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moonyskarma · 3 days ago

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in the court of two kings

𝔅artemius Crouch Jr

I met Barty on the train in first year. I was walking through the train trying to find an empty compartment when I walked straight into him. I half-expected him to shove me away, but I suppose he recognized me—or at least recognized what family I belonged to. He told me to watch where I was going, and that was that. We didn't talk much in first or second year, no more than polite small talk when we happened to be paired together in class.

In third year, he became incredibly close with Evan Rosier and Regulus Black, and they started wandering around together as a little group. Barty started hexing younger students in the halls and picking fights with the Marauders. I, to be perfectly honest, thought he was a complete and utter wanker. I've hexed him back more times than I can remember.

That was until about halfway through fifth year, when Barty suddenly had an interest in me. Where he'd corner me in the library and hex anybody who tried to touch me—even my friends. Obviously I was not very happy with this and confronted him one day after he interrupted yet another study session in the library. He didn't argue back, didn't try and defend himself. Just looked at me and smirked and said, "Don't you like my attention, Calloway?"

Um, obviously not, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. Idiot. Anyways I hexed him and left. I'd hated (or at least very strongly disliked) him for almost five years at this point.

Until the very end of fifth year, at the end of the year ball. I didn't have a date—the Marauders and I just went together as a group. After a while, I snuck up to my favorite place—the Astronomy Tower. For some godforsaken reason, Barty followed me up, half-drunk on firewhisky he snuck into the ball. He offered me the bottle. We passed it back and forth for a while, not saying a word, before I asked why he was so obsessed with me. He looked at me like I'd just asked the most ridiculous, obvious question ever.

"Isn't it obvious? You intrigue me, Apollo." It was the first time he called me by my name, though by that time I'd tried to leave the name "Apollo Calloway" behind. I was going by "Charlie Potter," but that's something Barty never respected.

Sixth year, however, is where the world simultaneously ends and begins. Where me and Barty become... well, Barty and me. In the first few months it was subtle. He'd catch me staring. I'd catch myself hoping I'd see him between classes.

That's when we started properly talking. When everything began. When none of our friends knew—it was just us, a secret we could keep. We started meeting up almost every night at the Astronomy Tower. Eventually we got bored of that (or, rather, things got a little too rowdy for such a public place) and we found the Room of Requirement. We walked in and it was a bedroom. Are you fucking kidding me? Is the entire universe trying to get us to shag? It was rather pretty, though. A large comfortable bed, a soft armchair, a mirror and dresser.

I started spending more nights there with him than in my dorm. The Marauders noticed, of course, but I wouldn't tell them—how could I? "Oh, yeah, guys, forgot to mention—I've been sort of kind of not really dating Barty Crouch Jr." Like, sorry, I don't have a fucking death wish (Spoiler alert, they found out).

And thus began the year of Barty. I'll be honest, this is definitely not the world's healthiest relationship. One may even go so far as to describe it as toxic. To me, he's just... Barty. The reckless, idiotic, selfish, wreck that is my Barty. Split knuckles after yet another fight he started, letters in ridiculously pretty handwriting slipped into my pockets, sneaking off every night to meet him in our room.

We fight. God, do we fight. Quite a lot, actually. Over everything and anything. His jealousy, my selfishness, our obsession of each other. It usually starts small—"saw you with Sirius today" from him, or "why'd you hex that second year?" from me. That often turned into me leaving the room and wandering around the castle before going back to my dorm (but I'd be back the next night).

Sirius hates it (and him). It's kind of funny that Sirius is the main cause of arguments between Barty and I, and Barty's the main cause of arguments between Sirius and I. James doesn't necessarily hate it, he's just... concerned. Remus raises an eyebrow when he sees Barty and I together, but never rats me out to the others. Lily's on James's side of concern. Marlene and Mary think it's hilarious—"for the plot", pretty much. Dorcas, who's relatively close with Barty, is often my woman on the inside. Evan... that's kind of whole thing. Regulus, once we get over each other in fourth and early-fifth year, often becomes the messenger when Barty and I aren't speaking.

I can't chose Sirius because there's Barty. There will always be Barty. there will always be a moth (me) to a flame (him). There will always be this sort of inevitability of him and me in that godforsaken room with the broken mirror and the ashtray that empties itself and his sweater on the armchair and him and me.

𝔖irius Orion Black I met Sirius in first year, a few moments after I met Barty. I found a compartment with three boys in it—one quiet, with jagged scars across his face. One loud, with messy brown hair and glasses and a big smile. One, with jet black hair that brushed his shoulders, looking out the window. The loud one, James, introduced himself and the others and invited my sister and I into their compartment. Thus began the Marauders, though we didn't call ourselves that yet.

Sirius and I grew very close very quickly, to the point of inseparability. Never one without the other. Both of us were in relatively similar family situations, with both of us born into controlling pureblood families with affiliations to the Dark Lord. I ran away to James's house, and Sirius followed two years later.

There's always been something between Sirius and I. Something that lived in the liminal space between friendship and something more, something we never discussed—until we did. Our first kiss was at a party, playing spin the bottle. That was the first time we were forced to confront whatever was going on between us, in a hushed conversation that night on my bed with a silencing charm cast around us. We were fourteen.

Nothing really became of that. Nothing really became of us, not until the middle of fifth year, around the time I started getting attention from Barty. This is also when Sirius and I began fighting more than usual. We've bickered since we were children, but this was different, something born of jealousy and anger.

The rest of the Marauders noticed. The professors noticed. Even the ghosts noticed that the two of us were starting to go days without speaking. I was tired of this, tired of fighting with him over practically nothing, so I confronted him. And he admitted he's jealous of Barty—scared that Barty's taking me away from him.

After that, our fights became more scarce—but they still happened, and most often they were about Barty. Alright, Barty and I may have our issues, but Sirius honestly isn't much better—a point I brought up every single fight.

Our worst fight occurred after a party. It was the end of term, and all four houses came together to throw a party in the Room of Requirement. Everybody was there—even younger students that were technically not allowed, as the party was for fifth years and above.

I was getting drinks for myself and the girls, when Barty walked in (late as always) and walked towards me. Next thing I knew, Sirius had his hand on my waist and that "trust me?" look in his eyes. And then he kissed me.

He didn't do it because he wanted to kiss me (or maybe he did, who knows). He did it to make Barty jealous—and it worked. Except it backfired for him. I guess he was expecting me to choose him, in that moment, but I went after Barty instead.

Maybe that was my mistake, who knows. Maybe that action spoke louder than anything I could've said. It probably did. But in about a week, we were right back to square one, in that liminal space I refuse to label.

I can't choose Barty because there's Sirius. there will always be Sirius. there will always be this sort of inevitability of him and me and stargazing and late night talks and too-loud laughs and shared leather jackets and him and me.

Maybe this is my fault, breaking Sirius and Barty's hearts while trying to keep mine from being torn in opposite directions. Or, hear me out, maybe I'm just a teenager with too much love to give and no solution to an impossible problem. Maybe I'm just in the court of two kings.

004 . back to the 𝓐lphabet 𝓐rchive .ᐟ

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justwinginglife · 1 day ago

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Lifetimes and Lifelines

Synopsis: An AU where Jinshi was always Ka Zuigetsu because you saved him by coming into his life. Approx Word Count: 5000 Tags: adults being dicks I guess, child abandonment, Jinshi likes to be a little shit but we love him anyway

You’re six years old and you think adults are cruel.

Even in the short amount of time you’ve been on earth, you already know this. You aren’t sure why they say the things that they do, only that their words leave destruction and despair in their wake. It didn’t take you much time at all to figure this out.

Your mother, you’ve been told, is a waste of space. Barely useful even in the pleasure district, which is what she’s been resigned to after your father, a waste of air, left her with you. She left you almost as quickly as he did. You couldn’t recall a sliver of their faces even if you spent all day trying, so all you have to go off of are the nasty recollections given to you by nasty adults who present their distasteful words to you as though they are some sort of gift, as though their testimony serves to comfort you from the tragedy of having such parents. And so what if they abandoned you? After all, you’re better off without them, right? Or so that’s what you’ve been told by every adult you’ve ever been pawned off to.

You spend a lot of time in and out of homes, everyone arguing about whose problem you are. You’re tossed around so frequently, you even learn how to sleep sitting and standing, because you never know when one adult will get tired of assuming responsibility for you and rip you from your bedsheets just to hand you over to the next. But no matter how many different houses you are brought into and kicked out of, everyone shares the same sentiment: your mother was worthless, your father was worthless, and now, by default, so are you. It isn’t until you're adopted by a friend of your mother’s that you are ever taught any different.

It is fortunate for you that your mother ever had a friend so generous, and it is even more fortunate for you that her friend had gone on to become one of the Emperor’s most valued concubines, allowing you to be welcomed into the rear palace with the Emperor’s blessing.

You are skeptical when you first arrive. You sleep with one eye open. Eat as much as you can in case it’s the last time you eat for a while. Exercise good manners but never engage in more than minimal, polite conversation. But the sun and moon come and go, over and over, and your clothes never fray, your belly never empties, your education never wanes, and the roof over your head -the very grand roof- never changes. Under your adoptive mother’s tutelage, you learn how to be graceful, how to be skillful, how to be successful. Under her roof, you learn how to be thankful, how to be joyous, and above all else, how to be kind.

And kindness soon becomes the most useful tool in your arsenal.

During your time at the palace, you hear that somewhere on these grounds there lives a boy about your age. As refined as you’ve come to be, you’re still just a child, in want of a playmate. You’ve always been cautious about straying too far from your home, but boredom does wonders for your courage. You sneak out -making a mental note to apologize to your attendants for the trouble later- and begin your search for your new friend. You hope he is kind. You hope he is fun. You hope people have nothing but good things to say about him.

As you near the location where you hear he might be staying, you realize that the men and women passing by do, in fact, have plenty to say about this boy. But none of it is good, and you are sure, without ever even knowing him, that none of it is true.

They speak of how he must be an imposter. How he must be illegitimate. How he’s been handed a lavish life that is not deserved. And then there is that phrase again. “A waste of space.” You’re sick of hearing it. You wonder if the adults who are so casually spewing these words know just how destructive their ridiculous declarations are. How those words can make even an adult want to lock themselves away from the world, and how it can be even more detrimental to a child.

And when you finally catch a glimpse of him through a cracked door, peeking out from underneath a blanket, hands trembling yet forcefully attempting to cover his own ears, you know you’re right. And you hate it.

You wait for the court ladies to walk by and then quietly slip into his room, closing the door behind you. Like a scared cat, he backs himself into the corner of his bed, pulling the blanket around himself tighter as he watches you enter.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You speak gently but it isn’t gentle enough for him. He’s still wide-eyed and panic-stricken. You give him a soft smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I just have-” You slowly reach into your pockets so as not to startle him further, “-a lot of candy and I wanted to share it with someone. You seem like you’re good at sharing. Want some?” You hold out your candy-filled hand in offering to him.

He stares at them for a moment. Then looks back up at you. Then back down to the candy. He nods slowly.

You crawl into bed with him and begin separating the candies by flavor. “This one’s my favorite- I love strawberry. How about you, what’s your favorite?”

“Ch-chocolate.”

“Oooh, yummy! Good pick.”

He gives a small smile. It’s minimal but you can work with it.

“Go on, try the chocolate and tell me how it tastes!”

He pops a candy into his mouth and then wrinkles his nose. “That’s gross, what is that?”

You look at the wrapper and laugh. “Sorry, sorry. You don’t want that one. That’s dark chocolate. I think you want something sweeter, yeah?” You hand him a different candy.

“Mmm, much better.”

“See, I told you.”

He hesitates before offering you a similar candy. “You wanna try?”

You graciously accept his offer, wasting no time in popping the candy into your mouth. “Mmmm- yummy, yummy, yummy!”

He cocks a grin at you. “Do you know any other words besides yummy?”

You feign thinking for a moment. “Hmm. Lemme see. It’s SUPER yummy!”

He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at you. “That doesn’t count, silly.”

Several minutes later (though both of your stomachs would soon wish you’d taken more than just a few minutes) you’ve eaten all the candies with his help, and have now begun to sprawl out across his bed, groaning and giggling to each other about how full you both are.

“Zui, your bed is so fluffy. I can’t believe you get to sleep in this every night.”

He nods his agreement, still lethargic from stuffing himself full.

“Must be nice having such a nice, warm bed that’s all yours. No one else’s.”

He fidgets with a nearby candy wrapper.

“It’s like, if you sink deep enough into the bed, you can’t hear anybody else talking. Right? Like your pillow might just swallow you up and you won’t have to hear stupid people in the hallway.”

His eyes widen. Could you…have heard those people talking about him earlier?

“I think this bed is perfect for you. Like it was made just for you to have. Like you were meant to be here.”

He bites his lip. “You…you think so?”

“I do. Because if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have a new friend. So I think you were always supposed to be riiiiiight-” You lean over to poke his nose, “Here.”

He laughs and shoos you away. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Well I…I think you’re meant to be here too. You know. Feeding me and stuff.”

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “I can do other stuff too, ya know.”

He turns on his side to face you, eyes alight with challenge. “Like what?”

“Like…this!” You reach over to attack his sides with tickles.

“Hey, hey! Do you want me to puke on you or something?!” He rolls away from you, grumbling. But when he’s turned himself far enough away from your prying eyes, he allows a sincere smile to spread across his face. He’s made his first real friend. And he intends to keep you. “Anyway, I’m tired now… but come back tomorrow, or something?” His breath hitches as he waits for your answer.

He doesn’t expect arms to suddenly be thrown around him in a tight embrace.

“I promise. Tomorrow then.”

You’re six years old and you’ve made your first friend and your first promise.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re ten years old and you think life is unfair.

“How come Zui gets to train with a sword and I don’t? I wanna do what he’s doing!”

Your mother sighs. “Darling, remember what I told you; you cannot address the Prince so casually. And as for the matter of sword fighting, I simply will not allow you to wield a sword. It’s dangerous.”

Your brows furrow. “But it’s not dangerous when he gets to use it?”

“It is, but it’s part of his duty to learn the sword as he assumes the role of the Prince. And he will have special training on the way of the sword.”

“And why can’t I have training?”

“Because you’re a proper lady now, and if word gets out that you run around swinging swords, I might not be able to protect you from what others say or do to you.”

You cross your arms stubbornly. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to, sweetie, but I want you to be safe.”

Once your mother has thoroughly finished lecturing you, you meet your friend -you meet the Prince- in your secret hiding spot: a little garden tucked away where no one can interrupt the two of you. Ever since you’ve known him, you’ve always found time to sneak out and meet him, but now that you’ve both been growing up and he has more important things to attend to, you find yourself desperately clinging to any time you have with him at all.

He looks up when he sees you coming. “Your mom finally done scolding you?”

“Barely. I’m sure she’ll have more to say about it later.”

He laughs. “About how dangerous this all is, and about how you’re a girl?”

“Pretty much. Sucks.”

“You know, I don’t think that’s a very lady-like thing to say,” He teases.

You scowl at him and he laughs again.

“How about this- I teach you one move and I stay right beside you the whole time so nobody gets hurt, deal?”

Your eyes light up. “Really? You would?”

“It’ll be our little secret.” He holds a finger up to his grinning lips. “C’mon, we gotta figure out your stance; now, get over here, slowpoke.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You hop off the bench you’ve been sitting on and eagerly join him at the practice dummy.

“You’re going to want to brace yourself; a sword is heavier than you think.”

“It can’t be that heavy; I carry all those textbooks around with me all the time-” You curl your hand around the sword handle and hoist it up. A spark of pain shoots through your arm and you let the sword fall back down. “Okay…so it’s kinda heavy.”

He begins to chuckle but when you are quick to glare at him, he chokes it back down. “Look, you’re just holding it too close to the end of the handle. Here, hold it like this.”

You feel his arms wrap around you as he adjusts your positioning, and at this moment, you swear you can’t feel anything else. Not the sun beating down on you, not the sweat rolling down your neck, not the wind sifting through your hair. You only feel his hand on yours, his breath along your skin, his warmth against your back. And you don’t want to feel anything else.

You’re ten years old and you’ve already found exactly where you want to be and who you want to be with.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re thirteen and you’re completely soaked and it’s all his fault.

“Mom is going to kill me!” You groan as you look down at your drenched garments. You’d had the not-so-smart idea to accompany Zuigetsu down to the river for a morning stroll when he decided it was much too hot outside and the both of you were much too dry. So he pulled you into the river with him for a swim.

He grins with no remorse as he watches you squeeze the water out of your dress. “So what? We’ll just wait until it rains and tell her we got caught in the rain.”

You emphatically point at the sun, burning bright in the morning sky. “With what rain??”

He tugs you closer to him. “That rain.” He points far off into the distance where storm clouds have begun to gather.

“Zui, that’s like, so far away! We’ll have to spend half the day here before we can use that excuse!”

He chuckles. “It’ll rain soon, I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

You raise a brow. “You seriously want me to answer that?”

He purses his lips into a pout. “Now when have I ever steered you wrong?”

You tap a finger to your chin in thought. “Hmm, oh, I don’t know, maybe when you lied to me and told me the latest fashion trend was hair buns and I showed up looking like a panda to the last picnic! Or maybe when you had me wasting my entire evening searching for a secret passage in the library that you swore existed but you knew didn’t! Maybe then!” You jab a finger pointedly at his chest.

He laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t being serious then. But I am now- I swear it’ll rain soon.”

You sigh. “Your Highness, you’re the worst.”

His brows immediately furrow upon hearing your formality. You only call him by formal titles when you're in public together and you're trying to pretend you don’t know him. “Hey. That’s not my name and you know it.”

“Does your grand Majesty have proof he can tell it’s going to rain soon?”

His scowl deepens. “Don’t call me that, not when we’re alone. You know I don’t like it.”

You take a daring step closer to him. “Does your Lordship not like when I address him so formally? What a shame.”

“Damnit- Y/N, cut it out.”

“Your Grace wants me to cut it out-?” You take another step towards him but the rock beneath your foot gives out, and before you know it, you tumble forward and topple the both of you into the water again.

He emerges from the river, gasping. “Damnit, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He trudges back up to the river bank and begins to squeeze the water out of his hair. “You’re always so careless and you like to push my buttons and you-” He turns to find he’s been ranting all this time to thin air. He scans the surface of the water for you, but you still haven’t come up yet.

“Real funny. You can come out now. Do you hear me?”

When he is met with more silence, his heart begins to squeeze in his chest. He immediately dives back underwater to look for you. He discovers that the current has taken you slightly downstream and he finds you at the bottom of the river bed, passed out, hair tangled in a bundle of branches. He frees you as quickly as he can but it isn’t quick enough for his liking. He carries you back to the river bank and deposits you gently on the shore. Wasting no time at all, he begins compressions. When you exhibit no reaction at all, he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I have to.” He bends down and presses his lips to yours, blowing air into your lungs. He resumes compressions again and you sit up in an instant, coughing up water.

“Are you okay??” He hovers over you, examining you worriedly.

You take a couple of unsteady breaths. “I…I am now. Th-thanks…” When you finally regain proper control over your breathing, you press your fingers to your lips. “Did…you…”

Zuigetsu blushes and looks away, not willing to admit to you that he’d basically kissed you.

Suddenly clouds began to flood the morning sky. Thunder crackles once and then twice before the rain starts to pour. He quickly scoops you up and carries you to a nearby gazebo to wait out the rain.

“So you…”

His heartbeat quickens. Damnit, are you going to make him admit what he did? He bites his lip nervously.

“You…were right…after all.”

He blinks. He was…right? Right about what? Kissing you?

“It did…rain.”

He exhales a sigh of relief. You must not have realized he’d kissed you. Thank the gods. He cracks a weak smile. “I’m always right.”

You sneeze. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Being right once doesn’t qualify as ‘always being right.’”

His eyes widen as he takes notice of the way you shiver, hands coming up to rub your arms. He wastes no time in pulling you to him, arms surrounding you to provide some semblance of heat, even though he’s also soaked to the bone.

“You…smell like a wet dog.” You tease him tiredly, resting your head against his shoulder.

He snorts. “And you don’t smell any lovelier, princess.”

You laugh softly and move to bury your face in his chest.

He feels you snuggle closer to him, figuring you’re just freezing, and he holds you tighter.

What he doesn’t realize is that you have full recollection of the way he’d kissed you and you’ve chosen to seek refuge out of his line of sight so he can’t distinguish the shade of red blooming in your cheeks. Your first kiss and you were barely conscious for most of it.

You’re thirteen and you wonder if he’d humor you if you asked for a redo.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re sixteen and there are too many goddamn hairpins. Or, at least, that’s what he says.

You know you’re at the age when men start noticing you but you don’t know what it is exactly that you’re doing to make them notice. All you know is that it puts Zui in a bad mood all the damn time. He’s become so difficult. But you still love him.

“So what if I got a lot of hairpins? I can just sell them all, can’t I?”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s not about the hairpins; it’s about accepting the hairpins. May as well just go around telling everyone you’re a free buffet because everyone’s trying to take a bite and you’re letting them.”

You glare at him. “I’m not letting anyone do anything. I just like accessories.”

He scoffs. “But I’m telling you, it’s not about the accessories! It’s about what they want to do to you after you accept the accessories!”

You raise a brow. “And what are they going to do to me?”

He coughs. “Well. You know. They…they…”

“Yes?”

He sighs, exasperated. He absolutely does not feel like explaining the birds and the bees to you today. “It’s just not good things, okay?! And it’s not like you can just kick these guys in the balls if they act up!”

“Yes, but you taught me how to fight. And I’m never alone; I have, like, a million attendants. Okay? I’ll be fine.”

His lower lip juts out in an emphatic pout. “Sure, sure. Big girl over here. Grown adult, she says.” He grumbles.

You roll your eyes at his antics. “I am a grown adult and I can make my own choices. And right now, I’m choosing to shut you up with food.” You take a fruit off of a nearby platter and shove it into his mouth.

He glares at you but then realizes you’ve picked his favorite fruit and swallows happily. “Okay, but I’m still mad at you.”

You sigh. “Fine, what do you want me to do, give all the hairpins back?”

“You can’t just ‘give the hairpins back,’ idiot. The sentiment is already there. They already mentally have their hands all over you.” He shudders.

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

“Exactly- ew. So just don’t accept anymore hairpins, okay?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly bring anything to wear in my-”

“So wear this. Here.” He shoves his hair pin into your bun.

You gesture to your other bun. “Now it’s uneven. What am I supposed to wear in this one-”

He quickly pulls out another hairpin and slides it into your second bun. “Happy now?”

“I think, just to sell the image, we should walk around together. Probably have my arm around you. Wouldn’t want other guys to think I’m available, you know.” Your words drip with innocence and Zuigetsu registers none of your ulterior motives.

“That’s a good idea; stay close to me.” He wraps his arm around you and parades you around like you’re his. He knows no one would dare offer a token of affection to the Moon Prince’s beloved and he’s happy to play the part of your lover if it means it will keep others away from you.

You’re sixteen and you know, deep down, it’s not an act when you cling to him and claim to be his; now you just have to figure out how to make him yours.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re eighteen and you are impatient as all hell.

You’ve already had a line of suitors in and out of the door, all damn day, and not one of them was Zuigetsu. Not one. Sure, he’s busy as this kingdom’s Prince. Sure, he’s off doing royal things that royal people do, whatever that means. But it doesn’t mean that he can just ignore you on the day you’re supposed to be getting engaged. You can only hold back the floodgates of men for so long before your mother finally just picks one of them for you. So you hope and you pray to God (it’s honestly less praying and more threatening) that Zuigetsu will show up and make you an offer, because if he doesn’t, you’re trapped for life. And then you might kill him for ruining all of your plans.

The sun starts to kiss the horizon and you’re mentally imagining horrific methods of torturing him whenever he finally decides to show his face again. But the moment he walks through the doors, your previous mental threats are nowhere to be seen, your anger dissipating. When you see him, your heart can’t help but soar over the moon. He’s sweaty (probably from more sword practice), and he’s so, so late, and in so, so much trouble, but he’s still here and goddamnit, you love him, and you’ll say yes no matter what stupid thing he says. So he better hurry up and ask already.

You fix your hair quickly before gesturing for him to come into the sitting room where you’ve been poised on the couch all day like a perfect, porcelain doll, allowing suitors from far and wide to gawk at you.

“You have something to say?” You prompt him, heart skipping in your chest.

“Yeah, you got any food?”

You give him a pinched smile. “Sorry, food?”

“Yeah- I’m starving. Whew, it’s been a long day!” He plops down on the couch next to you. “By the way, why’re you wearing that fancy getup?”

This is it. You’re going to kill him.

You stand up stiffly and cross the room to grab a platter of delicacies. You walk them back over to him. When he thinks you’ll hand it to him gently, you drop the tray in his lap, not even bothering to watch as the food splatters all over him before you leave.

You’re eighteen and you think you’re in love with an idiot.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re eighteen and a day, and he’s taking you out to apologize, even though he has no idea what he’s apologizing for, and you think you might kill him. But preferably after the date. Just in case it ends up being worth it. And then, if it isn’t, you’ll kill him.

You watch his expressions -and to your frustration, he appears to have none- as he leads you through a route you are now realizing feels quite familiar. It’s been ages since you’ve been down this road, but you recognize it nonetheless. He’s taking you to your secret garden. It’s a good start. Invokes sentimentality. Maybe he thinks you’ll go easy on him in the place you always go easy on him. You haven’t decided yet if you want to go easy on him or not.

It isn’t until he clears away the vines and unlocks the door with the key you’d thought lost to time that you realize he’s done something different with the garden. He’s strung lights all over the place. Got the fountain that never worked to actually start flowing water. Planted new flowers- your favorite. And in the center of it all, he’s set up chocolates and strawberries on a little stone table.

“Thought it might be better than the candies we used to eat. As fond as I am of those, they don’t age well.” He jokes.

“I think you’re right. I nearly cracked my tooth open on one of them the other day,” You admit, eyes still raking over the impressive scene before you.

“Do you like it?” He asks hopefully.

You give him a shrug. “Looks okay.”

His shoulders slump ever so slightly and suddenly you’re caving. You hadn’t expected to cave this soon. You had hoped you could hold out longer, stay indifferent, the way he appeared to be. But you can’t keep up the nonchalant facade anymore. Not when he looks like that.

“I’m just kidding. It looks beautiful. Better than it ever did. I seem to remember this-” You hop onto a nearby stepping stone, “Always being cracked and now it’s repaired. And this section of the hedge-” You run your hand along its leaves, “-I’m pretty sure I remember us accidentally burning it when we tried to light candles in here after skipping out on the New Year’s Festival to hold our own.”

“Yeah, you know, I thought about keeping the burnt hedge for nostalgia’s sake, but I just thought it might ruin my proposal.”

Your heart stutters to a standstill, the sun stops its rotation in the sky, and the birds all around you freeze their flights in mid-air. “Your what???”

“Oh, you know, the proposal you thought I forgot yesterday.” He mimics your earlier casual shrug.

“So you…didn’t forget.” You say slowly.

“Of course I didn’t forget your eighteenth birthday. But I wasn’t going to propose to you when you just spent an entire exhausting day being proposed to. Granted, I didn’t expect you to walk out on me, so I must admit, I did panic.”

“Yeah cuz you could’ve downplayed the indifference maybe just a little bit!” You scold him.

He laughs abashedly. “Sorry. Maybe asking for food wasn’t the best idea when you’d clearly been waiting for me. And sorry I was so late. Your birthday present wasn’t ready yet.”

“My…present?”

He gets down on one knee. “Well, it’s really more of a present for me. That is, if you say yes.” He pops open a ring box.

You knew the moment was coming. He’d already admitted that this was his proposal, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But the moment you see the ring -the gorgeous, gigantic, jade ring- you feel your heart trumpet in your chest. “Yes!” You stammer out.

He laughs. “I haven’t asked yet.”

“Oh. Right. Carry on.” You mumble sheepishly, cheeks tinging red.

“You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you. You’ve saved me over and over again. Saved me from boredom, saved me from running away from the throne, saved me from myself. I know, with your high standards,” He gives a fond laugh, “That I may probably spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy and may only succeed half the time, but please, I’d like to spend the rest of my life trying. You’ve already succeeded at making me the luckiest, happiest man alive, and I can only hope that one day, I can make you feel even a sliver of what I feel whenever I’m around you. I know it’s not much of a deal, but will you allow me this chance? Marry me?”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” You grin, accepting his ring.

“I hear it’s part of my charm.” He returns your grin.

“Unfortunately, it is. But you’re wrong about one thing. I’m not happy only half of the time you’re with me. I’m happy every second I get with you, even if you drive me crazy. I’m happy even if you’re not around but you happen to cross my mind. You make me happy just by existing and I’m even happier that I get to call you mine. So I do feel the way you feel. I do feel like the luckiest, happiest person alive. And it’s all because of you.”

He coughs and turns away.

“Zui, you did not just turn away from my grand speech because you don’t want me to see you cry, right?”

He clears his throat. “N-no! Course not!”

“So look at me.”

“One moment.”

“Darling. My love. Would you just look at me?”

He turns, tears in his eyes.

There he is. The man of your dreams. The love of your life.

You’re eighteen and a day, and you’re about to have the best kiss that’s ever been recorded in history. And then you’re going to marry the hell out of this man.

@pixelcafe-network

#han's library #apothecary diaries jinshi #jinshi apothecary diaries #jinshi x reader #jinshi #apothecary diaries #the apothecary diaries #anime fanfic

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erabu-san · 1 year ago

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I enjoyed every second of this quest

[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]

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king-spite · 3 months ago

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i know the red queen tv show is now less likely to happen than katy perry going to space BUT if it DOES happen i think they should pull a rhaenicent and make elara and coriane have a failed tragic homoerotic friendship before becoming "rivals". nevermind what actually happens in the books. i think that would save me actually

#i've been rewatching hotd recently and imagining many rhaenicent scenes with them and oh. OH.#the idea of them becoming friends bc of Elara approaching Coriane first like she does in canon and growing v close to each other throughout #the years. and maybe Elara can be close to Julian and Sarah at first too bc Coriane wants her to meet her brother/bsf. idgaf #and then Tiberias starts showing interest in Coriane and it's kinda awkward bc Coriane already has a homoerotic friendship with Elara :/#and for a reallyyy short time Elara (who i imagine falls for Coriane first and harder. kinda like Alicent for Rhaenyra lol) pretends to be #okay with Coriane and Tiberias being together. for the sake of her friend's happiness (and bc of comphet too tbh)#and i imagine the three of them being friends for a really short while (like Mare and Cal and Maven were in RQ1 before the romance)#BUT then Tiberias proposes to Coriane and everything changes. and Elara and Coriane have the biggest fallout (Coriane thinks it's because #Elara was after Tiberias as well. and because she too wants to marry the Calore heir (which to some extent is true- i imagine Elara's famil #has been pressuring her to get closer to Tiberias/intefere between her and Coriane for a long while. and Coriane marrying him has spoiled #their plan). and that's what we see in Queen's Song. Coriane being worried about Elara after marrying Tiberias. except Coriane was never #really angry at Elara. she is as wary about her as we see in QS bc of Elara being more and more distant towards her/pushing Coriane away #over time. and despite what's “canon” i like to imagine Elara as a character similar to Alicent - forced to push her only friend away in #hopes to marry the man her family wants her to marry. so much so that Elara (like Maven. like every Merandus before her) gives in to what #she thinks is her duty to her House. and does exactly as they wish. “killing” Coriane and marrying Tiberias.#can you imagine how much more tragic hers (and Coriane's) character would be. burning her best friend's old diary. plotting against her bes #friend's brother and torturing Sarah as well. resenting her best friend's son - her stepson -. turning her own son against Coriane and neve #letting him know about hoe close they once were. regretting what she did every day of her life but not willing to give up her crown - the #one thing she sacrificed her entire life for. the one thing she sacrificed her best friend for #do you even CONCEIVE the level of angst. do you even GET it #i know the rq tv show probably will never happen but if it happens can VA please do this ^ . for me. for my sanity #IN FACT. idk whete i was it but I read somewhere that IF they did make the show Elara's character would be changed a bit (confirmed by VA)#i live in delusion but idgaf. a boy can hope🙏🙏#red queen series #red queen #elara merandus #coriane jacos #coriara #🫀

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theghostinabadbook · 3 months ago

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Oh no, they've been infected by Zoro's terrible sense of direction!

#It looks like Bonney and Lilith are joining the battle in this arc too!#(I was honestly starting to think Oda would just forget about them until the end of the arc)#I hope that at some point we get to see Bonney helping the giant kids #I think it would be really nice with her character arc especially if she used her Nika form to do it #since she would be using a power coming from her dreams hopes and imagination to fight nightmares in physical forms #and this can make her a inspiration for the other children!#also #Bonney and Collon should become friends #I think they would get along very well #jewelry bonney #vegapunk lilith #op lilith #cyborg franky #one piece #one piece 1144 #op 1144 #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #— mine

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thoughtpeek · 8 months ago

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I'VE FINALLY FINISHED BROTHERSHIP IT WAS SOOOOO GOOD!!!!!!!

#clai speaks #spoilers in the tags probably #ahhh first of all i am still astounded the game exists at all. we all thought m&l was done forever but here it is!!!#the timing of me playing superstar saga and getting really into mario last year couldnt have been better #i mean i probably would have played brothership still even if mario hadnt become a main interest of mine like that. but anyway #absolutely stellar re-entry into the series it did not disappoint in the SLIGHTEST #i think i 100%'d it? only thing i didnt do was finish that last dyode dance sequence but like its fiiiine #took about 50 hours i didnt get a chance to check my final time. really surprised that the game went that long!#i dont think it was a bad thing at all though. the game mostly didnt feel like it was overstaying its welcome #i did think lottacoins and the lower level solitree went a tad too long and i didnt like them but only a little. they're still fine sections #surprised that i didnt even feel like the sidequests were a drag they were all alright!#character interactions were so good ofc. love the new cast!! starlow felt a bit flat which is a shame but she also didnt appear much so #the sidequest where she visits bowser and he calls her chippy!!!! made me so happy!!!!!#all the callbacks were so good i'm glad they can still do that. yelled out loud after finding the peasley reef #docking points for no dreambert reef however. jail worthy offence #on reclusa specifically i dont have a lot to say about his character he's just your typical evil for the sake of evil villain #but i have to say i Love his design. the really exaggerated facial expressions and that clown neck frill. really fun character actually!!#ahhh call me childish but i'm never a fan of endings where friends separate but i like to think the second uni-tree--#--will allow them to link back up once its grown and can generate more connectar to do it #cant say if its my favorite yet bc recency bias is still too fresh but its absolutely my second favorite m&l game at least!!#i havent played paper jam yet i wanted to play the original paper mario and spm first. but i always hear its bad so??#brothership is at least on par with dream team for me rn. absolutely stellar game #i hope this means we'll get more m&l someday! i've already left a very positive response on the survey they put out #anyway. now to decide what to play next because i have a MASSIVE backlog of games and i didnt think this would take this long BJDHJFHF #10/10!!!! please play brothership immediately

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hug-your-face · 8 months ago

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via @swatercolour here on Tumblr and also on [insta]

EDIT: I do not interpret "just managing" as "just suffering, just enduring, curling into a fetal position and waiting for it to be over." Managing is an active process.

So I'm using this post as a platform to make the reminder that "the power of the people is greater than the people in power," and we all are cordially invited to:

Take good care of ourselves. Mental, physical, emotional health. Hydrate. Move if we can, get outside if we can.

Keep up a routine. Remember quarantine and we all had to find a routine? This is the same.

Be intentional in our news consumption. Let's not stick our heads in the sand but let's not doomscroll either. Get an RSS aggregator. Subscribe to WTF Just Happened Today, Yoour Local Epidemiologist, Fix The News (for some inspiring hopeful news!). We'll check our feeds a few times a week, but no more than once a day.

Connect with friends and loved ones. Remind ourselves that while SOME people are horrible, for the most part people are awesome... if complicated. Share our fears but also our hopes. Eat together.

Now that we're keeping healthy, safe, sane, and hopeful... now we also fight. Quietly if we prefer, loudly if we prefer. But sustainably. I hate that I had to live through three rounds of this nonsense where a few people use half of us as tools to fuck over ALL of us, but here we are again. So let us take just one moment every week or so to...

Use 5calls to keep blowing up our reps phones. Tell them to either break ranks with the Orange Administration, or to stand up louder than just matching outfits and signs. Or to THANK them for standing up.

Use Vote411 to find elections before the midterms. A lot of villages, cities, townships etc have local elections that will affect where we live... and more importantly, the people in office there will affect things upwards too.

Use Ballotpedia to know exactly what's on our ballots ahead of time.

Protest, because it actually works.

Use Vote.org to make a plan to vote in the midterms. Make a plan that is immune to voter suppression tactics. Get our documents in order. Reach out to our friends to go to the polls as a group. Plan to livestream our visit, up until the point we have to turn our cameras off.

Make and share memes that promote hope, organizing, solidarity, and/or resistance.

Get involved with an action network like Indivisible, MoveOn, or Working Families Party.

Go to a local town hall meeting. Speak up.

Heck, start our own local activism networks, letter campaigns, call campaigns, or fundraisers with Action Network.

And we will remember our self-care. We will remind ourselves and each other that they want us scattered, focus is how we resist.

It IS coming back. Things ARE going to get worse. The world has become a place where a very few people are pulling levers and pushing buttons that are actively destroying much of what is good about living in a society where people care for each other.

Many others are in shock, sputtering "but can they do that?" MANY many others are waiting for someone to come save us.

But there are those who are actively, loudly, opposing.

And there are more people speaking up, acting up, every day. More people saying it's time to get scrappy. It's time to get into some good trouble. The shock is wearing off.

Yes, it's gonna get worse before it gets better (the long-term damage of the acts of the past momentum of all the damage that has been done will take that long to be felt -- but it WILL get better.

If WE will it.

#hope #resist #I have this image on my screensaver #I could NOT find the art on Tumblr or I would have RB'd it #I could find it on Xitter I could find it on Insta but not here #Tumblr I beg you - search please #and yeah I'm updating this with text from my Take Action post

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poisonjaffas · 5 months ago

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I literally hate how some days I just seem to wake up woth zero patience or tolerance for other people and I'm just awful to be around and I don't even notice half the time, I don't want to make my friends sad but that seems to happen the more time I spend with them and I don't know how to explain it in a way that doesn't just make me sound like a dick for no reason

#wild life of emily #Like yesterday I was kinda sad because I was doing something fun with friends but originally there was supposed to be a whole bunch of us #And now we're not friends with those people but we still ended up walking past them all and I still hope they're all fundamentally okay #But it's just sad how people can become strangers to you so suddenly????#And apparently I was being impatient and snappy all day and I didn't realise how bad I was until they told me #I probably should have brought snacks with me too to make sure I don't get hangry bc idk if that was also it but like #I'm a 25 year old adult why is my stress response to hit out at other people when they don't do exactly what I planned #And now this is going to consume me because like what if they don't want to be my friends any more and I lose them too #God do I need to up my meds or something I just feel absolutely shit today

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erabu-san · 1 year ago

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I enjoyed every second of this quest This art has platonic intention, please don't tag ship

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danysdaughter · 14 days ago

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bucky seeing p0rn for the first time after the dating apps don’t work out👀

I'm deadddd, this was so vague so I just ran with it

The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes

pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.3k words

summary | when dating apps fail him and thirst traps become his downfall, bucky barnes finds himself spiraling down the internet’s most unholy rabbit hole—pornhub.

what starts as horrified research turns into full-blown obsession... especially when you, his sharp-tongued best friend, catch him red-handed and make very sure he lives out every filthy fantasy he’s been hiding.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, face sitting, breeding kink dirty talk, roleplay mentions, overstimulation, sexual humor, porn discovery, reader catches bucky watching porn, friends to very horny lovers, reader is a menace, teasing, flustered bucky, dom!bucky, subtle power play, consent is sexy, reader rides his face, doggy style, missionary? i hardly know her, mutual pining (solved by porn), no use of y/n, reader is a problem and bucky loves it, aftercare.

a/n | yeah, I definitely went overboard with this. I hope you freaks enjoy this

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

divider by @cafekitsune

You sipped your drink slowly, already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky glared into his beer like it had personally betrayed him.

“So,” Sam started, barely hiding his smirk. “How was the date with... what was her name again? Velvet? Vixen?”

“Vesper,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And she asked if I’d be into choking her with my vibranium arm before we even finished our drinks.”

You snorted into your glass.

Sam leaned forward, grinning. “I mean... was she wrong?”

“Sam.” Bucky’s glare was instant, but mostly performative. “I just met her.”

You glanced at him over your glass, amused. “What app did you find this one on?”

He groaned. “The same one you said was ‘normal.’”

“No one said it was normal,” you said, raising a brow. “I said it was better than Tinder. That’s not a high bar.”

Bucky leaned back with a sigh, looking thoroughly done with the entire 21st century. “I miss when people met at soda shops and asked each other about their families instead of sending... pictures of their genitals.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Aw, poor Grandpa’s overwhelmed by the sex-positive future.”

“You know what’s not positive?” Bucky muttered. “The fact that I Googled ‘how to get back out of the dating app’ and it sent me to a subreddit with people just as confused as I am.”

You exchanged a look with Sam, both of you clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Have you... considered other ways to meet people?” you asked, trying not to grin. “Like not being a digital hermit?”

Bucky looked between the two of you, deadpan. “I’m this close to living in the jungle again.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Bucky Barnes, the only man who can bench-press a car but can’t survive Hinge.”

Bucky slammed his glass down—not hard, but with enough force to earn a side-eye from the bartender.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “I’m trying to talk to these women like a normal person. I say, ‘Hi, how was your day?’ and one of them responds with—” he fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen, “‘Send me a pic of the arm, baby, I wanna see what’s gonna rearrange my insides.’”

You choked.

Sam full-on cackled, grabbing his chest. “Wait—rearrange her insides? Yo, that’s poetry.”

“She sent a GIF after that,” Bucky went on, staring at the phone like it might explode. “A GIF. Of a hydraulic press crushing a watermelon. What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna die,” you wheezed, nearly spilling your drink. “She wants you to hydraulically press her coochie, Barnes. Come on.”

“I thought she was making a smoothie metaphor!” Bucky snapped. “And then another one asked if I was into CNC. I said I didn’t know what that meant, and she said ‘perfect.’”

Sam wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god—Bucky, you’re gonna end up in someone’s kink diary.”

“She sent me a TikTok about edging,” Bucky added, horror slowly overtaking his face. “I thought it was about gardening.”

You completely lost it, head in your arms on the table. “Please stop, I can’t breathe.”

Bucky scowled. “I’m serious! She said she wanted to edge me for hours, and I said that sounded peaceful, like a nice walk—and she sent back forty-seven emojis.”

Sam gasped between wheezes. “You’re getting sexted in hieroglyphics and you think it’s a hike, I’m begging you to never leave the house again.”

Bucky looked between you both, betrayal written across his face. “I survived Hydra. I survived seventy years of brainwashing. But I will not survive being called ‘daddy’ by a woman who lists her job as ‘freelance foot model and energy witch.’”

“Wait—did she have the crystals?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

He nodded grimly. “She said my aura was ‘screaming trauma kink.’”

Sam actually slid off the stool, wheezing on the floor.

He shut the door behind him with a dull thunk, then stood there for a moment in the silence. The kind that pressed in around the edges when no one else was around. Just him, the creak of the old radiator, and the words “rearrange my insides” still echoing in his head like a ghost.

Bucky sighed, tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair, and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge as if disappointment wouldn’t be waiting there too. One beer left. Great.

He grabbed it, popped the cap off with his metal hand, and made his way over to his laptop.

It sat there on the table like a challenge.

He opened it. The familiar whir kicked on. A sigh slipped through his teeth.

“I fought in two wars,” he muttered to himself. “Survived Hydra. Took down a helicarrier. But this? This is the real enemy.”

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then he typed:

"What does CNC mean?"

Enter.

He leaned forward slowly, reading the top search result. Then the second.

His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth fell open just slightly.

"...Consensual non-consent?"

He clicked the link. Read further.

He leaned back in his chair like he’d just been shot.

“Why—why would anyone want that?” he muttered, scandalized. “That’s just... that’s just assault with permission.”

Still, he didn’t close the tab.

He opened a new one instead.

"Edging meaning (not gardening)"

More links. More acronyms. More trauma.

His face contorted in quiet horror as he scanned descriptions, diagrams, tips and techniques.

His beer sat forgotten on the table.

Eventually, he clicked a link that just said “beginner’s guide to porn kinks.” It was a blog. Fairly clinical. Until it wasn’t.

Then he clicked another.

And another.

Until eventually he wound up on a site with thumbnails—little videos with previews. Titles he didn’t fully understand.

He stared at one.

A girl, on her knees, mouth open, eyes wide.

Title: “Training My Pretty Submissive Brat”

He blinked. Then hovered. Clicked.

The video loaded.

He sat still, very still, as it started playing.

And then...

“What the hell—” he whispered.

The guy was talking. Dirty. Commanding.

The girl was moaning like someone had just whispered state secrets in her ear. She was calling him sir. Begging. Crying out when he—

Bucky slammed the spacebar to pause the video, hand clenched on the table.

He stood. Paced.

‘I shouldn’t be watching this,’ he thought, running his hand through his hair. ‘This is wrong. This is not—that’s not—’

He looked back at the screen.

Unpaused.

A few seconds passed.

He sat again.

Watched. Silent. Rigid.

His jaw clenched. His eyes darted across the screen like he was scanning enemy movement.

Then his hand—his metal hand—tapped the edge of the keyboard.

Paused again.

His chest rose and fell.

“I mean… he’s not hurting her,” he thought. “She’s asking for it. She likes it.”

Beat.

“And she’s loud.”

He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the paused screen like it had insulted him personally.

Then he muttered, “Is that what people want now?”

He reopened the search bar.

"How to talk dirty in bed"

The search results hit him like a grenade.

By the third article, his ears were red. His fingers hovered over the trackpad like they didn’t know whether to scroll or just snap the whole laptop in half.

He clicked another video.

This one was slower. More intimate.

The woman straddled the guy’s lap, whispering in his ear. He growled something back, then pushed her down on the bed—

Bucky’s breath caught.

He didn’t even notice his hand moving under the table at first.

Didn’t notice the low groan that slipped from his throat when the man on screen said, “Good girl—just like that.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Mouth dry.

He swallowed hard.

“…I need another beer.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t stop watching.

Because something in him had been starved for this. For contact. For control. For someone wanting him, even in fantasy.

The next video autoplayed before he could stop it.

Another couple. This time, softer lighting. Moaning, whispered praise. Her back arched under his touch as he moved slow, deliberate, like every second was sacred.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He sat motionless for a full minute.

Then his hand drifted down.

Hesitant. Awkward.

He undid the button of his jeans, fingers brushing over the bulge in his briefs. The contact was enough to make his breath stutter.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

He shifted in his seat, pushed his jeans down just enough, and curled his hand around himself. Warm skin against cool air. His metal hand clenched uselessly on the table as the other moved slowly, uncertain.

The sounds from the video—soft, rhythmic, intimate—filled the room.

And Bucky gave in.

His eyes didn’t close. He watched—studied—the way the man touched her, held her, spoke to her like she was something precious and filthy all at once.

“Such a good girl,” the man murmured. “Taking all of me. Just like that.”

Bucky bit down on a groan, his hand moving faster now, hips twitching in his seat.

He imagined saying those words.

And then—

He imagined you.

Your voice, sharp and sarcastic, going breathy and soft when he touched you. Your legs around his waist. Your fingers in his hair. Your mouth whispering his name like it meant something.

And that thought—you, under him, with him—wrecked him.

He jerked harder, gritting his teeth, chest rising fast.

A low moan slipped out. Sharp. Uncontrolled.

His head fell back, eyes clenched shut as heat coiled in his gut. His body trembled.

One more stroke—

And he came.

Hard.

He let out a strangled noise, hips lifting off the couch, body seizing as white-hot pleasure shot through him. His hand slowed, milked every last pulse, until the aftershocks faded and all that was left was—

Silence. Reality. Shame.

His breath was harsh in his ears.

The screen was still playing.

The woman moaned, laughing, pulling the man closer.

Bucky stared. Then looked down.

At himself. At the mess.

At the way his hand was still wrapped around his cock, softening now, shame creeping in like a slow burn.

He let go like he’d been scalded.

The aftershocks hadn’t even faded before the guilt hit—cold and immediate.

Not from what he’d watched.

Not even from what he’d done.

But from who he’d seen in his mind while he did it.

You.

You, laughing beside him at the bar. You, rolling your eyes at his brooding. You, calling him “grandpa” and meaning it with affection.

You—beneath him, moaning, touching, giving yourself to him in the fantasy that had just ripped through his body.

His stomach twisted.

He yanked his pants back up, hands clumsy, face burning not with arousal now—but with shame.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pacing, one hand raking through his hair, the other clenching into a fist. “Fuck—what the hell’s wrong with me?”

You were his friend.

You were real.

And he’d just used the idea of you like… like some porn star on a screen.

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t look at the laptop. Couldn’t look at himself. He felt dirty—not because he’d touched himself, but because it felt like a betrayal. A violation of something pure.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

That hadn’t been just need.

That had been you.

And now he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to look you in the eye again.

A Few Weeks Later

There was a knock at the door.

Three knocks, then a pause.

Then two more.

“Come on, Barnes,” your voice called through the door. “I brought sacrificial offerings.”

Bucky hesitated.

He sat in the dark, boots still on, bruised knuckles resting against his knees. His hoodie clung to him, sweat-damp and rumpled, his mind still halfway in the mission, halfway in the same loop it had been stuck in for weeks.

But it was you.

He got up slowly and opened the door.

You stood there with a paper bag in one hand, a six-pack in the other, grinning like you had zero intention of leaving whether he wanted you to or not.

“You gonna let me in or should I start monologuing like a Bond villain?”

He stepped aside without a word.

You strolled in like you owned the place, already heading to the kitchen with practiced ease.

“Brought dumplings, noodles, and enough alcohol to bleach the taste of both from your soul,” you said, setting things down. “You looked like someone clubbed you with your own metal arm last mission, so—figured I’d play nurse. A sexy, underqualified nurse with boundary issues.”

Bucky closed the door quietly behind you.

“You’re not a nurse,” he muttered.

“Not with that attitude.”

You popped the beers open, handed him one, then flopped onto his couch like you lived there. Legs kicked up, food containers opened without ceremony, your usual grin in place.

He stood a few feet away, beer untouched in his hand.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks—not really. He’d ducked every casual run-in, bailed on team movie nights, even ghosted your texts under the excuse of "needing space." He figured you noticed.

You just hadn’t said anything.

Until now.

You eyed him, casually, between bites. “You gonna sit down or do I need to pull you onto the couch like a Victorian housewife?”

He sat. Slowly. Farther away than usual.

You noticed. Of course you did. But you didn’t call him on it.

Not yet.

Instead, you nudged a container toward him and said, “Eat, soldier. You look like a sad, haunted lumberjack.”

And still—he didn’t say a word.

Because all he could think about, sitting beside you again after a month of silence, was the way your mouth had looked in that fantasy.

The way your voice had sounded moaning his name.

The way he’d used the memory of your real, friendly, teasing self to—

He swallowed thickly.

You kept eating, casual, sharp, familiar.

Exactly how he remembered. Exactly what made it so much worse.

You wiped your fingers on a napkin, leaned back, and gave him a look.

“Alright. You look like you’re two seconds from overthinking yourself into an early grave. Movie time. Something with violence or explosions—your love language.”

Before he could protest, you were already standing and heading toward his desk.

“Wait—” he said, starting to rise, but too slow.

You flipped open his laptop. “Let’s see what Grandpa Barnes has in his—”

“Ah—ahh—yes, please—!”

The moaning hit like a tactical nuke.

You froze.

So did he.

Both of you staring wide-eyed at the screen as the speakers screamed filth into the otherwise silent apartment.

Bucky moved fast.

Too fast.

He lunged over the couch, hand outstretched like he was taking enemy fire.

You dodged.

Smooth, practiced. Years of training paying off.

“No—” he barked, face already crimson, “Please—don’t—!”

“Oh my god—” you laughed, holding the laptop just out of reach. “Is this—is this Pornhub? Are you seriously—you are! You’ve been watching porn, you absolute degenerate.”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, mortified.

“Please give me the laptop,” he said, voice low, wounded, like you were holding a hostage.

But you were already clicking the spacebar, pausing the video mid-thrust.

“Oooh,” you said, squinting at the tab title. “‘Brat tamer destroys needy sub’? This is what you’re into?” You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Bucky.”

“Stop,” he muttered, pacing now, hands on his hips. “I was—researching.”

“Researching what? The anatomy of a throatfuck?” you said, howling with laughter. “Brat tamer—are you even on Tumblr, old man?”

He looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him.

“Do you know how much I regret every decision that led to this moment?”

You hugged the laptop to your chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this. The secrets. The shame. The kinks.”

“Give. It. Back.”

“Nope. Not until we find out if you’ve got a whole ‘rough dom Bucky’ fantasy folder stashed somewhere. You into praise? Degradation? Impact play? Knife play?”

He growled.

Actually growled.

And for half a second, it stopped being funny.

Because the way his eyes locked on you?

That wasn’t embarrassment anymore.

That was heat. Low. Dangerous.

You grinned, too drunk on the chaos to stop.

“Come on, Barnes,” you said, laptop still clutched like a prize. “Own it. You like a little bratty backtalk? You want someone to whimper please while you tell her she’s being a bad girl?”

He was still pacing, but slower now. Controlled. Coiled.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy poking the bear.

“Is that what you’re into?” you teased, stepping back. “All that repressed soldier shit finally coming out in dirty little commands and throat grips?”

His eyes met yours. Still embarrassed, sure. But behind it? Something sharper. Something hungry.

“Y’know,” you added, tone light, teasing, “I always pegged you as more of a soft dom. Gentle hands. Lots of praise. But this? This is dark. Kinda filthy. Kinda hot.”

That did it. He moved.

Fast.

Faster than he should’ve.

One second, you were smirking with the laptop; the next, it was out of your hands, clattering to the couch. You were against the wall, chest rising, his body a breath away from yours.

His hand planted next to your head.

His voice low. Controlled.

“Enough.”

You stared at him. The air was suddenly thick. Your heart thudded once, hard.

“You think this is a joke?” he asked, eyes burning into you.

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“You think I don’t know you’ve been toying with me since the moment you walked in?”

That teasing smile faltered—just a little.

“You keep pushing,” he murmured, leaning in, breath brushing your jaw. “You laugh, you flirt, you play. But you don’t realize... I’ve thought about you. In ways I shouldn’t.”

You swallowed.

Hard.

“I know what I watched,” he went on, voice rough, low, dangerous. “I know who I imagined.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

“You want to see what I’m into?”

You blinked up at him—cornered, caged—but not afraid.

Not even close. Your smile crept back, slower this time. Calculated.

“Oh,” you murmured, tone shifting. “You imagined me?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

His silence said everything.

You pushed your palms slowly against his chest, feeling the way his body tensed under your touch. Solid. Barely held together.

You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear.

“So tell me,” you whispered, voice low and coaxing. “If you’ve already pictured it, Barnes... what did I look like?”

He exhaled harshly through his nose.

You didn’t stop.

“What was I doing?” you went on, dragging your fingers down the curve of his chest. “Was I on my knees? Bent over? Did I ride you while you begged for it?”

A choked sound left him—more breath than voice.

You smiled against his neck. “Or do you want to tell me what you were doing to me?”

His hands twitched at his sides.

You could feel it—the war inside him. Guilt, hunger, restraint. And under all of it, the ache.

“Go on, James,” you whispered, using his real name like a secret. “Tell me. What do you like?”

His head dropped forward, forehead nearly touching yours.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—

“I want you on top,” he breathed, voice ragged. “I want you to sit on my face and ride it until your legs give out.”

Your eyes fluttered closed for half a second.

That was not the answer you expected first.

His voice deepened, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“I want you on your knees, begging. I want to fuck you from behind so deep you forget your own name. I want to feel you come around me and not stop. I want to stay inside you.”

His breath hitched. His hands were fisting at his sides.

“And when I’m done, when you can’t even move anymore—I want to come in you and keep coming until you’re full of me. Until it’s dripping out of you.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively.

Your nails curled tighter into his chest.

And your voice, still low, still teasing—but now breathy, just slightly—said:

“Damn, Barnes. That’s a whole lot of filth for someone who didn’t even know what edging was last month.”

Your last teasing whisper hadn’t even left your lips before Bucky moved.

One second you were pinned between him and the wall, and the next, his hands were on your hips, gripping tight. Then the ground disappeared beneath your feet.

You gasped as he lifted you—easily, effortlessly—hauling you against his chest like you weighed nothing.

“Jesus, Barnes—” you started, but his mouth was already on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim.

Hot, rough, needy—his lips crashed into yours with the force of every filthy thought, every sleepless night, every moment he’d spent imagining your mouth, your body, your sound. His teeth scraped your bottom lip. His tongue pushed past yours. There was no hesitation. Just heat.

You moaned into it, hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as he carried you down the hall.

Your back hit the wall once, then the doorframe, and then—

The bed.

He dropped you onto it like a man starved for touch. The mattress creaked beneath you, sheets rumpled and cool against your skin as you propped yourself up on your elbows, breathless and grinning.

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, looking at you like you were his undoing.

You tilted your head, voice low and mocking.

“Is this the part where you get all commanding, Sergeant? Or are you gonna make me do the work?”

His jaw clenched. He stepped forward. Then dropped his weight onto the bed, climbing over you, hands already at your thighs, dragging you down the sheets toward him.

“I told you not to push,” he growled.

You smiled, voice syrup-sweet.

“And I told you I liked pushing.”

His hands slipped under your shirt, yanking it over your head in one smooth motion. Your bra was next, tossed aside without ceremony. He ducked down immediately, mouth hot against your collarbone, then lower—kissing, biting, devouring.

You gasped, head falling back as his mouth found your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked it between his lips, hard.

And still—you teased.

“Careful, Barnes. Gonna make a mess before you even get inside me.”

He looked up at you.

Eyes wild, hungry, dark.

And then he dragged your jeans down—fast, rough, like he didn’t have the patience for anything else—and crawled up between your legs, pressing his body to yours until there was nothing between you anymore.

“Then shut up,” he growled, grinding against you, his cock thick and hard through his jeans.

“Make me,” you whispered, pulling him down by the collar.

And he did.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, neck, breasts, stomach—kissing, biting, groaning like he couldn’t get enough, like he didn’t know where to start because he wanted all of you.

Then he pulled back, breathing hard, eyes raking over your body like a man finally allowed to look.

“Get up,” he rasped, voice dark and thick with want.

You blinked up at him, dazed and grinning. “What?”

He sat back on his heels, hands gripping your thighs.

“I said get up,” he repeated. “I want you on my face.”

Your breath caught.

Dead serious.

You didn’t question it. Didn’t tease.

Instead, your lips curved into a slow smile as you shifted, sitting up, climbing over him with fluid, easy confidence.

“As you wish, Sergeant.”

That name hit him like a punch to the chest.

His hands guided you—firm, reverent, needy—until your knees were braced on either side of his head, your body hovering just above his lips.

He looked up at you like a man who’d prayed for this moment.

And then?

He pulled you down.

No hesitation.

Just mouth.

Hot, wet, desperate—he groaned the second he tasted you, tongue already lapping through your folds, lips sealing around your clit like he was starving.

Your head tipped back with a sharp gasp, fingers flying into his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth.

“Fuck—Bucky—”

He growled in response, hands gripping your ass, holding you down, keeping you there.

You rocked against him instinctively, gasping as his tongue flicked and circled, licked and sucked. He was moaning into you, mumbling things you couldn’t even make out—except for one word that hit clear, over and over:

“Mine.”

You looked down at him, eyes wild, mouth open.

His eyes met yours.

Dark. Glazed. Possessed.

You could see the man he used to be—the soldier, the weapon—but right now?

Right now he was just yours.

And you were his.

You couldn’t stop moving.

Couldn’t stop grinding against his mouth, against his tongue, the pleasure slamming through you in waves, harder and sharper with every flick, every suck.

Bucky moaned beneath you, the sound filthy, shameless, needy—like your taste was saving him from something dark and deep and buried.

His hands held you tighter, guiding your hips as you rocked against his mouth, your thighs trembling around his head.

“Fuck—fuck—” you gasped, one hand gripping the headboard, the other buried in his thick, messy hair. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t.

If anything, he doubled down—lips sealing tighter, tongue working you harder, sloppier, his groans vibrating against your clit like a live wire.

He wanted this.

He wanted to suffocate on you, drown in you.

And you gave it to him.

Because when you looked down, saw those glassy, desperate blue eyes staring up at you, pleading for more, there was no holding back.

The coil snapped.

Your whole body locked as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and searing, your hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth.

“Bucky—” you cried, voice cracking, thighs clamping around his head as you came—hard.

He didn’t let go.

He held you there, arms wrapped around your thighs, mouth still working you through it, licking and sucking every shudder, every twitch, like it was a gift.

You collapsed forward, one hand braced on the headboard behind his head, the other still clutching his hair, your body wrecked, shaking, soaked.

And when you finally opened your eyes—chest heaving, heart pounding—you looked down at him.

His lips were wet, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with hunger.

He looked like he could live there. Like he’d happily die there.

And all he said, voice hoarse and full of worship:

“You taste like heaven.”

You were still trembling when he sat up behind you, hands stroking your thighs, your hips, slow and reverent like he needed to remember the feel of you.

“You good?” he rasped, voice wrecked from moaning into you.

You nodded, barely catching your breath, lips curving into a slow smile.

“Still waiting for that doggystyle fantasy to come true, Sergeant.”

That was all it took.

He growled low in his throat, grabbing your hips, flipping you effortlessly onto your stomach. Before you could even laugh, his hands slid under your body and lifted your hips high, chest pressed down into the mattress.

You moaned, the stretch in your spine perfect, delicious.

He leaned over you, his breath hot at your ear.

“This how you want it?”

You arched your back, ass pushing against him. “This is how you want it.”

He growled again—low, deep, possessive.

“Exactly how I want it.”

Then you felt him—his cock, thick and hot, dragging through your soaked folds, the head catching on your entrance.

He didn’t push in yet.

Just rubbed, slow, deliberate, teasing.

You whimpered, tried to push back.

He gripped your hips tighter.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “You’re gonna feel all of it.”

Then—he pushed in.

Slow at first, but deep, the stretch burning in the best way as he filled you, inch by thick, pulsing inch.

“Fuck—” you moaned, hands clutching the sheets as he bottomed out.

He held still once he was fully inside.

Like he was savoring it.

Like this—being buried in you, your body wrapped tight around his—was what he’d been starving for.

Then he moved.

Pulled out halfway.

And slammed back in.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the sheets as he started thrusting, each snap of his hips harder, deeper, rougher than the last.

His hands gripped your waist like you were his anchor.

His rhythm brutal, relentless.

He fucked you like he meant it—like he’d dreamed of this for weeks, like every fantasy had led to this.

You were gasping, moaning, clawing at the bed.

“Look at you,” he panted behind you. “So fucking tight—taking me so good.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

And when his hand snaked around to rub your clit, you screamed his name.

He didn’t let up.

Just pounded into you harder, faster, until the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, filthy and loud and perfect.

He was so deep in you.

Deeper than anyone had ever been—physically, yes, but also fully. Like this was where he belonged. Like this was where you belonged.

His hips rolled, the angle perfect, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you with every rough, claiming thrust.

And his voice—low, wrecked, filthy—poured right into your ear.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he growled. “You like being on your knees for me?”

You whimpered, nodding, voice breathless.

“Yes, Bucky—fuck—so much.”

He leaned over you, chest flush to your back, still moving inside you—slow now, torturously deep, like he wanted to feel every pulse of you clenching around him.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “My good girl. So fuckin’ wet for me. You were dripping on my face—you know that?”

You moaned, your body shaking, ass pushing back into him.

“I saw you,” he said, his rhythm stuttering just to drag the next thrust out longer. “When I told you to sit on my face? You didn’t even hesitate. You just gave it to me.”

You gasped as his hand slid down your back, curving over your ass, squeezing.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you like this,” he went on. “Taking every inch like a good little cocksleeve. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

You shuddered, squeezing around him so tight he groaned.

“Yes,” you panted, shameless. “Fuck, Bucky—fill me up—please—I want it.”

He slammed into you harder, rhythm picking up again, fast and unforgiving.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s what I like. You begging. You dripping. You mine.”

You cried out, bracing yourself against the mattress as he drove into you faster now, hand slipping beneath to rub your clit again.

“Say it,” he hissed. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choked. “You, Bucky—I’m yours.”

He groaned deep in his throat, thrusts faltering for a beat like the words knocked something loose in him.

Then he grabbed your hair, gently but firm, pulling you up just enough to kiss your neck—bite it—then whisper:

“When I come, I’m gonna stay inside you. Gonna keep you full for hours. Walk around dripping with me.”

You whined, thighs shaking, the pressure building again—faster, sharper.

“Bucky—please—”

His voice was a growl, low and thick with promise.

“Come for me.”

And you did.

Hard.

Your whole body clenched around him, your scream muffled by the sheets as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and messy, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Your moan was still echoing when he grabbed your waist, pulling you back—up, off the bed, into his lap.

You barely had time to gasp before you were straddling him, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your neck, and his cock still inside you.

“Not done,” he growled, arms locking around your waist. “Not until I come in you.”

Then he thrust up into you—hard, deep, devastating.

You cried out, your body already overstimulated, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you all over again. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, spreading your thighs wider, keeping you open for him as he pounded up from beneath you with bruising rhythm.

“Fuck—Bucky—” you whimpered, hands flying back to clutch at his hair, his shoulder, anything.

He was relentless.

Grunting with each thrust, hips snapping up into you, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “How deep I am? How you’re still so fuckin’ tight?”

You nodded, moaning, body jerking with every thrust.

“You’re gonna take it,” he hissed. “Every drop. I’m not pullin’ out—you hear me? I’m comin’ inside you.”

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Please—Bucky—fill me up—”

He groaned, deeper than before, thrusts losing rhythm, his grip bruising on your hips as his body started to shake.

“Fuckfuckfuck—gonna come—”

One last thrust—brutal, final—and he buried himself in you, arms tightening, head thrown back as he came hard, deep inside you.

You felt it.

Hot.

Thick.

Flooding you as he groaned your name, holding you tight in his lap, still pulsing inside you.

And he didn’t let go.

Didn’t move.

Just stayed there—buried—chest rising against your back, his breath warm at your neck, whispering,

“You’re mine.”

You collapsed forward onto the bed, body still twitching with aftershocks, breath ragged and uneven. Bucky followed, slow and heavy, staying close, still inside you for a moment longer like he couldn’t stand to let you go just yet.

Eventually, he pulled out with a soft groan.

You whimpered at the loss, hips squirming on instinct.

He stayed behind you for a second, hovering—eyes locked on the way his release slowly dripped out of you, sliding between your thighs and onto the sheets.

You could feel him watching.

You tilted your head back with a lazy grin. “If you’re gonna stare like that, at least have the decency to offer a towel.”

He huffed a rough laugh—half-exhausted, half-stunned. “Sorry. Just... didn’t wanna forget what that looks like.”

You stretched like a cat, all smug satisfaction and afterglow. “Yeah, well. Take a picture next time, Barnes.”

He leaned down, kissed your shoulder—soft, slow, grateful—then flopped beside you, dragging the sheet up over your tangled bodies.

His arm wrapped around your waist, warm and heavy.

Neither of you spoke for a minute.

Just the sound of your breathing slowing. Your bodies cooling.

Then he murmured, voice quiet against your skin, “You’re in my head now.”

You smiled, eyes drifting shut.

“Good,” you whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You lay there, tangled together in the warm quiet, your body still thrumming, skin slick and flushed. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his breath slow against the back of your neck, lips occasionally brushing your shoulder like he wasn’t even conscious of doing it.

You grinned.

Couldn’t help it.

“So…” you said, voice casual. “How long you been jerking off to me, Barnes?”

He froze.

You felt the heat bloom off him before he even said a word.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widened. “What? It’s a fair question. Based on how fast you devoured me, I’m guessing… at least a month?”

He groaned into your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m right,” you countered. “Don’t think I didn’t catch the way you almost cried when I said ‘as you wish, Sergeant.’ You’ve been unwell.”

He muttered something unintelligible and buried his face in your neck.

You rolled to face him, propped on one elbow, smirking as you traced a line down his chest.

“So, tell me,” you purred. “Now that you’ve got a taste... what do you want to do to me next time?”

His throat bobbed.

You waited.

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“Oh, you know.” Your nails lightly scratched his ribs. “Come on, be brave. Tell me.”

He grumbled. “You’re gonna use it against me.”

“Correct,” you said sweetly. “Now spill.”

He exhaled slowly, then muttered:

“...Sixty-nine.”

You grinned. “Classic. What else?”

He covered his eyes with one hand. “Breeding.”

Your eyebrows lifted, delight flashing in your eyes. “Oh? Really leaned into the ‘stuff me full, Sarge’ angle, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t, actually,” you laughed, leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. “Anything else you wanna act out, Barnes? Any other dirty little fantasies you been keeping locked up?”

He hesitated.

Longer this time.

Then—reluctantly, quietly:

“...Roleplay.”

You blinked.

Then broke into a slow, wicked grin. “Okay, now this I need to hear.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, trying to roll away. “That’s enough honesty for one night—”

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, pinning him down with a devilish smile. “Tell me if I need to show up next time in a pencil skirt and glasses, or if I should wear that SHIELD catsuit and call you ‘Sir.’”

His eyes snapped open.

And you knew.

You gasped. “Oh my god. You have a thing for the whole ‘secret agent mission gone sideways’ scenario, don’t you?”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Please stop.”

“You want me to cuff you to a chair and interrogate you,” you went on gleefully. “Or, wait—no—you want to interrogate me.”

“I’m begging.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You want me in red lipstick and a wiretap, don’t you?”

“I’m never telling you anything again.”

You leaned down, lips brushing his.

“I’m gonna make all your little roleplay dreams come true,” you whispered.

“Kill me now,” he muttered.

“Nope. Gotta save your energy. You’re not done with me yet.”

You grinned, smug and sated, curling down against his chest, eyes closing as his arm wrapped around you again.

And beneath your cheek, you felt him smile.

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