged writer’s block before? do you happen to have any advice for getting a writing flow going again, that you’d be willing to share?

bc i don’t want to get too heavy in your asks, but between chronic illness/fatigue and longterm autistic burnout i haven’t been able to write a single word in several years now, and GOD am i tired of it. it’s like all the stories and words are stuck inside me and i can see it all in my head but the faucet is jammed and i just can’t get it OUT! i have been slowly feeling like the creative embers are maybe starting to spark again but it’s so hard not to get impatient with myself because it never seems to actually transfer to paper (or word document or notes app). any ideas or tips?

no pressure to answer this if you don’t want to of course, regardless i really enjoy your writing and i’m so glad that i can at least engage with fandom through other authors even when i can’t write my own stories! 💛

Oh god, yeah, I DEFINITELY have experienced that, hahasob. I have gone through at LEAST a year or two without, like, putting down a single word or even drawing anything, just total creative block/not there-ness. Like I feel u on that one, bud.

Good news: now if I write less than 2k in a day I think "oh that's kinda low, huh", so like . . . definitely "didn't write jack shit for [ INSERT TIME PERIOD HERE ]" has yet to sink me, and therefore fuck if it's gonna sink ANY of us. We persevere!!

So like, in my experience actually helpful writing advice is just SO wildly "you just gotta try shit 'til something works"-based that I'mma just give you a list made up of a bunch of, like, assorted tips and tricks that I use on myself to make my brain put words down when it's being stubborn about it, though different ones work at different times and obvi YMMV here anyway because for obvious reasons these are all approaches that I have tailored to my own needs, hah, and some of them are a bit facetious and some are also a bit heavy, but absolutely and unironically I reguarly use them all and they have all repeatedly worked for me.

Also, they're all gonna be goin' behind a cut because WOW there's actually a lot more of them than I realized I had, hahaha. The psychiatrist who recently used me as a case study told me I was very self-aware, so take from that what you will, friend.

Get up and do a chore/take a shower/eat a snack/literally just walk through a friggin' doorway, more often than not it'll at least make your brain reorient enough for you to realize you were just beating your head against a wall and need to do [ INSERT DAMAGE CONTROL/HARM REDUCTION BEHAVIOR HERE ].

Track your progress. Write to-do lists and cross shit off 'em. Keep track of your word count when you write; put it in a spreadsheet or a notebook or on a graph on your bulletin board.

Get a NEW way to track your progress. I currently use, like, three different "to-do list" apps to varying degrees in varying ways, not counting just my basic calendar app ( for the record: Finch, Structured, and just a generic notes app, but mostly Finch and Structured and seriously I CANNOT recommend Finch enough, go get yourself a bird buddy immediately. do you want a friend code, I will GIVE you a friend code, I think it gives you a bonus mini-pet or something if you use it. ), and also set myself MANY a phone alarm to remind myself of things that I need to do in case I space out or get distracted by somebody/something/the specific phase of the moon.

Did you take your meds? Take your fucking MEDS, self, good LORD.

Leave the house even if for literally, like, thirty seconds to just stand in some actual natural light. Or leave the house to go eat at a cafe or library or fast food place and just put yourself in a new environment for literally any length of time whatsoever.

Switch pens. Switch notebooks. Get a NEW notebook. Use your laptop instead. Use your PHONE instead. Get a nicer notebook. Get a shittier notebook. Use the scratch paper at work. Use the Procreate app on your friggin' iPad if you gotta, whatever, you do what you want!!

Don't write!!

Seriously just don't, go watch an actual scripted TV show or movie or read a book or a comic or some fic. Feed your brain something you didn't have to make up yourself.

Come up with a convoluted way to trick yourself into being accountable to someone else. Join a writing group. Make a Tumblr post about how you're gonna go write now. Ask Tumblr for their opinion on what you should write now. Ask Tumblr to spin this random wheel spinner game you generated and tell you what answer they got, and then write THAT.

HAVE you had a snack? Did you eat breakfast? Did you eat lunch? Did you remember to move around the house at any point whatsoever during the day? Maybe like, do that. Like, at least the snack part. Maybe a stretch or something wouldn't hurt either though.

Meal prep is so fucking useful and saves you SO much annoying time and also, like, makes you eat actual veggies and fruit and shit, genuinely actually works, the gym bros were not wrong, go figure. Also then you don't have to think about what you're gonna eat all the time and then cook it and then clean up and then--yeah anyway meal prep, god bless it. Once a week I make a batch of pasta salad and roast a pan of good-when-roasted veggies with like, garlic and salt and pepper and some olive oil and add bacon after, and then I portion it all into tupperware and in the morning I add spinach or crack an egg into that day's share of veggies for breakfast and maybe make some toast, and just grab one of the pasta salads whenever I want something lunch-like. It saves SO much time and distraction when you are hurting for free time/focus. So, SO much.

Unfortunately the gym bros were also correct about exercise, if that's doable for you. Exercise does in fact make you feel better and more energized and less depressed, fuck those guys for being right about that shit. Assuming you have enough iron in your blood to actually, like, do it, which admittedly I frequently do not, but the point stands.

Dude why are you even trying to write, you're so tired, go to bed and get up early, you write SO much better in the mornings anyway.

Hey, I know that's how you USED to write, but like, is that actually how you write right now? Is that actually even what works for you anymore? Actually maybe outlines COULD be helpful or maybe you don't need all those worldbuilding notes all at once; maybe your inner architect needs to let the building decay and go back to nature or maybe your inner gardener has developed a taste for trellises, metaphorically speaking and all.

Please eat something. Also please DRINK something. Like ideally water but we'll go for anything that involves a liquid, seriously.

Hey did you know actually if you ONLY eat instant ramen and microwave pizza you'll probably get scurvy and die instead of, like, writing your magnum opus? Like probably?? Put a fucking egg in that ramen, man! Slice up a scallion in that bitch!! EAT AN ACTUAL WHOLE FRUIT or at least, like, buy a smoothie with actual fruit involved somewhere in it on occasional. The whole fruit, unfortunately, is better. I like apples. Apples take a REAL long time to rot if I forget they exist for a couple weeks or whatever. But like, mango smoothies are also the shit, can't turn down a mango smoothie or a good strawberry-banana. Hey did you know the grocery store just, like, will let you just buy one single apple and they don't give a fuck? You're free! The cashier won't remember you in five minutes!! Buy your one single apple and work your way up to maybe two apples next time!! Also now I want an apple!!!!

Don't write. Don't write THAT. Write the other thing. No, the OTHER other thing. No, not THAT other other thing.

The rules are made up and the points don't matter.

Fuck it, we ball.

[ INSERT FULL-THROTTLE STIMMING BEHAVIOR HERE ]

Only God can judge me and I'm still technically agnostic.

God, that's the weirdest fucking idea you've ever had, literally NO ONE but you would read it. So you should write 180k of it and also make it even weirder and yes it will absolutely be the one fic that just about everyone in MCU fandom who knows you exist knows you for, don't even worry about it, this isn't based on a true story at all.

Actually you could probably storyboard this scene to figure out wtf is happening here. Or like just draw literally anything related to this story, a bit of that might work some kinks out of the whole process.

Did you get that snack yet?

Hey go pet your dog, she's very soft and wants attention and also her OWN snack. Pet your dog and eat an apple and idk watch some anime or a weird niche documentary or an even more niche reality show, have you seen Deep-Fried Dynasty yet, it's on Hulu and was surprisingly engrossing.

Why are you even following the rules, we've been over this, they are made up and the points do NOT matter, and also you're not even getting graded for this anyway.

Yeah okay that thing you wrote sucked, but it turns out that Dean Koontz somehow has a writing career and also Twilight happened to all of us, so actually even the suckiest thing you ever write is gonna be better than the perfect ideal of the scene in your head, because the suckiest thing you ever write is something OTHER people can READ. And again: Dean Koontz has a career. Colleen HOOVER has a career. And fucking good for them, they're killing it, they are fucking WRITING!! Who gives a damn anyway, fix it in editing if you're that worried about it, they call it a rough draft for a reason.

Hey if that thing doesn't work you can just, like, delete it. Or rewrite it. Or stick it in your back pocket and do something else for a while. The sunk-cost fallacy is bullshit and you don't have to listen to it.

Maybe drink some more caffeine, that'll calm you down. [ DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE OF ADVICE TAILORED TO A PERSON WITH MORE ADHD THAN LITERALLY NINETY-FIVE PERCENT OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD; THAT PERCENTAGE IS ON THE ACTUAL LEGITIMATE DIAGNOSTIC PAPERWORK ]

Seriously you can just write anything you want, nobody can stop you. Only God can judge me and I'm still technically agnostic enough that that's like, thirty-seventy odds at BEST.

God that idea is so niche and weird and niche, better tone it the fuck down to--oh wait no mass appeal means you're writing popcorn and literally no one will remember it in five minutes anyway, stop reflexively censoring yourself for some imaginary audience that will just chew straight through your one-size-fits-all story for The Content(tm) and then immediately move onto the next one without even bothering to hit "kudos" or remember anything about it later. I have written shit so weird that people still remember how weird I was TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER, man, and that is why literally anyone will EVER remember that you exist or wanna read your stuff or follow you to a new fandom where they don't even know the source material, fuck it, they'll wiki some shit. And also who cares anyway, it's YOUR stuff and YOU wanna read it. Your agnostically-possible god did not make you this weird and niche for no reason, don't pussy out now!!

Actually you can just write in the bath/on the bus/while waiting for your roommate to finish up with the guy running this estate sale. You've got your phone, right? Fuck it, pack a notebook. Pack an extra notebook. Pack a smaller notebook. Pack a BIGGER notebook.

It's not stupid if it works. You don't have to do what literally ANYONE else is doing, you just have to do what works.

You can literally just skip to the good part and write that, actually. Nobody's gonna throw you in writer-jail. What are we, cops?? Actually do you even need this lead-up here or do you just need to write this one specific blorbo gettin' laid REAL enthusiastically kinkily and/or maybe having a nervous breakdown sobfest over their perception of their personal self-worth and everything else is kinda just window dressing??

I mentioned the snack thing, right? Also sugar rushes are fake but sugar CRASHES are real so maybe be a little careful on that one, maybe buy some trail mix/jerky/smoked salmon, smoked salmon is SO good, smoked salmon is just objectively delicious.

Go talk somebody's ear off about what you're trying to write about. Bonus points if you can find somebody who matches your freak enough that you write, uhhhhh /checks smudged writing on wrist/ a 60k Overwatch fic in two weeks and also like 280k of Witcher fic in less than a year specifically because they're just a real good cheerleader. Wow. Wow that was a lot more Witcher fic than I was aware I had written. THE POINT IS LOOK FOR A WRITING BUDDY, WRITING BUDDIES ARE THE SHIT.

If the writing buddy doesn't work out though the first time I won NaNoWriMo I did it directly out of spite because someone said they didn't think I actually would. So like, spite is always an option, you can always keep that one on tap if you gotta.

Stephen King did not write "On Writing" because he didn't want you to write. Francesca Lia Block did not introduce you to the weirdest and gayest shit teenage!you had ever read so you'd grow up and be a fucking NORMIE about this shit. SIR TERRY PRATCHETT DID NOT WRITE LIKE SIXTEEN OF YOUR FAVORITE BOOKS OF ALL TIME BECAUSE HE DID NOT WANT YOU TO WRITE WHAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY FRICKIN' INTO.

Clean your room. No, better than that. Okay fuck it just set a ten-minute timer and do what you can in that time, we work with the spoons we've got.

Random number generator. Random color generator. Random "hey followers here's a very oblique poll, don't even worry about what it's about, just click a button please and thank you".

Did you know the internet will just GIVE you free graphs/trackers/bullet journal page designs and you can just print 'em out and do whatever the heck you want with 'em?? Yes my new little "color in the squares every day you do the thing" tracker IS just six daily writing tasks and two daily "just go pick some stuff up in this specific room" tasks and that is MY BUSINESS, MS. SIR AND MR. MADAM AND MX. [ INSERT BUZZER SOUND ]. And also, like, has done much better at getting me to do chores than anything else has in a minute, go fig.

You can actually just do whatever you want forever.

Literally, like just forever.

Fuck, how many times HAVE you done this? You'll never get better for good, it'll always go bad again, you'll always get sick again, you'll always get SAD again, you'll always fucking forget how to even DO this again and have to start all over.

Well yes, obviously, because you'll always have done it again. So do it again. One more time.

( seriously though did you take your meds-- )

[loves0phelia]

Red And Blue

Summery: His canon event.

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: kinda gore at one point nothing too crazy, grammar mistakes.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the amount of mistakes this probably has but i cant be bothered to care more i just want to get this fic out. Listen to my tears ricochet as you read

Rafe had always been good at hiding things. He kept his head down, stayed out of the spotlight, and made sure no one looked too closely. But ever since the bite, since the powers, since the responsibility that came with it, lying had become second nature.

Especially to you.

It killed him, really. Every time he bailed on a movie night, ignored your texts, or showed up bruised and breathless with a half-baked excuse, he saw the confused and hurt look in your eyes. But what was he supposed to do? Tell the truth? That he was ditching every time to swing across rooftops, and fight criminals? No. That wasn’t an option.

Tonight was no different.

“Are you serious, Rafe?” You leaned your head down, phone pressed against your ear, voice sharp with frustration. “You're leaving me again. You promised this time. I know you don't like school events but just once please”

“I'm sorry” he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Something came up.”

“Something always comes up. What is it this time? And don’t tell me it's homework or family stuff, because I know when you’re lying.” 

“I just…” He exhaled, as if a weight was pressing on his chest. “I can’t tell you, okay?” He swallowed hard.

Silence. At first he thought you hung up but he could still hear a faint shuffling from the other end of the phone call.

The silence was somehow worse than you cursing him out for bailing.

“Why not? I thought we told each other everything.” your voice was softer this time, more fragile

God, how badly he wanted to. He wanted to tell you about the fights, the injuries he had to patch up alone, the weight of trying to be a hero when all he wanted was to be a normal guy. But if he told you he'd put you into too much risk.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So he did what he always did.

He lied.

“I just need you to trust me,” he said even if his chest ached. “Please.”

You thought for a long moment, then shook your head with a sad smile even if he couldn't see you. “You say that like I don’t already.”

And that hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

Because he knew he was running out of chances. The more he lied the more it felt like you were walking away.

“Welp” you said, popping the P, as if trying to lighten up the mood, before taking a small pause. “I'm already half ready and Gwen really wants us to go to the party so if you change your mind just call me?”

"Okay," he whispered into the phone.

"Bye, Rafe." The call ended with a soft beep, leaving him alone with the silence. 

“i suck” He let out a heavy sigh, groaning as he flopped onto his bed. The mask, half-folded over his face, slipped down, unfolding on its own. It rested against his nose—a quiet, relentless reminder of the responsibilities he has over the city.

"Heyyyy!" Gwen called out, sprinting toward you from the front steps of the school, where she had been waiting. Her face lit up the moment she spotted you approaching.

You hesitated, glancing at the building behind her, you could hear music thumping from inside. 

“Rafe is not with you?” she asked, looking around you thinking she might have missed him.

“No, you know how he is. He bailed again” you sighed.

“What is his problem?” She didn't wait for an answer and continued, “you know what? let's forget about him and just have fun” she looped her arm with yours and instantly began dragging you.

The homecoming party was in full swing, music pounding against the walls, and laughter echoed through the gym where it took place. It reeked of sweat, and the floor was already sticky as if someone had dropped bottles of juice on the floor and honestly if Rafe was here you would have begged him to leave with you already.

You tried to enjoy the moment, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. You clutched a red Solo cup filled with non alcoholic fruit punch, swirling the liquid mindlessly. You knew you’d only take a few sips—just enough to look like you were part of the fun.

Beside you, Gwen nudged your arm with a playful grin. “Come on, loosen up a little! It's homecoming, not a funeral.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? This just isn’t really my scene.”

 “You mean you don’t love being crammed in a gym full of sweaty high schoolers who haven't  learned what deodorant is yet, with music so loud it could cause permanent hearing damage?” Gwen dramatically gasped.

“Shocking, right?” You smirked.

“Alright, no excuses. One dance. Then I’ll let you go back to brooding in the corner with your untouched fruit punch.” She grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the dance floor

You sighed but let her drag you along anyway , attempting to let go of the tension in your chest just for a few minutes.

But it didn't last long. 

A single phone rang loudly, cutting through the music—then another, and another, until the entire gym was filled with the sound of alerts. Conversations stopped, and a wave of confusion swept through the crowd as people scrambled to check their phones. Those who had left theirs at home leaned over shoulders, desperate to see what was happening.

It was an emergency alert.

A link attached to the notification led to a live report from a hovering news helicopter. The shaky footage showed Spider-Man in a brutal fight with something massive—a creature that towered over him. Gasps and murmurs spread through the party as people recognized what they were seeing.

Another lizard.

New York had seen its fair share of Dr. Curt Connors copycats, but this one was different. It was bigger—almost dinosaur-sized; its scaly skin was reflecting the city lights as it tore through the streets. The ground seemed to shake even through the screen.

“This… this one’s huge,” someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the growing panic.

The realization hit all at once. This wasn’t just another mad scientist playing with forbidden experiments and  chemicals. This was something worse. And it was heading straight for the school.

The battle outside was relentless. The massive Lizard roared, its tail whipping through the air, sending cars flying like toys that weighed nothing. Rafe gritted his teeth, webbing up debris and yanking himself through the air to keep up with the monster’s destructive path.

Every web he shot was torn apart and all his strength did nothing against the creature. Rafe's body ached, exhaustion creeping in faster than he wanted to admit. The Lizard was too strong, too fast, and it was pushing forward, heading straight toward the school. Toward you.

He forced himself to move, barely dodging a swipe of the creature’s paws. His vision blurred for a moment, his limbs trembling. His suit was torn. He was too weak. He wasn’t going to make it.  

Then he saw it. In that small moment of hesitation, that single breath he allowed himself to take, the monster had surged forward. Its massive feet slammed into the school celling, reducing the entrance to ashes. Dust and debris shot into the air as the walls groaned under its weight. His chest tightened—he had wasted precious seconds

A deafening explosion sent shockwaves through the school, knocking people off their feet. walls shattered, dust lifted in the air, screams filled the gym, all the lights were shut off putting the school in full black out and the once-lively party descended into chaos.

Everyone was running frantically, The entire building shook as you all felt the creature getting closer seeking destruction. All you could hear was the scream of people desperately trying to find an exit. 

“We have to go!” Gwen took your hand and began running but there was nowhere to run, the school was falling piece by piece.

The next thing you knew, the Lizard’s massive paw tore through the ceiling, debris raining down. Screams got louder and louder. It wasn’t just destroying the building—it was tearing apart anything in its path.

Even students.

You barely had time to process the horror unfolding before your eyes. The sickening sound of ripping metal, the desperate cries for help—it was too much. You wanted to run, to do something, but your body felt frozen in place, paralyzed by terror.

And then you saw it.

A lifeless hand, limp beneath the rubble. A shoe that hadn’t been there seconds ago. Blood smeared across the floor where moments earlier, there had been laughter.

Your breath hitched, your chest was tightening with a grief so sharp it felt like it might crush you. This wasn’t just destruction. It was a massacre..

You barely had time to process  it before a chunk of debris came crashing down—right toward you and a figure dressed in red and blue dropped from the ceiling and came at you as fast as light could travel.

In a blur of motion, you were flying through the air, held tightly against a strong chest. 

“You need to go!”  Spiderman yelled as soon as he dropped you back on your feet. But you couldn't hear him over the roars and the screams.

Before you could respond, a violent force knocked you both apart. You tumbled across the floor, the wind knocked from your lungs and the monster hovered over you. 

Spider-Man lunged, webbing the creature’s face and yanking it backward. “Run!” he shouted at you, desperation in his tone. He fought with everything he had, flipping, dodging, striking with all the strength he could collect. But the Lizard was relentless.

Then, in the chaos, you tried to run—but the Lizard’s tail lashed out, striking you hard. The sound of impact was harsh. You hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“No!” Rafe’s voice cracked, Something inside him snapped. Rage flooded his veins, and every ache, every ounce of exhaustion vanished.

With a furious roar, he attacked. His punches came harder, his movements faster. He webbed the Lizard’s limbs, yanking it into the ground with a force that shattered concrete. He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. Not after what had just happened.

Finally, with one last web the monster was tied to the floor unmoving and unconscious, the host of the lizard and succumbed.

But none of it mattered.

Rafe stumbled toward you, collapsing beside you before pulling his mask up to truly see you.

 “No, no, no—come on” he pleaded, his hands lifted your head up and he felt the liquid pouring out of the large gash behind your head. His blood stained hands trembled as he brushed the hair from your face, his vision blurred with tears. “Please, Y/n—”

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, breathing shallow. A weak, bittersweet smile ghosted your lips. “I always knew,” you whispered. “I always knew it was you.”

Rafe froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“I just… wished you told me,” You murmured, fingers barely gripping his suit. “I still would’ve… loved you.”

Tears streamed down his face. “No, don’t—don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay. I promise, I—”

But you exhaled one last breath, your hand slipping from his suit. Your body went still.

“Please, no. i love you” he lifted your body further into his as if his warmth could bring you back but it didn't.

And after that moment the canon remained intact.

[frmisnow]

ㅤ▌ ͟PINK RIBBONS & PRETTY LITTLE LIES! ⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀ ♬᭢ 𝟏.𝟓𝐤 smut . nsfw

SUMMARY in which you wear the set of lingerie that jungkook got you last valentine.. back when everything was going well (aka. before you broke up) ─── and he's reminded of how it felt to be yours and vice versa

jungkook shouldn't be here.

he knows it the second he steps through the threshold, the air too sweet, too warm, too familiar. it clings to his skin like a your perfume used to, drowning him in déjà vu. he’s been inside this apartment before — slept in that bed, kissed against that kitchen counter, fucked on that couch.

but right now? he's just a visitor. hell, a guest. not even a welcomed one, at that.

“you said you needed something?” your voice is a bit lower then usual, cautious, the same way it always is when you don’t know what to do with him.

jungkook blinks, coming back to himself. “yeah,” he says, tugging at his sleeve. “uh. my charger.”

it’s a lie. a shitty one.

your brow lifts, unconvinced clearly a bit amused. “your charger?”

“yeah,” he repeats, stuffing his hands into his pockets doing his best as to not act like he’s not already regretting this. “i think i left it here last time.”

he doesn’t mention that last time was two months ago, right before everything went to shit.

you’re still watching him, lips pressed together like you want to say something, maybe call him out. but then you sigh, defeated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ll check,” you reply simply, before turning towards your bedroom.

and that’s when he sees it.

just a glimpse, a flash of pink — delicate, silky, peeking out from beneath your shirt. a thin little strap sliding against your shoulder, trailing down your back, thin and precise.

valentine’s day. the last one — before everything went to shit.

he still remembers it in vivid, aching detail, the way the night bled into morning, how thd walls shook from how hard he fucked you, the imprint of your nails down his back when he m ade you come for the fourth time. how ruined you sounded, voice hoarse from moaning his name, from begging, from pleading — not that you ever needed to. jungkook would have given you anything.

he did.

i got you something, he’d said, fingers running along your spine as you sat on his lap, bare and so fucking soft. you gotta open it, though.

you had, with a lazy, knowing smile — already looking at him like you knew whatever was inside would be sinful. after all, you knew him so well.

the second you pulled out the pink lace, you’d laughed. "you’re such a perv."

yeah? his teeth had found your shoulder, licking over the fragile skin, before biting into it gently. put it on for me, then.

and fuck, you had. you did.

he’d known you’d look good in it, but nothing could have prepared him for how perfect it was — how the fabric hugged your tits, how the straps stretched over your hips, how the sheer paneling did little to nothing in hiding the way your cunt was already glistening for him.

then, fucked you slow at first, dragging it out, making you whimper, making y ou work for it. made you ride him just so he could watch you — so he could see how your tits bounced in that pretty little thing, so he could slip his hands under the fabric and yank until it nearly tore. he’d wanted to see you in it, wanted to make you come in it, wanted to make sure the next time you put it on, all you’d think about was him.

and now — now you’re wearing it again.

not for him.

something ugly twists in his chest.

“why?” his voice is quieter than he means for it to be. rougher.

you freeze, hand still reaching for the box on the top shelf. “what?”

“why are you wearing it?”

there’s a visable pause, just a second, showing you clearly gave more thought into this, then you pretended.

jungkook steps forward, fingers twitching. “did you wear it for him?”

he doesn’t say the name. doesn’t need to.

your shoulders go stiff, but you don’t turn around. “It’s just lingerie, jungkook.”

his jaw clenches. “it wasn’t just lingerie when I bought it for you.”

a deep inhale, measured. “things change.”

his presence is suffocating behind you. close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his breaths are heavier now. fuck, when did he even manage to get so close? you swallow, slow. "it’s just lingerie," you repeat, but there’s no actual conviction behind it.

“take it off.”

jungkook exhales sharply through his nose, a scoff bordering on a laugh, like he's going fucking insane. which by the way this conversation was going, he probably will. then, he’s closing the distance in one step, inked hands gripping your hips, pulling you back against him so your spine meets his chest. he’s warm. solid.

there's something familar and comforting in feeling him.

“you wore this for him?” his palm drags under your shirt, right to tracing over the lace, which was just as silky as he remembered “him?” like it was an insult to him personally.

you swallow. “jungkook—”

“tell me he made you come in it.” his hand moving below your waistline, flattens against your core. you suck in a sharp breath, heat pooling between your thighs. “tell me he fucked you in my lingerie.” his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. his cock is rock hard, pressing into the small of your back.

“did he make you feel good?” he tilts his head, pressing a kiss to your neck. “did he make you beg?” another kiss, softer. his fingers press harder. “did he make you cry for it?”

you gasp, hips bucking forward.

“i bet he didn’t,” jungkook murmurs, his fingers slip under the lace, gliding over your slit audibly groaning at how wet you were, “bet he didn’t fuck you like you deserved.”

“bet he didn’t even touch you like this.” he slides a finger inside you, slow, deep. you whimper, "baby, i know he can't."

your head falls back onto his shoulder, a soft string of noise slipping past of your lips while his thumb rubs gentle circles around your clit, “i can love you so much better than he can.”

you breathe his name out, barerly, rocking your hips against his hand. “fuck,” he hisses, sliding another finger inside you. his lips ghost over your neck, pressing a few more kisses onto the skin, his breathing uneven. “need you, baby.”

his fingers move before his mind does, turning your head to his direction as he presses his lips onto yours, effectively lifting you onto the dresser behind you.

jungkook doesn’t realize he’s barerly breathing until you turn to face him, arms folding over your chest, pushing your tits up against the delicate lace. he can’t even be mad anymore. not when you look like this.

“jungkook,” you start, voice quieter than before. maybe even a little guilty. maybe not.

“can love you so much better than he can,” he breathes against your mouth, lips brushing, voice smitten almost as if he was begging. “you know that, right? you know.”

the hesitation in your eyes almost kills him. but then — then you sigh, melting against him, pressing into his chest with a softness that makes something in his stomach twist. your arms loop around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair, tugging.

“kook,” you whimper, voice barely above a whisper as if it were a secret, only between the both of you. “kiss me.”

while groaning, jungkook drags you up against him, hands gripping at the backs of your thighs, forcing your legs around his waist. kisses you until you’re gasping, until you’re tilting your head back, mouth agape, letting him trail his mouth down the curve of your jaw, your throat, biting down when he reaches your collarbone.

he stumbles toward the bed, nearly toppling both of you over when he lays you down, panting, hands running over your thighs, pushing them apart. his cock aches in his sweats, already damp at the tip, already too hard to be rational.

“you wore this for him?” he asks again, just to watch you squirm. just to see the way your cheeks flush, the way your brows pinch together, that guilty expression that was almost grazing slutty.

“it’s just lingerie,” you whisper, shaky. who were you even fooling? not jungkook, that's for sure.

he snickers, disapprovingly yet there was no real malice, not in his gaze, not in his tone. he licks over the lace first, just to make you whine, pressing the fabric against your soaked cunt with his tongue, groaning at the taste. then, he tugs the panties to the side again, diving in properly, flattening his tongue against you.

your thighs jolt, fingers curling into the sheets, a choked gasp escaping when jungkook drags his tongue up your slit, slow, deliberate, savoring.

“fuck,” he mutters against you, hot breath sending a shiver up your spine. he licks again, rougher this time, pressing in, teasing at your entrance before flicking back up to your clit.

your breath stutters, hips bucking, but his hands are already on you, gripping, holding you down with a bruising force.

“keep still,” he says, voice thick, taunting. you can only whimper, thighs trembling, while jungkook hums in approval, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking, slow and deep. your fingers find his hair, tugging, and he groans, pressing his tongue against you harder.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, slipping a hand between your legs, thumb rubbing slow circles over your slick folds, spreading your wetness. “bet he’s never had you like this, huh?”

you don’t answer. can’t. not when jungkook slides a finger inside you, then another, stretching you, pressing deep until he finds that spot that has you gasping, back arching. oh sweet sweet past, guess some things really do stay the same.

[yara0546]

Hey can you do 7dream love languages? 🧡

Nct dream | Their Love Language with You

Pairing: nct dream x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, relationship.

Note : English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

Mark

Mark isn’t the best with expressing emotions, but when he realizes how much words mean to you, he makes an effort.

You sigh, looking out the window of your shared apartment. “Sometimes… I just wonder if I’m enough.”

Mark’s eyes widen, setting down his guitar. “What? What are you talking about? Of course, you are.”

You hesitate. “You don’t say it often. I know you care, but I just—”

Mark gently grabs your hands. “Hey. Listen to me. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean it. You make my days better, you’re my safe place. I love you, and I’ll remind you as many times as you need, okay?”

Your heart flutters at his sincerity. “Okay.”

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’ll say it every day if it makes you feel secure. Because you’re more than enough for me.”

Renjun

Renjun doesn’t always say how much he loves you—he shows it.

One evening, you come home exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open. “Renjun, I—”

Before you can finish, he gently pushes you toward the couch. “Shh, just sit. I got this.”

You blink as he brings over a tray of hot soup, tea, and your favorite snacks. “You cooked?”

He nods, his ears turning red. “You’ve been working too hard. I don’t like seeing you so tired.”

You smile, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He huffs, but his lips twitch into a smile. “Just eat. And don’t think of anything else, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

Jeno

Jeno isn’t overly affectionate in public, but with you, he’s all about physical touch.

You sigh, rubbing your temples after a long day. Jeno notices immediately, pulling you into his arms. “Rough day?”

You nod against his chest. “Yeah.”

Instead of saying anything, he just holds you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. His warmth melts away your stress.

“You always know what I need,” you mumble.

He chuckles, resting his chin on your head. “That’s ‘cause I know you better than anyone.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself relax in his embrace. With Jeno, actions speak louder than words.

Haechan

Haechan believes love is best shown through time spent together.

“Let’s go out!” he announces one evening.

You glance up from your book. “Haechan, it’s late.”

“So? We can go get late-night snacks. Just you and me.”

You hesitate, but the sparkle in his eyes convinces you. Soon, you’re walking down the quiet streets, hand in hand.

Haechan grins, swinging your arms. “I just wanna be with you, you know?”

You smile. “Even if it’s just for snacks?”

“Especially if it’s for snacks,” he teases before his expression softens. “Nah, I just… love spending time with you. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

Your heart swells with warmth. “Me too.”

Jaemin

Jaemin’s love language is a mix of touch and words.

One evening, you’re sitting beside him, feeling insecure. “Do you think I’m… good enough?”

Jaemin frowns and immediately pulls you into his lap. “What? Who put that thought in your head?”

You shrug. “I just… feel that way sometimes.”

He cups your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re perfect to me. And if anyone ever makes you doubt that, tell me so I can fight them.”

You giggle, but your heart flutters at his sincerity. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only for you,” he says, pressing kisses to your forehead. “I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Chenle

For Chenle, love is shown through thoughtful gifts.

“Open it,” he says, handing you a beautifully wrapped box.

You blink in surprise. “But… it’s not a special occasion.”

He shrugs. “Who cares? I saw it and thought of you.”

You open the box to find a necklace with a charm shaped like something meaningful between you two. Tears prick your eyes. “Chenle… this is perfect.”

He grins. “Well, duh. I have good taste.”

You hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

He laughs but hugs you back. “I just want you to have little things that remind you of me.”

Jisung

Jisung is shy about affection, but he shows his love through time spent together and subtle touches.

One afternoon, he drags you to the practice room. “I want to teach you a dance.”

You pout. “But I’m terrible at dancing.”

He grins. “I’ll help you.”

As he guides you through the steps, his hands linger on your waist, keeping you steady. “See? You’re doing great.”

You laugh. “Only because you won’t let me fall.”

“Of course not,” he says softly, holding your hand tighter. “I’d never let you fall.”

Your heart skips a beat. Maybe dancing with Jisung isn’t so bad after all.

[dae-hos-wife]

(okay so this is for a request I previously deleted by mistake)

•|Cmon..you trust me..right?|•

(Fem!Reader x RoughDom!Nam gyu)

(Tw: Degradation, rough ASF, Nam-gyu J's being a perv/ slight sub!nam-gyu, reader gives killer head 🤑🤑)

Your such a dumbass. It's literally only been the first game and you feel like every pain in your life has doubled. Even tripled by guilt.

You don't normally feel so..withdrawn. Or unwanting to do anything.

But now, now you couldn't seem to get up from your bed. You can't. You..won't. You're gonna die here. You're so gonna die here. Why didn't you just refuse the salesman and go back to your shit show of a life. It's better than getting killed.

You suddenly feel a soft tap on your shoulder and you tense up, immediately about to throw a punch when you see a familiar face.

Nam Gyu.

"Hey, Hey-! Calm down- I'm only here to-uh...wish you luck-" he snickers under his breath and you roll your eyes, a softish red hue covering your face.

You look at his face, slight blood dripping down his nose. You know he's previously gotten in a fight with some crypto dealer whose scammed them out of their money.

But it's crypto? When has it ever properly taken off? Except for things like bitcoin. But that was obvious.

You grumbled, a soft embarrassed reddish tint on your face. "shut up...your just-- Go away."

You mutter under your breath and look away. Blushing in slight embarrassment and the fact he's getting closer, you step back and he just steps forward.

"hm. Hey y'know what? I wasn't able to get my anger out on that little pussy of a scammer. What if I take it out on yours?"

He smirked wickedly and tilts his head curiously. You look back at him and shrugged, trying to act nonchalant while your genuinely struggling to keep composure

"Hey, we're gonna die anyways right? Better make the most of it." You grin and he chuckles before grabbing your wrist roughly and dragging you down and out the main area.

"Hey! Where are we—" you begun before he shuts you up with a gentle, almost tender kiss and keeps clasping your wrist as you basically melt on the inside. After ages of your wrist aching you finally got there.

The bathroom.

"uh..why are we in the bathroo—"

He shortly shuts you up again, but this time with a more searing kiss. More tongue and teeth clashing together than the tenderness he's used before.

You feel his tongue trying to probe your lips and you have no choice but to part your lips, giving Nam Gyu a split second to shove his tongue in your mouth and let small trickles of drool leak out of your mouth as he takes it with his own so roughly.

"..fuck-..i-i need this-.."

He muttered against your lips and kissed you again, making your tongue wrestle with his own in a rough, passionate fight for dominance. which obviously Nam-gyu was winning.

By far..he was winning.

You felt his hands grasp your uniform desperately, trying to basically rip it off without actually ripping it off.

"Take- take this off...now-..shit..I said now-"

You grab your sweatshirt that the guards gave you and chuck it off your shoulders, leaving it on the floor sprawled out randomly.

"can-can you do head-? I mean..you look like a slut so-"

He stuttered, muttering soft curses.

Man he was weird sounding when desperate.

"hm..I think so." You say with a teasing grin before lowering yourself down on your knees and slowly lowering his sweatpants down his thighs. Making him shiver.

"fuck..faster whore..i want this to be quick. Not a fucking—hng-!"

You interrupt his lecture by reminding him your the one with his cock in your hands by giving it a hard pump with your hand.

"just..let me do my shit kay? I'm good at this."

You mutter as you grab your hair and tuck it behind your ears, letting it stay there and not block your vision from the 7 inch cock in front of your face, twitching and pulsing with every slight breath on its mushroom shaped head, hm.. probably best if you start with that thing first.

"yeah..bet you are sluaahht~!" He moans as you start to lick and suck at the head, letting your tongue kitten lick the slit, lapping up any spare, salty precum that gathers there.

Nam Gyu grabs your hair, threading his fingers through your long, silk like hair, making him groan in pleasure.

"yeah..fuck like that..juusst like that..cmon.."

He mumbles lowly, moaning and panting as you lower your head further onto his cock. You gag slightly as the tip of it hits the back of your throat and makes you feel dizzy. But you remember.

Hide teeth, use tongue and breathe through your nose.

And thats what you do, you double down and increase your vigor tenfold, sucking and licking at the massive cock before you, whimpering Everytime it hits the back of your throat in ecstasy.

"fuck-fuck-fuck- shit- ah- haah-.."

He pants and moans like a bitch in heat, like your bitch..no, not that. He's not like that. He'd hate that..but god if it doesn't turn you on like nothing else...

"fuck- close.."

You hear him mutter and you almost laugh, shit already..? Were you that good or does this man really have that low of a libido..?

"w-where should i-"

He starts, but he gets cut off by a choked moan coming from his throat as you take him to the hilt, your nose pressing against his pelvic bone.

"FUCK!!! cmon-! Swallow it- swallow it you fuckin whore-!"

He whines and bucks his hips into your mouth, spurts of warm cum fill your mouth, forcing you to swallow the delicious taste, after you're sure you've gotten every drop, you pull away with a whimper, his cum leaking from your mouth like a broken faucet.

Lines of saliva and cum trail down his cock and he sighs relaxed.

..maybe here won't be as bad anymore.

[emoisthenewemu]

Make The Neighbor's Know My Name - ERWIN SMITH x F! READER SMUT

MDNI 18+

What happens when your hot, (divorced) older neighbor just can't help himself?

wc: 5.5k (sorry!)

cw: SMUT, porn w plot, Modern!AU, age gap, mentions of shitty fathers, DADDY KINK (again, sorry i just know he has one), cursing, p in v, oral on both ends, squirting, general nastiness, breeding kink lol

a/n: wow had sm fun writing this. also this may be tmi scroll if u dont care but shoutout to the dude who made me s****t for the first time i was reminded ab you when writing this, hes a whole dad now lifes crazy

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

Erwin Smith is an established man. He has a nice house and a good job-one where he got his hands dirty and worked his way up for years before becoming the boss. He works out on a weekly basis, eats (somewhat) healthy and can (again somewhat) cook. He is clean and well kept, educated and respected in his community. Kids love him, so do dogs and the elderly. With a politeness often associated with much different times and a beautiful, piercing set of blue eyes, he is damn dear perfect. On all accounts-a wonderful man.

So, it puzzles many that he lives in such a nice four bedroom all alone. It was not always like this; he used to be married. Had a sweet little housewife that got to stay home and do what she pleased. But it seems that freedom got to her head, overzealous with how much she could get away with-unfortunately it did not take many years of marriage to understand that it was never going to work. All it took was Erwin working a few months of overtime to push her into the arms of another man, one she claimed would give her more attention than he ever did. Perhaps he had neglected her a bit, let his job take over his life for a while. But it was all for her! So, they could have even more stability and possibly even become ready to start a family.

Nowadays he thanks God they never had a child together. And after the dull ache that was getting cheated on, the divorce, the court process that ensued afterward-the man was convinced that he was better off alone. He could accept that truth. There was no need to go chasing a feeling he had already experienced.

But that is not to say that he does not get any action. He is a man after all and they have needs, he surely does. He is no stranger to going out and chatting up nice women, taking them out on a few dates and making them feel special only to break it off when things get serious. It's a pattern at this point. His friends (employees) tell him he should drop the good guy act and just fuck shamelessly. Skip the formalities and go straight to the good part. Just be honest, it is arguably better than whatever the hell he is doing.

He considers it for about a week, even thinks about downloading an app so the opportunity is always there at his convenience. He knows he is a good-looking man who has much to offer, the matches will certainly come in.

That was until he becomes distracted by you. A cute little twenty something that moves directly across the street from him. He watched from both the windows of his home to the security camera which conveniently already faces your house. You had a few other younger girls helping you, two guys and neither seemed to be your boyfriend so that was a plus. And when he left to go get drinks, truck keys in hand-acting like he was not staring directly at you behind the shade of sunglasses you were bold enough to be the one to utter the first word.

It was after a few giggles of your girlfriends, who were also checking him out, but he was more focused on you. Hoping it would indeed be you that was moving in. "Hi neighbor!"

One of the girls slaps you lightly, mostly surprised you were actually bold enough to call out to the hot dilf across the street that's probably married. But he waves and says hello back before stepping into the large truck and driving off. They laugh as you stand there for a while, the wheels in your head turning.

You've always had a thing for older guys.

You soon come to learn he is not a dilf but the sentiment is there. It begs to argue the question, does a man really need to have a child to be a dilf? It may be in the title, but you see it more as a state of mind. And you also learn that he is divorced, he lives alone actually. Except for the golden retriever you often see accompanying him on runs.

You can thank the nosy old lady that lives next door for all of this top-secret information. It reminds you to accept her invites inside for tea often, you feel like you've met the whole neighborhood thanks to her gossip.

For the first month and a half your interactions with the man are mostly basic. Friendly 'hello's' and small little waves before the two of you leave for work in the mornings.

The first time you have an actual conversation is when you are bold enough to knock on his front door one Sunday morning. You know he is awake because he has already gone for his morning run. The sight of your new sexy neighbor all sweaty in his compression top and gym shorts has now become a part of your weekend routine. You wouldn't miss it for anything.

His hair is wet from the shower he just finished, still slightly dripping onto the thin material of his shirt. You swallow hard, trying to not get lost in the sea of muscle staring straight at you. You look up at him. He is more than twice your size.

You want to climb him like a tree.

"H-hi Mr. Smith so sorry to bother! I heard you own a construction company and well-I have this stupid door coming off the hinges! And I'd do it myself, but I suck at stuff like that! And I'd hate to hire someone to come all the way out here for something so small" You are visibly nervous, fidgeting and playing with your hands as you find it hard to maintain eye contact. He is just so fucking hot you cannot trust yourself to not gawk at the sight of him. "Of course, I'd pay you too!"

You are so cute and helpless. A fucking door hinge? Surely you have at least one friend who could help out with something like that. But as you soon come to learn, Erwin Smith will never say no to you. "Nonsense, no need to pay me. I'm always free to help a neighbor out. Let me go grab my tools"

So, he does and follows you across the street. He definitely does not check out your ass in those tiny little shorts that lift up a bit when you walk. In your defense-it's your day off, you deserve to be comfy!

Your house is exactly what he expected it to be, cute and tidy. It smells nice and everything is so girly. Pink and creme colored decorations scattered about, shiny hardwood floors that he can tell you recently cleaned. Perhaps it was in preparation of him coming over. Of course, the door just happens to be the closet door in your bedroom, with all of your cute little clothes as you sit on your cute little bed and watch.

Fuck, for some unknown reason the man finds it hard to focus. Even as you make small talk, his mind is elsewhere. Stuck on the sweet smell of you, the way you sit looking so pure and innocent-legs dangling over the edge of the bed as you watch him, head curiously cocked to the side.

He feels like a pervert for imagining what you must do in that bed. How beautiful you must look in the mornings when you wake up feeling lazy, stuck between the sheets. Do you cuddle up with the singular fluffy stuffed animal at night? Do you take it off the bed before you fuck someone, or does it stay up there? Even more, how many men have you fucked in that bed?

He forces himself to snap out of it, silently scolding himself for being so crass. This is not very neighborly of him. You would likely be disgusted by his vulgar thoughts. Or maybe you would like it, you don't do much to hide the way you stare at him. Even before this day, it was quite obvious that you had a little crush on him.

Yet as the older, more mature adult in the situation he tells himself that he must not entertain the idea. He is eighteen years older than you. Children have been born and graduated high school in that amount of time. It's downright wrong and these intrusive thoughts need to be put to an end.

It was easier said than done, especially when he catches a glimpse of your pink lacy panties thrown about the closet. He thinks about the underwear for the remainder of his day, if he were a less respectable man, he would have pocketed the pair and took the home. But he would never, he only imagines he did.

Two days later you show up to his doorstep, with a nice homemade lasagna and the sweetest smile on your face to thank him. It is you that he wishes to devour instead. He even invites you inside to talk for a bit but keeps things fairly short. He considers opening up a bottle of wine but talks himself out of it. Remember, he promised himself he would not entertain the idea of you. Although it may be too late because he fucks his fist to the thought of you every night for the remainder of the week.

And one early morning at work, before any of his men have been sent out on jobs a few of them congregate around his desk. Engaging in small talk as they usually do, telling stories of girlfriends, wives, how drunk they go the other night, cars-the usual guy stuff.

"Boss! How're the apps treating you?! You get any action?" Eren, one of his younger employees cannot help but ask seeing as he was the one to suggest in the first place.

"For real! You haven't said shit since we made you download it" Connie walks in, hardhat in hand as the other one holds the phone his crazy girlfriend is currently blowing up. He ignores the calls and shoves it into his back pocket. "Don't hold out on us man I tell you everything!"

"I'm aware" Erwin cocks a rather judgmental eyebrow-there are many stories which would have been better off unheard. Things he would much rather forget.

And then he thinks of you-the only woman which has plagued his thoughts for close to two months now. He sighs, contemplating if it worth bringing up. His heart drops as the realization dawns on him that you are practically the same age as the two young men before him-younger actually. "Shit" He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "There is...a woman. Not from an app, my neighbor actually"

"Ohhh your neighbor! So, you get to hit and just walk right back home?" Connie laughs and the man cannot help but roll his eyes. These two are definitely the wrong people to be discussing this with.

"We haven't done anything; I just find her attractive is all. Probably not the smartest idea to fool around with someone I run in to almost every day anyways"

"Why not? Saves you money and gas" Eren argues. "She live alone too?"

Erwin sighs because he has neglected to mention the most important detail. "Yes, she lives alone, apparently she inherited the house from her aunt"

"All I hear is a lonely lady who needs some company" Connie shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "What's stopping you?"

"She's quite young"

Eren and Connie could not be more excited that their usually reserved boss is opening up to them for once. After all of the talking they have done, it is his turn to ask for advice. "Erwin Smith you smooth motherfucker" The shorter man teases. "How young?"

"Last year of college young"

The men all but gasp, smiling excitedly as this is the juiciest piece of information they've heard in ages. They never would have expected it from a man who (with all respect) has a constant stick up his ass. "Younger than us?"

"......yes" He sighs ashamedly as the men whoop and holler. Rolling his eyes as they dap each other up as if they are the ones about to get laid.

"You better do it boss! Chicks these days are crazy. We can thank your generation for being such shitty fathers" He should expect such ignorant comments from someone like Jaeger, a guy who has been stringing his girl best friend along since childhood.

"Forget I even said anything" Smith stands up, grabbing a clipboard and few other necessities for the job site he will soon be off to. But he should know the two young men would persist.

"I say do it boss!" Eren encourages, pumping a fist into the air. "Do it! Do it!"

"Do it! Do it!" Connie joins in on the chanting, they follow the man out his office-ignoring the stares of their fellow colleagues. That is until their boss scolds them to get the hell to work. So, they do, retreating back to their trucks as Erwin stands in place in thought for a while.

They have given him much to think about.

He ponders the conversation for days afterwards. Every time he looks at you, when you have those short little conversations that keep his day going. Perhaps it would not be so bad, he hopes you aren't looking for anything serious. Or maybe he does, his mind remains undecided. It would not be so bad having a pretty young thing like you on his arm. But he is getting ahead of himself.

He talks to you more, striking up longer conversations whenever he gets the chance. You are very polite; he finds it sweet the way you cross your ankles and tuck your hands behind yourself whenever the two of you speak-almost as if you were nervous. For some reason, it makes him want you even more.

After weeks of much of the same behavior he decides he has had enough. It's not so bad, it's not like he knew you before you were an adult or anything. You are a grown woman who pays bills and provides for herself-you have your own house for Christ's sake! He needs to stop babying you, looking at you as if you are just some lost little girl. You have needs of your own. Needs he is more than certain he can meet. So, he invites you inside for drinks one Friday evening, you do not think about it for even a second before agreeing.

Sending a text to your girls about how you are finally going to fuck the hot man from across street, you shut off your phone. You want absolutely zero distractions during your visit, a plan of your own is in the works.

You drink his fancy wine and watch a movie on the couch, carefully maintaining a bit of distance between the two of you. You almost forgot how nervous he makes you, perhaps the liquid courage is what you need to get your act right.

"Come closer" He pats the spot beside him, and you hesitantly follow his orders, setting down the wine glass and closing the gap between the two of you. Your thighs are touching, hands awkwardly stuck on either side of you, the pace of your heartbeat quickens when the man slides an arm down and around your waist. "What's the matter? Am I making you uncomfortable?" He has to make sure before things go any further. Your stiff body language is telling him that perhaps he should slow down.

"Oh no! Never!" You shake your head, trying to ease into his touch. But you are still afraid to touch him yourself. "It's just......you're a bit intimidating"

He exhales a puff of air through his nose, clearly amused by your words. Brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, he speaks again. "Oh darling, I don't mean to be. What can I do to make you feel better?"

His deep voice sends shivers down your spine, it sends shivers somewhere else too. "I-I don't know" You laugh. "You're just so big and..... established. Have no idea what you're doing sitting here with a girl like me"

"Oh, don't say that" He turns his body a bit to face you better, arm still stuck in its place around you. He places the other hand on your knee, you remain painfully aware of its place. "I'm the one who should be questioning how I got such a pretty little thing sitting on my couch" You giggle, it makes him twitch in his pants. "I'm the lucky one here"

His hand slides up to your thigh, massaging the fat in a way that makes you burn with desire. A heat builds deep within you. "T-touch me please"

Oh, your sugary voice is driving him crazy; he had no idea he would be this into something like this, someone like you. He pulls you into his lap, hands dragging up and down either side of your body as he takes all of you in. He lets out a long sigh, hips shifting beneath you as his cock begins to harden at the feeling of your burning skin. He hooks his thumb beneath your shirt, looking up at you. "May I?"

You nod almost frantically before he pulls the fabric over your head. Facing a baby pink, lacy bralette-he is unable to stop the groan from leaving his lips. He kisses the uncaged skin beneath your breaths, inadvertently taking a deep breath in to get more of your syrupy scent. "You wear this for me?" He questions.

You nod shyly, trying to hide your face but he pulls it closer to look at him. A hand guides you to fill in the space between your faces, foreheads pressing together but he does not kiss you. Not yet anyways, he wants to tease you a bit first. "Use your words"

"Y-yes I wore it for you daddy" It was a shot in the dark, most men his age are into shit like that.

He groans again. Fuck. Eren was right, thanks to all the shitty fathers out there, yours included.

You laugh, finally gaining that bit of confidence you need to keep the teasing going. "Wanna see what else I put on for you?"

"Show me darling" His eyes follow your hand which goes down to unbutton your shorts, unzipping them a bit before hooking your thumb to pull them forward-giving him perfect sight of the cute little bow which sits atop your panties. The same pair he spotted in your closet all those months ago. If he wasn't hard before then he definitely was now, nearly bursting at the seams of his pants. And he chuckles, twitching in anticipation as your body rocks with his. "You planned this, didn't you? Dirty girl"

"Mhm" You laugh, hand running down his chest, you let your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt a bit. You are desperate to feel even more of him. "Did I do a good job?"

"So good princess" He confirms, kissing your chest again. "Let's go upstairs"

You agree, making sure to grab your shirt that you clutch to your chest, painfully aware of the fact you are the only one without a shirt on. But your worries are soon dissolved because Erwin sheds his own shirt the second the two of you reach his room, you sit on his large bed, taking him in all his glory. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of nothing but muscle and evidence of years of hard work, the dirty blonde happy trail you wish to see the end of.

He walks up to you, standing at the edge of the bed and you look up to him. You are eye level with the tent of his pants. He brings a hand to gently caress your face, words are not necessary to know what he wants. You're so sweet and obedient that you go to fumble with the zipper of his pants almost immediately. And when he springs out you have to stop your eyes from widening at the sheer size of him. You almost feel afraid again but you don't want him to know that-you seem naive enough already. You'd like to surprise him a bit.

You kiss the girthy tip as if it were his lips, sticking out your tongue to flick over the slit. You press an exaggerated closed mouth kiss to the tip before taking more of him in your mouth. He groans, throwing back his head as you make your way down inch-by-inch. When you reach the base you swallow, throat tightening around him as he looks down to watch you-mouth agape.

Your wide eyes look up at him gleefully, if you could smile you would. The wait for him was sooo worth it-you think as he looks down at you in what seems to be pure amazement. Brows scrunching as he groans as you choke on his length. A mess of saliva and tears as you bob your head up and down, you can feel when his tip makes it past a certain place in your throat, growing conscious of how deep he is reaching.

It hurts but you can't find it in yourself to stop, he looks so good. An absolute mess as his manly groans make you want to play with your pussy. But instead, you take it a step further, you need this man to remember you, to crave you for years afterwards just in case this never happens again. Although you hope it does. You wrap both arms around his thighs, bringing him deeper as he begins to fuck your mouth.

Erwin, who has stayed relatively quiet since then becomes a mess. "Ohh fuck-fuck! So good, gonna fuck this tight little throat.... good girl, good girl"

You moan at his nasty words, sounds of gagging and wet slaps play like a symphony. Until he pulls back once he realizes he was about to blow a massive load down your throat. No, he wants to save it.

He pulls out, strings of spit dripping from his cock as you gasp for air, wiping away the tears from your eyes and mess of liquid around your mouth. "Mmm" You moan. "Was it good daddy?"

"So good darling" He rubs his thumb over your now swollen lips. "You're doing such a good job for me"

He leans down to kiss you, finally. Fervently grabbing at your hair and hips as he makes his way onto the bed. You scoot back, lips never leaving his as he goes to pull off your shorts. Tongues pressing together in-sync, he stops for a moment to suck on yours-eliciting a small whimper from you. Your nails trace up and down his arms, lost in the feeling of his lips. You could stay this way for hours.

But he obviously would like to keep things going, pulling down your shorts all the way before going down to kiss you through the thin fabric. He makes out with your pussy through the lace, stopping to suckle and blow tiny bubbles on your throbbing clit.

"Fuck!" You squeal, bucking your hips into his face as he continues the teasing. His tongue going up and down, creating an even larger wet spot that takes up most of the area. "Pleeease daddy"

"No, you can wait" He scolds, going to kiss your thighs softly. "Be patient. I'd like to take my time with you, get you ready for my cock"

"Mhm" You nod yet your hips buckle up again. "S-sorry"

"It's okay princess" He coos, finally pulling your panties down completely. When he licks a stripe up your pussy you all but scream.

"Mmm yesss!"

He kisses your clit, sucking it before swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Your hips try to fuck his face, he lets it happen, diving deeper and deeper into your pussy. He sticks his tongue out and shakes his head side to side, moaning at the way you cry out-so receptive to his touch.

He moves down to fuck you with his tongue, you bump your clit against his nose, mouth open and eyes rolled to the back of your head in a pure state of bliss. You tug at his hair roughly, using it to guide you against him, so desperate for more. Your mind clouds with pleasure, mouth forming into an 'o' shape as your hips begin to stutter, breath catching in your throat. And when he pulls back to spit! on your pussy, not once or twice, but three times you think you have died and gone to heaven.  With the addition of his fingers, and focusing the attention back to your clit, it is not long after that your release washes over you.

You exclaim out loud as your back arches off the bed, softly buckling down onto his tongue as he laps up all of your essence.

The both of you are panting as he comes back up to meet your lips. Tongue assaulting yours as you taste nothing but yourself on his tongue. That's the way it should be-you think. His painfully hard length presses into your stomach, you look down to see how deep it might go inside of you, but you look back up again when you start to feel scared of the stretch. You trust him, that is all that matters.

And before he can even ask if you want him to put a condom on or not, you grab his cock, sliding it down your folds and circling it around your clit. "Want you inside now daddy"

And who is he to ever say no to you? Seconds later he is pressing himself inside of you, thankful that he prepared you for it beforehand because it doesn't take very long for him to bottom out. "Ohh shit" He groans, pulling all the way out them slamming back in. "Fuck...you're so tight"

Your walls squeeze around him even more at his words, arms settling around his broad shoulders as you fight the urge to let your hips run away. He notices the way you pull back; he won't allow it. Bringing your bodies flush against one another, he rests his forehead on your shoulder, strong arms pulling you down onto him. You cry at the pressure, the way he is stabbing at you from inside, so deep you feel it might go out into your tummy. You squeal again, legs crossing over his back. "Erwin! Mmm, no no no, it hurts"

A stray tear falls from your eye, yet your hips begin to seek out his as you grow more accustomed to the stretch. "F-fuck" Your stomach begins to flutter.

"Oh shh shhh darling it's okay" He sounds so gentle, the complete opposite of the mean snap of his hips. "You want me to stop?" Another powerful thrust makes you let out a noise closer to a scream.

"No daddy please don't stop" You begin to claw at his back as he sets himself a pace, loud sounds of clapping begin to fill the room.

Your pussy is choking him, so slippery and needy. It sucks him in with each thrust, a 'slush' noise every time he pulls himself out. "So wet" The man gasps at the sight of all your juices splattered about. He needs to see more.

Pushing your knees into your chest and angling his hips a bit higher, he begins to drill into you at an unrelenting pace. A mix of saccharine moans fill the room, the sound of his headboard slamming against the wall. "Oh, oh oh! Erwin! Mmmm!" You sound so perfect, the sound of you moaning his name alone is enough to make him want to cum.

"Feels sooo good" Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he plows into you in a way that feels mechanical. In a way you have never felt before. He is so experienced, he knows all the right buttons to push, places to touch you and kiss. You are so mind numbingly stuck in a state of bliss that you almost feel lost. Like you could never crave another man after sleeping with him.

"Guys your age ever treat you like this?" He questions, now forcing your legs together with one arm and picking your hips up off the bed. Continuing his assault on your sweet little pussy that has made him go fucking stupid. He usually maintains a sense of composure when sleeping with new women, he knows what he enjoys may not be everyone's cup of tea but you, well you are the most perfect little slut he has ever met. "They fuck you this good?"

"No Erwin!" You cry out, gripping the sheets as he continues slamming into you. "You're the best! Fuck, Erwin! It's tooo much, feels weird"

Your hips twitch, he knows very well what this means. Oh, he needs it, he needs you to squirt all over him or else he will not be satisfied. "Erwin! Erwin!"

"Yeah, keep talking princess, make all the neighbors know my name, huh?" He goes down to toy with your clit, your hips attempt to squirm away. But the arm wrapped around your thighs ensure you stay in place. He pinches your clit, tip pushing against your g spot in a way that makes it hard to speak.

"Nonono, think I'm gonna pee" You shake your head frantically, trying to grab his arms and free yourself of his grip. But he will not allow it.

"Just let go" He orders, hair now sticking to his head as he shakes it back and forth. "Squirt all over daddy princess, I'll clean it up"

You finally reach your breaking point, breath so caught in your throat that your moan is almost silent, too high pitched to even be registered. Your hips and thighs are shaking, stomach quivering and you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy as he does not relent with his thrusts-close to a release of his own. When you squirt all over him, he whines stuck on the juices gushing out of you. His eyes squeeze shut as the image replays over and over again in his head, finally dropping your body back down to the mattress as he is almost where he needs to be. "Such a messy pussy" He moans into your skin, your body lays limp as you try to do something as simple as breathe.

It is hard when he snatches every little gasp out of you. But you can feel him twitching inside you, thrusts grow sloppy as you grab at his hair, your sensitive pussy being pushed to her brink. "Please please cum inside daddy. Fuckkk I need it! Wanna keep it inside all night and remember how good you made me feel"

Your dirty words are enough to push him over the edge, spilling into you and splaying your womb with his seed. Fuck, his dick belongs inside of you. So does his cum, he wants to do this every day when he comes home from work. In the mornings before he even gets out of bed. At night when before he goes to sleep. He wants you stuffed with him at all times. His cum spills out of you as he finally pulls out, dripping down your thighs.

He looks up at you with a mischievous look on his eyes. It feels unnatural to see such a composed man come undone, the way he eats you up with his eyes.

And you are staring at him like he is the most handsome man on the planet, well he kind of is. To you at least. You chuckle, you're in danger, never has a man made you feel this good before. He made you squirt the first time sleeping with you. Fuck, you're dickmatized.

"We should have done this a long time ago" He collapses into your chest, kissing whatever skin is available softy. He will clean you up in a bit, for now he needs to rest.

"Yes, we should have" You play with his hair before kissing the top of his head, making yourself quite comfortable in his sheets. You could get used to this.

And used to it, you become. Erwin is now a daily part of your routine, the same as sleeping and eating. Getting creampied by Erwin Smith was now the highlight of most of your days but it was not all purely physical. He took you out a few times, you even met a few of his coworkers one night over drinks. You spend the night at each other's houses and begin to go on morning runs together.

You suppose you should not be surprised when you end up pregnant several months later. Knocked up by your sexy older neighbor that you now consider to be your boyfriend. He even suggests the two of you get married, but you agree to wait for the baby to come along to see if that changes anything in your relationship.

Now, because of you, he will live up to his true potential as a dilf.

[mintyys-blog]

NO WHERE TO RUN— mob! bucky barnes x single mom! reader

WARNINGS: injury, character death, blood, mafia, guns.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain and blood. You weren’t sure which one belonged to you.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts as you tightened your hold on Alex, his small body curled against your chest, blissfully unaware of the danger that chased you through the city streets. He was still sleeping, the rise and fall of his tiny chest the only thing keeping you grounded.

You could still hear the gunshots echoing in your ears, the shouts of men hunting you like prey. The safe house your late husband had left you? Compromised. Every other contact who owed him a favor? Silent, too afraid to take your call. You had nothing, no one.

Except for him.

Bucky Barnes.

You’d only ever known him as an associate of your husband—a man whose name alone struck fear into the worst kind of people. You remembered the way your husband spoke of him in quiet tones, not as a man, but as a force. One that could kill without blinking. One that could protect just as easily.

And right now, you needed protection.

Your car barely made it to the iron gates of his estate before the engine sputtered its last breath. You winced as you moved, the sharp throb in your wrist reminding you of your injuries. A broken wrist? A head wound? It didn’t matter. You didn’t have time to assess the damage.

You stumbled to the front door, rain soaking through your clothes as you pounded against the heavy wood.

Nothing.

Fear twisted in your gut. What if he wasn’t here? What if he sent you away?

You tried again, your good hand slamming into the door. “Bucky!” your voice cracked, desperation lacing every syllable. “Please—I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Silence.

Then, the sound of a lock sliding open. The door swung inward, revealing him.

Bucky Barnes stood in the dim light, clad in dark sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, a gun loose in his grip. His sharp blue eyes flickered between your face, your injuries, and the sleeping boy in your arms.

Something in his expression shifted.

He didn’t ask why you were here. Didn’t demand an explanation.

Instead, he stepped aside. “Get in.”

The warmth of Bucky’s house was suffocating compared to the cold rain outside. It took everything in you not to collapse the second you stepped over the threshold.

Your legs felt weak, your head pounding from the injury you hadn’t had time to assess. But Alex—Alex came first.

Bucky shut the door behind you, locking it with swift, practiced movements. He set the gun on a nearby table but didn’t take his eyes off you.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was low, unreadable.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, though the sting of your wrist said otherwise.

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Up close, he looked just as tired as you felt—like he hadn’t had a peaceful night’s rest in years. His jaw tightened as his gaze flickered back to Alex, still fast asleep in your arms.

“You want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, adjusting Alex’s weight against you. “They found us. I don’t know how, but they did.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. He didn’t have to ask who they were.

You let out a shaky breath. “I had a safe house. It’s gone. I tried calling everyone—no one would help me.” You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Come on.”

You blinked. “What?”

He motioned for you to follow him. “The kid needs a bed. You need to sit before you fall over.”

Your legs nearly buckled at the mere suggestion. Wordlessly, you followed him down a long hallway, the lavish house eerily silent. He led you to a bedroom—one that looked untouched, as if no one had stayed in it for years.

“You’ll be safe here.” Bucky reached for the covers, pulling them back. “Lay him down.”

You hesitated. Alex had been through so much upheaval already—you didn’t want him waking up in another unfamiliar place. But your arms trembled from holding him for so long, and your body screamed for rest.

Gently, you laid him down, brushing damp curls from his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his tiny fingers curling into the blanket.

You let out a slow breath, relief washing over you.

Bucky was still watching.

He noticed the way your shoulders sagged, the exhaustion in your movements. He muttered something under his breath before disappearing into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a first aid kit.

“Sit,” he ordered.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look he shot you silenced you instantly. With a quiet sigh, you sat on the edge of the bed.

Bucky crouched in front of you, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle as he inspected your wrist. His brows furrowed. “It’s not broken, but it’s sprained pretty bad.”

He reached for a bandage, wrapping your wrist with practiced efficiency. “And your head?”

You grimaced. “I don’t know. Feels like I got hit with a damn brick.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh—almost amused—before sobering. He tilted your chin up, his fingers grazing your temple. His touch was cool against your feverish skin, and for a brief moment, you forgot how dangerous this man was.

His blue eyes flickered to yours. “You’ll live.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thanks.”

Bucky stood, tossing the first aid supplies back into the kit. “Get some sleep.”

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky—”

“I’m handling it,” he said firmly. “Whoever did this, whoever came after you—I’ll take care of it.”

You stared at him, uncertain. “Why?”

Bucky held your gaze. “Because your husband may be dead, but his enemies aren’t.” He glanced at Alex, still sleeping peacefully. “And now, they’re yours.”

A chill ran down your spine. You already knew that. But hearing it aloud made it real.

Bucky turned for the door, pausing only once. “No one’s gonna touch you or the kid. Not while you’re here.”

Then, without another word, he left.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady sound of Alex’s breathing beside you. The unfamiliar silence of Bucky’s house pressed in around you—too different from the cramped safe house you had called home for the past few months.

Your body ached, exhaustion weighing you down, but your mind refused to rest. The last twenty-four hours replayed like a cruel movie reel behind your eyes. The shattering of glass. The pounding of boots against the floor. The gunshots.

You had barely gotten Alex out in time.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through you. If you hadn’t left when you did… You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the thought away.

Instead, your mind drifted to Bucky. He hadn’t hesitated to let you in. Even after months—years—of nothing but small talk and distant pleasantries, he had taken one look at you, seen your son in your arms, and made his decision.

It didn’t make sense.

Bucky Barnes was many things, but charitable wasn’t one of them. He was dangerous, ruthless—your husband had made that clear. A man you don’t cross unless you have a death wish.

And yet, he had let you into his home. Promised you protection.

You exhaled slowly, turning your head to look at Alex. He was curled beneath the blankets, his little hand gripping the fabric in his sleep.

Whatever Bucky’s reasons, you had no choice but to trust him.

For Alex’s sake and your sanity.

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep the next morning.

You blinked groggily, pushing yourself upright, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles. Sunlight streamed through the partially drawn curtains, bathing the room in soft gold.

Alex stirred beside you, his tiny body stretching with a whimper before his eyes fluttered open.

“Mommy?” His voice was small, confused.

You forced a tired smile, brushing curls from his forehead. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. We’re safe.”

He rubbed his eyes with tiny fists, looking around the unfamiliar room before pressing his face into your side. You held him close, whispering reassurances, your heart aching at the fear still lingering in his little body.

A knock at the door made you tense. Bucky’s voice followed, low and firm. “You up?” You swallowed, glancing down at Alex before answering. “Yeah.”

The door creaked open, and Bucky stepped inside. His presence filled the space immediately—broad shoulders, sharp blue eyes taking in the two of you. He was dressed differently now, dark jeans and a fitted black shirt, his holster visible beneath his jacket. His gaze flickered to Alex, who peeked up at him shyly.

Bucky hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Breakfast is ready.” You blinked. That was… unexpected.

Still, you nodded. “We’ll be right there.” Bucky lingered for a moment before nodding and disappearing down the hall.

You released a slow breath, running a hand over your face. This was real. You were here, under Bucky Barnes’ roof, relying on him for protection.

And whether you liked it or not, this was your life now. For however long it lasted.

The kitchen was quiet when you entered, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filling the air.

Bucky was already seated at the large, dark wood table, his eyes never leaving the newspaper spread out before him. The sound of Alex’s small footsteps had him glancing up, and for a split second, his gaze softened as he looked at the boy.

Alex immediately rushed to the table, his small legs carrying him toward the food, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air.

“Can I have some?” Alex’s voice was hesitant, but his wide eyes never left the plate of eggs and bacon.

Bucky’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Sure, kid. Sit down.”

Alex clambered onto the chair, still clutching your hand for a moment before letting go to grab a fork.

You stood near the counter, watching the scene unfold. There was something strange about this moment—something that felt surreal. Bucky, the man who had built his reputation in blood and fear, now offering a simple breakfast to a little boy who barely understood the weight of the world.

You glanced at Bucky, but his attention was on Alex now, pouring him a glass of juice, making sure he had enough food.

It made your stomach tighten, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined the whole thing—if this was all some strange dream.

Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You look like you could use a coffee.”

You nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky rose to his feet, moving to the counter, and then handed you a cup of coffee without a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you accepted it, and for a brief moment, the weight of his gaze made your breath catch.

“Any plans today?” he asked after a beat, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.

You shook your head, taking a careful sip of the coffee. “No. I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

There was a pause before Bucky spoke again, this time his tone more guarded. “You should stay out of sight. Let me handle things.”

You met his gaze, the words hanging heavy between you. “Handle what, exactly?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flickering over to Alex before focusing back on you. The unspoken words seemed to hang in the air, too heavy to ignore.

“I’ll deal with the people coming for you,” he said finally, his voice flat but edged with something colder. “I’ve got things covered.”

The sharpness in his tone took you by surprise. Something inside you tightened, a mix of irritation and confusion rising. “I don’t need you to handle me, Bucky.” You couldn’t keep the edge from creeping into your voice. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw something dark flash in them. His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed even. “It’s not about that.”

You placed the coffee cup on the counter, your gaze hardening. “Then what is it about?”

Bucky’s mouth tightened into a thin line, and he looked away for a moment, clearly wrestling with something. “You’re not the only one who’s got enemies.” His voice was softer now, almost pained. “You’re in my world now. Whether you want to be or not.”

You could feel the weight of those words settle between you, each syllable heavy with meaning. He was right, in a way. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Alex, sensing the tension in the air, suddenly spoke up, his innocent voice cutting through the silence. “Can I have more juice?”

The moment was broken, but the tension lingered. You both looked at him, your minds momentarily distracted from the unspoken conflict. Bucky’s expression softened again, just as quickly as it had hardened. “Yeah, sure, kid. I’ll get you more.”

You watched him move across the room, the sharp lines of his body still unreadable, his every movement deliberate. Despite his softening demeanor with Alex, something dark lingered in his eyes—a reminder that he was still Bucky Barnes, the man whose name alone could silence rooms.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. The truth was, you were at his mercy. And somewhere deep down, you weren’t sure if that scared you more than the men hunting you.

Later that evening, when Alex was tucked into bed, Bucky remained in the kitchen, his fingers tracing the rim of his empty coffee cup, lost in thought. You stood at the door for a long moment, watching him, feeling the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. The quiet was too loud, the silence between you two stretching thin, reminding you of everything you couldn’t say.

You had snapped at him earlier—something in you just broke when he’d spoken like that. But now, in the stillness of the house, you realized that maybe he hadn’t been wrong.

You needed to apologize.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door to the kitchen.

Bucky didn’t look up immediately, his attention still fixed on the cup in his hand. His silence made your pulse quicken, but you stepped inside, a quiet apology forming in the pit of your stomach.

“I—” You swallowed, feeling the weight of your own words. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Bucky set his cup down, finally meeting your gaze. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—some tension in his jaw, a flicker of something that hadn’t been there before.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “You’ve got a lot to deal with.”

You shook your head, taking a hesitant step closer. “That’s not an excuse.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“I’m just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. You felt utterly vulnerable in that moment, like you were laid bare in front of him, and it made the ground beneath your feet unsteady. “I’ve got my son to protect, and I’ve never had to rely on anyone like this. Like you.” You trailed off, feeling the weight of the admission.

The air between you both felt thick, and Bucky didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched you with an intensity that made your skin prickle, but it wasn’t harsh—just… expectant.

You forced yourself to keep speaking, even though your throat was closing in on you. “It’s just… I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. My husband handled everything. He always kept us safe.” The words came out quieter than you’d intended, and you hated the way your heart thudded painfully at the mention of him.

For a brief moment, Bucky’s eyes softened, though there was still that distance between you—something unspoken, unresolved. He didn’t seem to push further, which gave you the space you needed to say more, even though it felt like pulling apart pieces of yourself you weren’t ready to show.

“He kept us safe,” you said again, this time barely above a whisper. “And now… he’s gone.”

The pain in your chest tightened, and you felt your throat constricting, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill, but you blinked them away, shaking your head. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

You couldn’t stop it any longer—the raw emotion slipped out, your breath hitching with the weight of it all. You didn’t know what you were more afraid of: the fact that your life was no longer in your control, or that Bucky was the only person who seemed to see through all of it.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, anything, to break it. Instead, he simply stepped closer, the space between you shrinking in a way that made you feel exposed, but not unsafe.

Bucky didn’t speak right away, but the subtle shift in his demeanor—something softer in his eyes—told you he understood more than you thought. He finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “I don’t expect you to trust me overnight, or for you to be okay with all of this.” His eyes flickered briefly to your hands, clenched into fists at your sides. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and serious.

You nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I know.”

But even as you nodded, there was a part of you that wanted to pull away, to run from this—from him—because the more you relied on him, the more you feared what it meant. You were already in too deep.

Bucky stepped back just a little, giving you the space you needed, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was no pity in his eyes—just a strange understanding.

“I get it,” he said simply. “You’ve been through hell. And I’m not going anywhere. But you don’t have to apologize for that.”

The warmth in his words settled over you like a blanket, comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how long you would be here. But in that moment, you allowed yourself a brief glimpse of hope—just long enough to believe, maybe, that this strange partnership with Bucky Barnes could be the only thing that kept you both from falling apart.

The quiet between you and Bucky lingered, comfortable yet tinged with the weight of unspoken things. The rawness of the conversation hung in the air like smoke, dissipating only when Alex’s voice called out from the hallway.

“Mommy?”

You jumped, heart leaping at the sound of his small voice. Bucky’s eyes flickered to the door, his expression softening at the mention of your son.

“I’ll check on him,” you muttered, stepping away from Bucky. You hadn’t realized how much you needed the distraction.

But before you could reach the door, Bucky’s voice stopped you.

“Hey,” he said, quieter than before. When you turned, he met your gaze, his eyes steady, almost earnest. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I meant what I said.”

Your throat tightened at his words, and you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The emotions from earlier were still raw, but there was something in Bucky’s voice—something reassuring—that made you feel like, for once, you weren’t being forced to carry it all by yourself.

You took another breath, forcing your shoulders to relax before you opened the door.

Alex was standing in the doorway of his room, clutching his blanket, his wide eyes filled with concern. He looked so small in that moment, his little face drawn with confusion and worry.

“Mommy, I had a bad dream,” he whispered, holding out his arms to you.

You knelt down to his level, pulling him into your arms and pressing him close. The familiar warmth of his body soothed you, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here,” you whispered, kissing his forehead. He sniffled, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we? Is this home?”

You hesitated. For all the comfort Bucky’s house offered, it wasn’t home. But you didn’t want to break his fragile sense of security, so instead, you simply nodded.

“For now, it is.” Alex nodded back, accepting your words as if they were the truth. “Okay.”

You stood with him in your arms, glancing back over your shoulder at Bucky, who had followed you quietly into the hallway. His gaze was distant, but there was something soft in the way he looked at Alex. Maybe it was the protector in him, or maybe it was the understanding of how fragile the situation was.

“I’ll stay with you, okay, buddy?” you said, gently rocking Alex as you walked toward the living room.

Alex laid his head against your shoulder, his breathing slowing as he started to drift back to sleep. You carefully settled onto the couch, arranging him in your lap, and began to stroke his hair in slow, soothing motions.

Bucky stood in the doorway of the living room, his expression unreadable again. But when he spoke, there was no harshness, no distance. Just a quiet authority that felt strangely reassuring. “I’ve got this. You don’t need to worry about him.”

You looked up, meeting his eyes, and for the first time since you had arrived at his home, you saw the faintest flicker of something deeper—something not quite protective, but not entirely cold either. Bucky Barnes wasn’t a man used to offering comfort, yet somehow, he had given you just enough of it tonight.

“I trust you,” you said quietly, almost without thinking. Bucky didn’t respond right away. Instead, he simply nodded and turned, disappearing back into the hallway, leaving you alone with Alex.

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you settled into the quiet of the house. It felt almost like a dream—the kind where everything was out of your control, but somehow, you found yourself believing in the possibility of a new beginning.

But you couldn’t forget the danger, the enemies still after you. You couldn’t forget the world that lurked just beyond these walls, the world that could swallow everything whole if you weren’t careful. And yet, here, in Bucky’s house, you felt an almost inexplicable sense of safety.

Maybe you weren’t ready to let your guard down completely. But for tonight, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that this fragile promise of protection could hold. Tomorrow, you would face whatever came next. But tonight, you let yourself rest.

The tension in the house seemed to thicken with each passing day, but tonight, it felt different. There was an electricity in the air that you couldn’t quite place. Something was coming.

You had been trying to settle into some semblance of normalcy, your daily routine now revolving around keeping Alex safe, keeping yourself safe. Bucky had been doing the same, moving through his days with a calm authority, managing his affairs with the quiet, practiced efficiency of someone used to walking on the edge.

But tonight, you could feel the change. You could feel the weight of eyes on you—like something had shifted, and the calm was about to break.

It started with a knock on the door.

You froze, instinctively pulling Alex closer to you as you heard the sound. It was too quiet—too deliberate—too calculated. The knock came again, a firm, steady rap that made your blood run cold.

Bucky had been in the study, his presence somewhere in the depths of the house, but you knew—you knew—he’d heard it too.

You didn’t need to look to know he was already in motion, the sound of his boots thumping lightly on the hardwood floor as he moved toward the door.

You stayed in the living room, with Alex in your arms, your breath shallow. The tension in the house had reached a breaking point.

Bucky didn’t hesitate when he opened the door.

The men on the other side were unmistakable—an all-too-familiar presence you had hoped never to encounter again. Their suits were sharp, their expressions cold, and their posture spoke of a deep, dangerous familiarity with the world of violence they inhabited.

The man in the front, the one with the scar that ran down his jaw, was the first to speak. His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. “Bucky Barnes,” he said, as though testing the name, letting it roll off his tongue with a hint of challenge.

Bucky didn’t flinch. His jaw was tight, his stance unwavering. “What do you want?”

The man smirked, stepping forward with the kind of casual confidence that spoke of a dangerous familiarity with confrontation. “We were just wondering when you were going to address the elephant in the room, Barnes. You’ve got a guest, and she’s not exactly keeping a low profile.”

You could hear the insult hanging in the air, like a blade just waiting to drop.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained controlled. “I told you before, you stay away from her.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “She’s not your responsibility, Bucky. She’s just another casualty of your little world. And soon enough, she’ll learn that.” He stepped even closer, his presence menacing. “You can’t protect her forever.”

The atmosphere shifted immediately. The weight of his words sank in, and you felt the tension in the room grow even thicker. This wasn’t just a conversation. This was a warning.

“I don’t need you here,” Bucky said, his voice low, hard, like a warning itself.

The scarred man tilted his head, his smile growing wider. “You sure? Because I’m thinking we should have a chat. You, me, and your little guest inside.” His gaze flickered to the side, locking on you, and you felt the chill run through you.

Your grip on Alex tightened, and your stomach twisted. The threat was real. They weren’t just here to talk—they were here to make a point.

Before you could react, Bucky stepped forward, blocking the doorway completely, his body rigid with tension. “Get off my property.”

The man’s expression faltered for just a moment—surprise, maybe, at Bucky’s firm refusal—but it quickly turned to something darker. “You don’t want to do this, Barnes.” His voice lowered, turning to a deadly whisper. “You really don’t.”

You could hear the underlying threat in his words, the unspoken violence that lingered in the air. It was as though the world outside had finally caught up with you—and now, Bucky was standing between you and the chaos.

But Bucky didn’t budge. “Get off my property.”

The scarred man’s eyes flashed with anger, but before he could take another step, another voice cut through the tension.

“Did you miss the part where I said, no one is welcome?”

Bucky’s voice was cold, low—a warning that echoed in the room. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing the edge of the door. His posture was subtle but unwavering, ready to act, as though he could end this right then and there.

The men outside exchanged glances, and for a moment, you thought they might back down.

But then, the scarred man gave a subtle nod, and the tension snapped like a wire stretched too tight.

“You’ll regret this, Barnes.” The man’s voice was venomous. “And you know where to find us when she inevitably disappoints you.”

With one last dangerous look, they turned and walked off the porch, their retreat slow and deliberate. Their footsteps faded into the night, but the feeling of their presence lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Bucky stood still for a long moment after the door shut. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the way his hands clenched by his sides. His gaze was sharp, distant, as if he was already calculating his next move.

You didn’t know what had just happened, but you knew one thing: things were escalating.

And you were right in the center of it.

Bucky finally turned to you, his eyes softening just slightly as he met your gaze. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. It had been too close—too real. The fear bubbled up again, sharp and biting. You had no idea how much longer you could rely on Bucky, or if you could even trust him.

The silence in the house was suffocating after the men had left, and though they were gone, you could still feel the weight of their presence lingering in the air. Your pulse was still racing from the encounter, and Alex stirred restlessly in your arms, likely sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His little face, still partially buried in your chest, looked up at you with wide, confused eyes.

“Mommy?” His voice was small, filled with the innocence that hadn’t yet learned the weight of the world you were trying to shield him from.

You ran a hand through his hair, trying to offer the semblance of normalcy. “It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, forcing a calmness into your tone even though your heart was hammering in your chest.

But the moment you heard Bucky’s boots thud against the hardwood floor, you knew the quiet was about to break.

He appeared in the living room doorway, his expression carefully neutral, but his body tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap. His eyes immediately sought out you and Alex. For a brief moment, there was something almost protective in the way he looked at you both, but it quickly disappeared behind his usual steely facade.

“Everything okay?” he asked, though you knew the question was more of a check than a concern for the state of things.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. “They’re gone,” you said, your voice betraying the uncertainty you still felt. “But they made it clear—they won’t stop.”

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, just studied you for a moment before walking further into the room. His eyes flickered to Alex, who was now clinging to you, sensing the change in the atmosphere.

“Listen,” Bucky said, his voice quieter now, but with a sharp edge that made it clear the situation wasn’t over. “They’re testing me, testing us. But they won’t get through me. They won’t touch you or him.”

His words were firm, but there was something unsettling about them too. The threat was very real, and you knew that Bucky wasn’t someone who made empty promises. He had a reputation for dealing with things in his own way—and it was never pretty.

You glanced down at Alex, who had finally settled, but the unease still clung to you like a second skin. “How long can you keep this up, Bucky?” you asked, the question slipping from your lips before you could stop it. You didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to seem weak or dependent. But the thought of your son caught in the crossfire was a fear you couldn’t ignore any longer.

Bucky looked at you with those sharp blue eyes of his, the ones that saw everything and nothing at the same time. His expression softened for just a moment, but it was gone before you could fully process it.

“I’ll protect you for as long as it takes,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt him.”

But the words didn’t comfort you the way they should have. They felt more like a promise wrapped in a threat, like a trap you were being lured into without even realizing it.

You didn’t want to feel like a liability, like you were a weakness that Bucky had to protect. But the reality of the situation was unavoidable.

Before you could respond, there was a sudden noise—a car engine revving outside. Then the unmistakable sound of tires screeching against asphalt. Your heart lurched in your chest.

Bucky’s eyes darted to the window before he stood, his body taut with readiness. “Stay here,” he instructed, his voice sharp.

You didn’t have time to protest. He was already moving, heading for the door with that same calculated grace that made it clear he was no stranger to danger. As he disappeared into the night, you took a deep breath and pulled Alex closer to you, praying that this wasn’t going to be the night everything fell apart.

Minutes passed. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as you waited for any sign, any noise to tell you that Bucky was okay. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the sensation of the world closing in around you.

Then you heard it. The sharp crack of gunfire in the distance.

Your breath hitched, and Alex flinched in your arms.

“No, no, no…” you muttered under your breath, clutching him tightly.

You heard footsteps then—closer, faster. Your pulse raced in time with the rhythm of your own terror. The door slammed open, and Bucky was standing in the doorway, blood staining his shirt but his face still hard, still determined.

“They’re getting bolder,” he growled, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He wasn’t fazed by the sight of the blood—if anything, it only seemed to fuel his anger.

“What happened?” you asked, rising to your feet despite your legs feeling weak beneath you. Alex was still in your arms, his small hands gripping your shirt. You could feel his heart thundering just as much as yours.

Bucky took a slow, measured breath, looking over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. “They tried to hit me. Not just me… you.”

You stared at him in shock, the weight of his words crashing down on you. “What do you mean, me?”

“They’re escalating,” Bucky muttered, his voice colder than ever. “They won’t stop until they’ve broken me, broken you—broken all of us.”

His words were chilling, and the air in the room thickened with the weight of them. You had been living in this world of danger for days now, but it hadn’t truly felt real until now.

Bucky stood tall, his eyes still sharp, though they betrayed the rage simmering beneath the surface. “I’ll end this. But I need to know you’re ready. I need you to be strong.”

You met his gaze, feeling the cold weight of responsibility pressing against your chest. This wasn’t just about you anymore. It wasn’t just about your son. The stakes were higher, and Bucky was right—if you were going to make it out of this alive, you needed to be prepared to fight.

You nodded, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I’m ready.”

For the first time since you had entered Bucky’s world, you felt the full brunt of the storm on the horizon. Things were changing, escalating, and there would be no more hiding from the danger that had followed you here.

The tension in the house was suffocating. Every second felt stretched to its breaking point, and while Alex slept soundly, curled up on the couch beside you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Something big.

Bucky had retreated into his study shortly after the altercation with the men who had tried to break in. The house was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that screamed impending danger. Bucky was making plans, preparing his men for what was about to come. His words had been clear earlier—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But that was all he had told you. Everything else was left in the dark, locked away behind the walls of his world that you were now a part of. And it made you restless.

You were so used to being in control of your own life, making your own decisions. But here, in Bucky’s house, everything had shifted. You had no idea what was happening around you, and Bucky had made sure of that. He didn’t want you to know, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he wanted to protect you. He wanted to keep you from seeing the darker side of the life that had already claimed your husband.

You could feel the distance between you and Bucky growing. It wasn’t that he was shutting you out—it was more that he was trying to shield you, to keep you from the ugly truth that his world was built on. And you hated it.

The door to the study opened suddenly, and Bucky stepped into the living room. His expression was unreadable, his movements controlled. He’d been making phone calls, organizing, strategizing—but when his eyes landed on you, there was a flicker of something else—something soft, something almost protective.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, studying you as if he were weighing whether or not to let you in on whatever was coming next. But then he shook his head slightly and walked toward you, a determined look in his eyes. He needed to keep you in the dark. The less you knew, the safer you’d be.

“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice low and steady, as if everything was fine. “I’m going to need you to be strong for what’s coming.”

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if you should be relieved or frustrated by his words. Strong? You wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but you already knew. It wasn’t about you being strong emotionally—it was about you surviving what was coming. And you weren’t sure if you could.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your tone sharp. “I’m not a child, Bucky.”

He softened slightly at that, but it wasn’t enough to break through the walls he had put up. “I know you’re strong,” he said quietly, his gaze flickering over you and then to Alex, who was curled up on the couch, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. “But I need to keep you out of it. You don’t need to see any of it.”

You could feel the frustration building inside you. Why couldn’t you know? Why was Bucky keeping you in the dark like this? You were the one who was in danger now, and you had a right to know what was happening, to understand the full picture.

“Why won’t you let me in?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. He didn’t want to answer your question. He couldn’t, because if he told you the truth, there would be no going back. He couldn’t risk pulling you deeper into the mess that had been your late husband’s life. The people after you weren’t just looking to make a statement. They were looking to destroy everything that Bucky had built. Including you.

“You don’t need to know everything,” he said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it now. “Not yet.”

Your heart ached at the way he was treating you like you were fragile, like you couldn’t handle the truth. But you understood, in some way, why he was doing it. He wanted to keep your innocence intact. He didn’t want you to have to face the things he had seen. The things that had turned him into the man he was.

Bucky had seen enough bloodshed, enough pain, to last several lifetimes. He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want you to feel the weight of the violence that had haunted him for so long. He wanted to protect you. And the only way to do that was to keep you in the dark, to keep you away from the danger that had been set in motion the moment your husband had been murdered.

He crouched down in front of you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “I know this isn’t easy,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “But I need you to trust me. I’m doing everything I can to protect you.”

You swallowed, your anger bubbling up again, but you held it back. For Alex. For your son. You couldn’t afford to make a scene, not when Bucky was doing everything in his power to keep you safe.

“I trust you,” you finally said, though the words felt heavy in your mouth. They felt like a lie. How could you trust him when you didn’t even know what was happening around you?

But the look in Bucky’s eyes told you everything you needed to know. He wasn’t going to tell you. He wasn’t going to pull you into this world of blood and betrayal, even if it meant keeping you in the dark forever.

For a moment, there was a silence between you, thick with unspoken words. Then Bucky stood up, brushing his hands together, as if to shake off the weight of the conversation.

“I’ll check on Alex,” he said, his voice back to its usual steady tone. “Get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”

He left you standing there, alone with your thoughts, the room growing heavier as the minutes ticked by.

How long could you stay in the dark? How long before Bucky would have to let you see the truth?

The question lingered in your mind, unanswered. And as you looked over at Alex, you realized you would have to wait until Bucky was ready to tell you what was really going on. Until then, you could only trust him… even if that trust felt like a fragile thing, teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

Part Ten: The War Begins

The night was still, almost suffocating in its silence, as Bucky stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by his men. The weight of what was to come was heavy in the air, a tension that was both palpable and dangerous. Outside, the world seemed unaware of the storm that was brewing on the horizon. But inside the walls of Bucky’s home, everyone knew.

Bucky’s phone had been buzzing constantly in the last few hours—alerts, messages, calls. His men were positioned around the perimeter, and he’d been in contact with Steve and his other allies. The call had come through early this morning, but now, as the final preparations were underway, the stakes were higher than ever.

They were coming for you. And they weren’t going to stop until they had you.

Bucky had refused to tell you anything. He couldn’t. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he wanted to protect the fragile life he had built around you. He wanted you to remain untouched by the horrors of his world, even though you were already inextricably tied to it. The fact that you were still alive meant more than anything to him.

But now, as Bucky prepared to face the enemies who had been hunting you for weeks, you realized something.

You weren’t going to sit idly by any longer.

Alex was asleep, and the house was quieter now. But it wasn’t a peaceful quiet—it was the kind that heralded a storm, one that you weren’t sure you could weather.

The door to the study creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Bucky’s presence filled the room like a shadow, his energy dark, powerful, and cold.

“You can’t keep me in the dark forever,” you said, your voice shaking only slightly, but the resolve in it was unmistakable. You had been watching him for days—preparing, planning, organizing—and now, you knew it was time to face the truth.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His silence was heavy as he stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing on you as though he were calculating something. You could see the internal struggle in him, the push and pull of wanting to protect you, but also knowing that you were already a part of this world. A world you couldn’t escape.

“It’s not safe for you to know everything,” he said finally, his voice low and controlled. His eyes locked with yours, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in them—a desperation, a rawness. “This war… it’s bigger than you realize.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking deep. But you weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

“I don’t care,” you replied, your voice steady now, each word deliberate. “I want to know. I need to know, Bucky.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze piercing. For a moment, it was as though the world around you vanished. You were standing in the eye of the storm, and it was all coming for you.

“They’re coming,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might give it more power than it already had. “They’ve been waiting. They think they can use you against me, use you to break me. But I won’t let them.”

You took a step forward, defiance in your eyes. “I’m not afraid.”

Bucky’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. His touch was warm, but the grip that followed was firm—protective, as if he was trying to hold you in place, to keep you safe from everything that was about to happen.

“You should be,” he muttered under his breath, though it was more to himself than to you.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a distant noise. The low growl of engines, the metallic scrape of weapons being drawn. The war had begun. And you could feel it in your bones.

“They’re here,” Bucky growled, his voice a warning, a promise, and a threat all wrapped in one.

Within seconds, the house was in motion. Bucky barked orders to his men, and chaos erupted. The sound of boots pounding on the floors, voices shouting, doors slamming shut as they locked down the perimeter—it was as if the walls themselves were vibrating with the impending violence.

Bucky turned to face you, his eyes filled with determination. “Stay here,” he commanded, his voice low, unyielding. “Do not leave this room.”

But you couldn’t stay behind. Not now.

You grabbed Alex’s small hand, your heart racing, as you whispered, “Stay close.”

Without another word, you moved, stepping away from Bucky’s watchful eyes, toward the stairwell, the hallway. You were moving almost instinctively now, drawn to the sounds of conflict that were growing louder, closer. You didn’t know how you would survive what was coming, but you knew one thing: you weren’t going to be a passive spectator in this war.

Bucky’s men were already in position, taking out anyone who had the audacity to cross the threshold of Bucky’s carefully built empire. He was ready to fight back—prepared to destroy anyone who threatened the life he had started to build with you and Alex.

But it was bigger than that.

As the first shot rang out from the outside, echoing through the empty hallways of the mansion, you knew this wouldn’t be over in a single night. The war was only just beginning. And Bucky was leading the charge.

You could hear Bucky’s voice barking orders as the first wave of enemies collided with his men outside. He wasn’t just fighting for survival anymore. This was personal.

He wasn’t just defending you. He was fighting for his world—his life.

And you were a part of it now.

The war outside raged on, a cacophony of gunshots, screams, and the relentless thud of boots stomping across the mansion. Bucky had made sure you were safe, hiding in a small back room with Alex, but the tension between you was undeniable. You had insisted on staying by his side, on fighting this alongside him, but Bucky had other plans.

“Stay here,” he ordered again, his voice hard as steel. “I need to know you’re safe.”

Before you could protest, he was gone, slipping out of the room with a look of determination on his face, the door closing with a quiet click. You stood there, fuming with frustration, hands clenched into fists at your sides. This was your fight, too.

You turned to Alex, whose wide eyes were filled with confusion and fear. You pulled him into your arms, doing your best to soothe him, rocking him gently, trying to make him feel safe.

But you knew, deep down, that no one was really safe. Not now. Not here.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside the room. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, silhouetted by the dim light filtering through the cracks in the curtains.

The man’s face was partially obscured by a mask, but the glint of a weapon in his hand made it clear that he was a threat. You immediately stood, instinctively pulling Alex closer to you, your heart pounding as fear coursed through your veins.

The man grinned as he stepped closer, his boots silent on the floor, his eyes locked on Alex. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

“No!” You snapped, pushing Alex behind you protectively, your hands trembling but defiant. “Stay away from my son!”

The man ignored you, his hand shooting out to grab Alex. But Alex wasn’t going to go down that easily.

In a burst of unexpected bravery, your little boy sank his teeth into the man’s hand, biting down hard, his small body squirming with all the strength he could muster. The man’s yell of pain was short-lived, but it was enough to push him into a blind rage.

He swiped at Alex, knocking him backward into the wall with a sickening thud. The sound of Alex’s cry ripped through you like a knife, and in that moment, everything else faded away. You felt your heart shatter, and something inside you snapped.

“Alex!” you screamed, rushing to him in a frantic blur, your hands trembling as you gathered him up into your arms. His cries were deafening, tears streaming down his face as he whimpered in pain.

Your fury exploded in an instant. Your vision narrowed, the world tilting as adrenaline flooded your body. You didn’t even think as you rushed at the man, all of your fear and desperation for your son turning into pure, unrelenting rage.

With a guttural shout, you shoved the man back, using every ounce of strength you had left. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders and with a ferocity you didn’t know you had, you pushed him toward the railing.

He stumbled, trying to catch himself, but you were already too far gone. With a scream of fury, you shoved him harder. He lost his balance, arms flailing as he fell backward. There was a sickening thud as he crashed onto the floor below, unconscious and crumpled, completely out of the fight.

The house fell into a heavy silence, and for a moment, you stood there, panting, your chest heaving with the remnants of your fury. The only sound that filled your ears was the soft, broken sobs of Alex in your arms.

You dropped to your knees beside him, cradling him tightly against your chest. His tears soaked your shirt, his tiny hands gripping at you as though he were afraid you might disappear, too. You shushed him gently, rocking him back and forth.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to calm him. “Mommy’s here. You’re safe now.”

Alex’s sobs slowly started to quiet, his body going slack in your arms as he buried his face into your chest, exhausted from the shock of it all.

You kissed his head, your own tears blurring your vision as you held him tight, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. You didn’t know how much longer this war would last, how much more you could endure. But in that moment, with Alex finally calm in your arms, you knew one thing: you would protect him. No matter what.

And you weren’t going to let anyone—no matter how powerful they were—take that away from you.

But then, a sudden noise from the hallway snapped you back to reality. The front door had been kicked open, and the heavy footsteps of men filled the house again. They weren’t done.

You stood, clutching Alex close to you, your breath ragged as the fight for survival wasn’t over. Not yet. Bucky wasn’t here. You were alone. And you had no idea how you would get through this.

But you would. For Alex, you would.

You wiped your tears away, set your jaw, and prepared for whatever came next.

And now, you were in it—no longer hidden behind Bucky’s protective walls, but standing right in the middle of the fight.

The house trembled as the attackers outside began their final push. Every second felt like an eternity as you held Alex close, trying to steady your breathing. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, but it wasn’t enough to mask the overwhelming fear that clawed at your chest. The house had never felt so fragile, so exposed. The walls that Bucky had carefully built around you now felt like they were closing in.

You glanced down at Alex, his small body curled against yours, his breathing still shallow but calming. He had stopped crying for now, exhausted from the ordeal. But you could feel the tremors running through him, the fear he still couldn’t fully process. You would have given anything to take that fear away, to return to the days when he could sleep soundly, without nightmares or danger.

You had to keep moving. There was no time to waste.

Slowly, you stood up, keeping Alex securely against you, your hands still trembling. The sounds from the hallway grew louder, closer. You didn’t know how many of them there were, but it didn’t matter. You would do whatever it took to protect your son.

Your footsteps were quiet, deliberate, as you moved toward the staircase. Every instinct screamed at you to hide, to retreat, but you couldn’t. Not anymore. You couldn’t hide from this. You had already lost too much.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, peering around the corner. The lights from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows through the windows, revealing figures moving below. The man you’d knocked down earlier was still on the ground, but there were others—too many others.

You didn’t know where Bucky was or how close the danger was, but you couldn’t waste time waiting. You had to move. For Alex’s sake, you couldn’t hesitate.

But as you turned to look for an escape route, a sharp voice cut through the tense silence.

“Drop the kid.”

You froze. A figure emerged from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. A gun was held tightly in his hand, aimed directly at you. The mask covering his face did nothing to hide the malevolent aura surrounding him. This wasn’t just some random thug. This was someone with a purpose.

“No,” you said, your voice low but steady. “I won’t.”

The man smiled, the motion unsettling and cold. “You don’t have a choice.”

He took a step forward, and that’s when you made your move.

You didn’t even think about it—you acted purely on instinct. With one hand, you held Alex closer to you, protecting him as best as you could. With the other, you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy vase from the hallway table—and threw it with all the strength you had. It shattered on the floor, distracting the man for just a split second.

In that moment of vulnerability, you bolted. You ran as fast as you could, hearing the man’s boots slamming against the floor behind you, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Every step was a battle. Your mind was racing, calculating the safest path, looking for an exit, anything that might get you out of this nightmare.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached the end of the hall, but just as you were about to turn the corner to the main staircase, you heard another set of footsteps—closer, heavier.

Panic flared in your chest as you realized you were being cornered.

Alex whimpered against you, sensing the danger as you turned sharply, running down a narrow hallway toward the back door. It was a gamble, but it was your only chance.

You reached the door, yanking at the handle, but it didn’t open. The lock was still engaged. You cursed under your breath as the footsteps grew louder behind you.

“Mommy, no,” Alex whispered, clutching your neck tightly.

You spun around, desperate. You could hear the footsteps now, the sound of them growing closer. The man was almost there.

Then, as if on cue, the door swung open with a sudden force, the lock giving way.

You didn’t hesitate. You ran into the yard, your breath ragged, legs burning as you pushed yourself harder. The cool night air hit your face, but it did nothing to cool the terror rising in your chest. You had no plan, no backup. You were on your own.

As you neared the back gate, you heard shouts from behind, the thudding of boots drawing nearer.

“Stop her!”

But you weren’t stopping.

You pushed through the gate and into the alleyway, glancing back only once to see if anyone was following. You didn’t see anyone, but you couldn’t afford to be caught. You moved quickly, your mind a whirl of thoughts, trying to figure out where to go.

Your options were limited. You couldn’t go to Bucky’s usual places. It wasn’t safe anymore. Not with everyone after you.

Suddenly, the sound of an engine revving in the distance caught your attention. You spun around, and to your surprise, there was a car pulling up. A familiar face was behind the wheel.

Steve Rogers.

You didn’t have to think twice. You ran toward the car, Alex still tightly pressed against you.

“Get in,” Steve shouted as he rolled down the window. “We don’t have much time.”

Without a second thought, you climbed in, placing Alex in the back seat before slamming the door behind you. Steve floored the gas pedal, and the car sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

As you looked back toward the mansion, a dark sense of dread settled in. You knew this wasn’t over. It was just beginning. But for now, you were alive. And that was something.

Steve glanced over at you, his expression hard, but his eyes full of understanding. “Bucky sent me. He’s got your back. We’ll keep you safe.”

For the first time in days, you allowed yourself a small breath of relief. But deep down, you knew the fight wasn’t over yet.

Part Thirteen: A Moment of Calm

The night was eerily quiet as the car sped toward the safehouse. Steve’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror occasionally, scanning the empty road, making sure no one was tailing them. Alex had fallen asleep in the back seat, exhausted from the chaos and fear of the past few hours. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on you, but at least you were safe—for now.

You couldn’t help but think of Bucky. You hadn’t seen him since you’d run, and the fear for his safety gnawed at you. You hadn’t been able to stay with him, hadn’t been able to fight beside him, and you hated yourself for it. You knew he would have wanted you to stay hidden, but you weren’t the kind of person who could sit idly by, not when your family was in danger.

But you couldn’t deny the relief that rushed over you now that you were away from immediate danger. Your heart still raced in your chest, and your hands were cold, but the worst was over… or so you hoped.

The car skidded to a halt in front of the safehouse, and Steve killed the engine. “Stay here with Alex,” he instructed, his voice firm, but there was a softness in his eyes. “I’ll get Bucky. He needs to know you’re okay.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You had so much to say, so many emotions swirling inside you, but for now, you just needed to breathe.

Minutes later, the sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet night. You recognized the rhythmic pace of Bucky’s boots before you even saw him. Your heart leapt in your chest as the door to the safehouse swung open, and there he was—alive, unharmed, and looking as determined as ever.

The moment you saw him, the dam inside you broke.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even hesitate. You rushed into his arms, your chest heaving as you pressed yourself against him. His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you close, holding you like you were the one thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the weight of everything finally started to sink in. You had been so terrified—terrified that you might never see him again, terrified that you might lose him like you’d lost your husband.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his hand stroking your hair gently as he whispered in return, “I’m fine. I’m here.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw something there that made your heart flutter—a softness, a tenderness that you hadn’t realized he had been hiding. It was a rare moment between the two of you, when the walls came down, and everything else faded away.

Steve, ever the observant one, leaned against the doorframe with a knowing smirk on his face, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at the two of you and cleared his throat, giving you both a moment.

“Guess that’s my cue to get out of here,” Steve said with a wink, pushing himself off the doorframe. He gave Bucky a nod. “You’re good now, man. We’ll be in touch.”

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off you as he nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks, Steve. You’ve done enough.”

Steve’s smirk widened, and with a final glance at the two of you, he left, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

And then it was just you and Bucky. The world outside had disappeared—no more gunshots, no more enemies, just the two of you standing in the quiet aftermath of a battle you had barely survived.

Bucky took a deep breath, his hands brushing against yours as you stepped closer to him. The air between you thickened, tension building like a storm about to break.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice rough, the words laced with emotion that he rarely showed. “I should’ve kept you safe. I should’ve kept you out of all of this.”

You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingertips. “You did keep me safe. You kept us safe. And I—I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while you fought. I couldn’t just—”

Before you could finish, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep and urgent. It was everything—everything you had been holding back, everything you hadn’t said, everything you had been afraid to feel. His hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as if to make sure you were real, as if he hadn’t believed until now that you were really here.

You responded just as fiercely, your heart hammering against your chest as the pent-up emotions spilled over, releasing in that single moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Bucky rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short bursts.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his words raw and honest, stripped of all the walls he usually put up. “I thought I could just keep you safe, keep you out of all this, but… it’s not that simple. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, not again. I’m not leaving you.”

You felt the same—a warmth flooding your chest as you pressed your palm over his heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath your touch.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m scared, Bucky. But I don’t want to be scared anymore. Not if we’re in this together.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes locking with yours, filled with determination. “We are in this together. And I won’t let anything come between us.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, holding each other, the world outside forgotten. It didn’t matter what had happened or what was still to come. All that mattered was the quiet, steadfast promise you had made to each other.

Together.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe it.