#i was talking about this to a friend the other day and it's been stuck in my head ever since

[alisonsfics]

overheard

pairing: bucky barnes x thunderbolts!reader

summary: alexei persuades the thunderbolts team that they need to throw a costume party at the tower. your costume has a certain effect on a certain super soldier, but he’s too stubborn to admit it. you go to talk to him after the party and find him masturbating to the thought of you.

word count: 3.7k

warnings:⚠️thunderbolts spoilers (barely)⚠️ smut, unprotected sex, masturbating (male, reader watches, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f recieving), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, size kink kinda, just pure filth, minors dni (18+ ONLY)

“C’mon, we are the Thunderbolts. Throwing fun party is perk of being superheroes.” Alexei said, trying to convince the group to host a costume party at Avengers Tower.

Alexei was standing up in front of all of you while you sat on the couch. “A costume party? Really?” Bucky asked, his disgust clear in his voice.

“Who knew the world famous Winter Soldier would be a party pooper?” Alexei said, frowning at Bucky.

Bucky glanced over at you for help. You were sitting right next to him as his arm rested behind you on the couch. “I’m with Bucky on this one.” You agreed.

There were a couple of scoffs from the group. “Oh, we’re really surprised.” John said, sarcastically.

“What the hell does that mean?” Bucky snapped, jumping to your defense.

John stared back at him. He knew there was no way Bucky was actually oblivious enough to not see the fact that you both liked each other. “Calm down, Buck. Nobody’s trying to take your girl. I’m just saying you two are practically inseparable.” He elaborated.

Bucky shifted in his seat. He hated when the others tried to analyze his relationship with you. “I vote in favor of your party. These two need to loosen up and have some fun.” Yelena said, pointing at you and Bucky.

“I agree.” John and Ava both echoed.

Alexei’s hands shot up in the air in victory. “A party set for heroes.” He cheered.

Bucky huffed and stormed away to his room.

“Nice going, Walker.” You said, flicking him in the forehead. Of course John was right about all of it. You and Bucky had been best friends since Steve introduced the two of you back in the day. And sure, you liked him, you liked him a lot.

But it was way too complicated.

You were in such a good spot with Bucky recently, and you felt so comfortable with him that you didn’t want to mess that up.

“C’mon, he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Yelena defended John.

“Are you really going to try to tell us that you have absolutely no romantic feelings for Bucky?” Ava added.

You were stuck. You couldn’t say anything, but you knew they were right. They knew they were right too. They didn’t need you to confirm it to know that the way you and Bucky looked at each other was nothing short of lovestruck.

“Maybe you all should stay out of my relationship with Bucky because it’s none of your business.” You snapped, walking off in a hurry.

You got to Bucky’s bedroom door and knocked softly. “Come in,” he called from the other side of the door. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you.

Bucky was sitting on the side of his bed with his head in his hands. “Hi, doll,” he said, when he finally looked up to see it was you.

The smile he gave you went straight to your gut and made your stomach do flips. You sat beside him. He kept his eyes trained on the floor instead of looking at you.

You grabbed his hand and held it in your lap. It was like there was an electric current pulsing between his hand and yours. He slowly interlaced your fingers. “Don’t let John get to you.” You whispered.

Bucky leaned his head over on your shoulder. He may have been six feet tall and made of pure muscle, but he was practically butter in your hands. You were Bucky’s one weak spot.

You used your free hand to run your fingers through his hair. He almost moaned as your nails scratched against his scalp.

He knew he wanted more from his relationship with you, but he couldn’t risk what you had.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, needing to be closer to you.

He scooped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap, so you were straddling him. You giggled to yourself at how clingy he was being.

“What’s so funny?” He asked you. You shook your head, dismissing it. “If John could see you right now. He’d tell you that you were full of shit out there.” You joked, looking down at him as you rested your hands on his shoulders.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about him right now.” He said, nestling his face into your neck. His arms stayed wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

You both stayed like that for a while, you weren’t sure how long it had been.

You were Bucky's peace. He treasured any moment he got to be that close to you.

“So what do you think about this costume party tonight?” You asked him, softly scratching up and down his back. He shuddered under your touch. “I don’t really think I have a choice.” He mumbled against your skin.

You got up off his lap. “Maybe it’ll be fun,” You suggested, trying to cheer Bucky up.

He missed your warmth the second you left. You went back to your room to find a costume, and he collapsed back onto his bed.

He wondered how he’d survive being around you any longer without telling you how he felt.

On your way back to your room, you passed the living room and saw the rest of the team still hanging out.

You caught Yelena’s eye and waved her over to you. She snuck away from the group, and they carried on with their conversation.

You grabbed her forearm and tugged her behind you. “Am I going to help you pick out a costume to impress Bucky tonight?” She asked as you dragged her across the compound.

As soon as your cheeks turned pink, Yelena knew she was right.

A couple hours later, you were standing in the room admiring the costume you and Yelena had picked out. She’d suggested you dress as a dark angel. You bought a black lace corset top and ruffled short black skirt. Then, Yelena found an old pair of black wings and a black choker for you to wear.

As you stared in the mirror, you started to rethink the whole idea.

It was a great costume. Even you knew you looked hot. But you didn’t know if it was too much. Like what if Bucky thought you were trying too hard.

You headed downstairs to the party before you could change your mind.

Bucky was standing against a wall talking to Sam, when he saw you. He felt the words stolen from his lips as you left him speechless. Sam followed his gaze and saw you walking down the stairs. Bucky couldn’t remember what he and Sam were talking about. All he could focus on was the way your corset was hugging your form.

“Oh, fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Sam teased, patting Bucky on the back.

You skillfully weaved your way through the crowd towards Bucky.

“Uh hi, doll,” his breath got caught in his throat.

His gaze rolled down your body. All he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and kiss every inch of your skin.

“You look…wow, I mean” Bucky was completely losing his ability to talk around you.

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, doing a twirl for him. He was wrapped around your finger and ready to worship the ground you walked on.

“How about I go get you a drink?” He suggested. His brain had gone fuzzy, and he needed to get away from you before he made a fool of himself. You nodded and thanked him, making sure to look up at him through your eyelashes.

Bucky didn’t know what had gotten into him tonight.

“You’re here? I was starting to think you’d bailed.” Someone exclaimed beside you.

You turned to see John walking towards you, dressed in a very bad pirate costume. The only part that was good was his eyeliner, which you assumed Yelena helped with.

John stuttered as he finally got a good look at your outfit. “You look really pretty.” He mumbled. Even if he hadn’t been slurring his words, you’d know he was drunk because he was complimenting you. He never did that sober.

“C’mere,” he said, grabbing your hand and tugging you behind him.

He pulled you over to a bench a few feet away and sat down. “What’re you doing?” You hesitated. He frowned up at you and patted the seat beside him.

He leaned in closer to you, brushing his lips against your ear. “You want to make Bucky jealous or what? You gotta play along.” He whispered.

You jumped as he rested his hand on your knee. “John, this’ll never work.” You protested. He shook his head. “He’s been drooling over from the bar over there. It’ll work.” He argued.

You saw Bucky heading back towards you. “Fuck it,” you mumbled.

You pretended to giggle at something John said, and slowly brushed your fingers through his hair. He leaned in closer to you, letting his hand sneak up your thigh.

“Oh, Bucky!” John pretended to finally notice him standing next to you both.

“Walker,” Bucky greeted bluntly.

“Doesn’t she look amazing tonight? I mean, oh my god.” John said.

Bucky’s grip on the two glasses tightened. He clenched his jaw as he looked at where John’s hand was placed on your thigh. “Yeah, she really does. Do you mind?” He snapped, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh yeah yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” John lied as he rejoined the crowd.

“Here you go, doll.” Bucky said, handing you your drink and taking John’s place on the bench.

“Thank you,” you said, softly. You let your hand wrap around his forearm and rested your head on his shoulder. He melted into your touch.

“Walker's such an asshole.” Bucky grumbled to himself.

You bit your tongue to stop from laughing. “Oh really? For what exactly?” You asked. Bucky sat in silence, slowly realizing John hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you, doll?” He complained. You sat up straight and saw how tense he looked. You interlocked your fingers with his. “Why can’t you just tell me the real reason you’re mad at him?” You asked.

Bucky blinked at you with a blank stare. “Wh-what do you mean?” He asked.

“You’re just jealous. It’s okay to admit it.” You tried to encourage him.

He started to distance himself. He couldn’t admit his feelings to you. But he didn’t know a way out of this conversation. He pulled his hand away from you and stormed off.

Bucky sulked in the corner for the rest of the party. You made a point to spend more time with John that you normally would have. Every time you caught Bucky’s eye, he pretended he hadn’t been staring.

Eventually, he stormed away to his room when he couldn’t take anymore.

After the party ended, the only thing you could think about was talking to Bucky.

You and Bucky never fought, and you hated the thought of him being mad at you. You knew flirting with John was petty, but you were really just desperate for Bucky to make a move already. You’d liked him for so long.

You walked down the quiet corridor towards Bucky's room. You didn’t know what you’d say. You didn’t even know if he was still awake.

You walked up to his door and saw that it was cracked open about an inch. Looking through the crack, you saw Bucky lying on his bed. You nearly choked when you noticed he was, in fact, not sleeping.

He was lying on his bed, with his legs dangling over the edge. His hand was shoved down the front of his pants, softly tugging on his cock. You could hear low moans coming from him as his hand started to move faster.

You tried to quietly back away but then you heard your name.

You panicked. Had he spotted you?

You looked back at him and saw his eyes were still closed. Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t calling your name, he was moaning it.

What were you supposed to do?

It was wrong to just watch, but your feet stayed planted. You tried furiously to get your legs to move, but couldn’t. If Bucky caught you, it would end your friendship.

Then, your name again, followed his a long string of swearing.

“Fuck, doll. You look so fucking good. Oh my god, your tits in this dress? Can’t think straight around you. All I can think about is fucking your tight little cunt while you wear this outfit. Oh, so fucking tight for me.” He moaned.

Heat was radiating off your skin. A warmth pooling in between your thighs. The dirty words fed into your confidence.

You tiptoed into the room, quietly shutting the door behind you. Bucky was so distracted that he didn’t even hear you.

You grabbed his wrist, causing his eyes to shoot open. “Doll? Oh fuck!” He exclaimed. Bucky's heart had never beaten this fast. He panicked, trying to think of an excuse.

“You want to cum, baby?” You asked, running your fingers across his thighs.

“Wh-what?” He stuttered the word. He couldn’t actually process what was happening.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll take care of you. I can see how much need it.” You told him, kneeling in front of him.

If it was possible, Bucky’s eyes got even wider. He bunched up the sheets in his hands, bracing for whatever came next. You slid his pants and boxers down his legs and threw them to the side.

You licked a stripe along the underside of his cock. “That feel good?” You asked him, pretending you didn’t already know the answer.

He furiously nodded his head. “Gotta use your words,” you teased, pressing kisses against his inner thigh.

“Yes, oh fuck, doll. You feel like heaven. Please just make me cum.” He begged you. You wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. His hand flew to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

His salty precum coated your mouth. You took more of him into your mouth, until his cock brushed up against the back of your throat. Bucky glanced down at you taking all of him. Your eyes started to water, smudging your mascara.

“Taking me so well, good girl,” he praised. He held you still while he shoved himself further into your throat. His whole body shuddered and your name fell from his lips.

You used to your free hands to massage his balls, while he continued ramming his hips against you. “Letting me fuck your sweet little mouth. I’m not gonna last long.” He moaned, as his hips stuttered.

His thrusts sped up, and you felt him twitch in your mouth. His eyes started to flutter shut. You felt cocky watching the effect you had on him.

You pulled your mouth off of him with a popping sound, and wrapped your hand around his length. His hips bucked up against your hand.

All he needed was a little encouragement.

“C’mon, baby. I know you can do it. Let go for me. You wanna cum all over my tits? I heard you talking about them.” You coached him.

A choked groan left his lips as his hips bucked up and he shot warm ropes onto your chest. Bucky struggled to catch his breath. He collapsed back on the bed, sweating and panting.

He looked down at your doe eyes and swollen lips. “You look so fucking sexy right now.” He said, reaching out to smooth out your hair. His hands snaked down to your waist, picking you up and plopping you down on his thigh.

You squealed feeling the contact of his thigh against the wet patch growing in your panties. He started to smirk. “You that desperate for me that even my thigh can make you feel good?” He whispered against your lips.

He pushed his thigh up against you again. This time, a low moan escaped your lips. He softly kissed your shoulders. “Guess I should repay for you for letting me cover these sweet tits. You look so beautiful like this.” He praised.

You rolled your hips against his thigh. “I need to cum, Buck. Please,” you begged him. Goosebumps ran up and down his body as he heard the neediness in your voice.

He didn’t even waste the time to remove your panties. His metal digits slipped under your skirt, caressing your thigh.

He brushed his thumb against the wet patch that was growing in your panties. You moaned his name, sinking your nails into his shoulders. “You’re soaked, doll.” Bucky groaned.

His fingers snuck into your panties. His cold fingers were a stark contrast to the burning between your legs. He ran a finger through your folds. You felt your hips squirm against his hand.

The room felt like it was spinning. All you could focus was Bucky luring you closer and closer to your high. He was only using one finger, and you already felt that familiar feeling building in your stomach.

You harshly pushed your hips against his hand. “You hungry for more? You gonna take everything I give you?” He asked. You furiously nodded your head as you bit down on your lip. “I’ll take it so well, I promise. I can handle it.” You moaned.

He added another finger. You rested your forehead against his shoulder. You continued rolling your hips against him, seeing how it affected him. You could feel his erection pressing up against your knee. “God, doll. I’m gonna cum just watching you hump my hand like this.” He moaned.

You jumped when you felt his thumb start rubbing tight circles on your clit. They started slow but sped up. “Bucky, Bucky, oh my god…I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You yelled as your orgasm hit you.

He clasped his other hand over your mouth, trying to keep you quiet. His fingers slowed down helping you come down from your high. “Such a good job, doll.” He said, kissing your temple.

He pulled his hand out from under your skirt. His fingers were dripping with your arousal. “You made such a mess, doll. You gonna clean this up for me?” He asked, moving his other hand away from your mouth.

You looked into his blue eyes as he slid his fingers into your mouth. You closed your lips around them, tasting yourself on him was like a drug.

He pulled his fingers away from you and pressed a kiss against your lips. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to whine.

“Please, Bucky?” You mumbled against his lips.

“Can you take another one, doll?” He asked, pulling out of the kiss.

You nodded your head. “Please. I can take it.” You pleaded.

He picked you up with ease and laid you down on the bed. You tried to undo the laces of your corset, but Bucky grabbed your hands and stopped you.

“This dress got me all worked up. I’m gonna fuck you while you wear it.” He growled, bunching your dress up around your hips. You nodded in agreement as he ripped his own shirt off over his head.

“You ready, doll?” He asked you, protectively. You quickly mumbled a “yes”.

He grabbed your hips and pushed his length into you. Your eyes rolled back. You grasped for the sheets or anything you could get your hands on.

He felt so much bigger than you imagined he would. “Can’t take anymore. It won’t fit.” You mumbled. It felt like he was splitting you open. He slowly pushed the rest of his cock into you until he bottomed out. “Look at you taking all of me. You fit me so well.” He said.

Your eyes opened and immediately went to where his cock was buried in your pussy.

You missed the warmth when he pulled himself out, but it wasn’t long until he pushed his cock back through your folds. His thrusts were deep, reaching deeper inside you each time.

You clung to his shoulders. His hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead as your bodies moved together. He fucked you into the mattress. The headboard thudded against the wall with each thrust.

His grunts only turned you on more. You wrapped your legs around his waist. The new angle only encouraged Bucky to go faster. He tightened his grip on your hips, slightly stinging the skin.

This was one of those moments where you were reminded of the super soldier serum coursing through Bucky’s veins.

He rammed into you faster and faster. “Fuck, doll. Your pretty little pussy is takin’ me so well.” He moaned.

His cock hit your g-spot. “Right there, Bucky,” you begged.

“Cum with me. Gonna look so pretty,” he mumbled. His cock brushed against your clit, making you felt dizzy. His metal fingers found your clit again, drawing figure eights.

You tried to tell him, but you were too busy panting. “I know, I’m close too.” He said, reading your mind. He sealed your lips with a kiss to muffle your moans.

You bucked your hips up against him. He swore against your lips.

Then, he pumped you full. You raked your nails down his back as you felt your orgasm rip through you.

He swore under his breath. He slowly peppered kisses across your face and then down your neck, while he slowed down his thrusts.

He collapsed next to you on the bed. “And my goal for the night was just to get you to kiss me.” You said, giggling as you looked over at Bucky. He was practically glowing.

“You should’ve known showing up in this outfit.” He said, running his fingers down the tight corset. You curled into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Do you think the others will figure it out tomorrow when I can’t walk at training?” You asked him.

He let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah probably, if they didn’t hear you already.” He teased you. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, despite your previous activities.

“Not that I’m complaining, of course. I fucking love hearing you like that.” He whispered in your ear.

“We should probably shower and get cleaned up, so maybe you have another chance.” you winked over at him. Bucky’s eyes went wide as he picked you up and practically ran into the bathroom.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guiltandguitarstrings @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @iamavailablesstuff @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @astheskycries @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @sunwardsss @studentville-struggles @impossibleapricotlampbat @infjwinchester44 @weirdfishy @lickmymelaninn @eternally-timeless @andreasworlsboring101 @glassesandthunderthighs @holding-on-to-my-youth @fanofalltheficsx @spiderstyles04 @mostly-marvel-musings @madisondelstan @spookyparadisesheep @beyondthesefourwalls @basicfangirlx @rivirox @i-wish-i-knew-what-i-was @reniescarlett @multiplums @alotofrandomfangirling @bbl32 @bob-fucks

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my fics or for a specific character/fandom!!

[cinnasite]

the science of sleeping with your best friend

꩜ pairing: timeskip!kenma kozume x virgin!female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 4.3k

꩜ synopsis: you relationship with kenma has always been understated—quiet moments, mutual understanding, and an unspoken connection. but when you open up about your insecurities regarding intimacy, things take a turn. one kiss, a subtle shift in dynamics, and suddenly everything you once knew feels entirely different. caught in a whirlwind of desire and growing affection, you find yourself grappling with feelings that you've ignored for years. is it too late to turn back or is this the beginning of something far deeper?

You vividly remember the day you moved to Japan. You were eleven, your nervousness amplified by the way the airport had smelled—metallic, unfamiliar, cold. Your mother stayed back in your hometown with your younger brother, and you followed your father across the ocean for his new job… your new life. You told yourself it was an adventure, trembling in anticipation.

It wasn’t. Not at first.

Making friends when you didn’t speak the language fluently and stood out in every classroom turned out to be less like an odyssey and more of a series of long, silent lunch breaks. Teachers tried, some classmates smiled, but nothing stuck. Not until high school.

Transferring to Nekoma High at fifteen was your father’s idea. He’d said something about the school’s progressive curriculum and cultural diversity. You hadn’t hoped for much until, one week into classes, the principal cornered you near the shoe lockers and asked if you’d consider being the manager for the boys’ volleyball team.

“It’s part of a new initiative. We’re looking to build an inclusive sports environment,” he said. “And you have excellent organisational skills from your transcript.” You said yes, mostly out of curiosity. And maybe because it was the first time someone had sought you out, instead of the other way around.

The first practice was awkward, to put it lightly. A room full of sweaty teenage guys and sharp whistles. You stood off to the side, notebook in hand, questioning every life choice that led you there with a resigned sigh. Until Kuroo Tetsurō slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “Don’t worry, you’re one of us now. You’ll get used to these knuckleheads.”

The team protested. You laughed for the first time in weeks. That’s how it all began.

They took you under their wing like a little sister, especially Kuroo—he treated you with a big-brother protectiveness that made the transition less lonely. Lev would tell you outrageous lies just to see you smile. Yamamoto always tried too hard to impress you but meant well. Yaku taught you how to be blunt in Japanese without accidentally insulting someone’s grandmother.

But the one you inexplicably gravitated toward was Kenma.

You were the same age, and the same reserved type, at least at first glance. Though unlike him, you didn’t mind talking. People were drawn to you in a way that surprised you. So, Kenma didn’t intimidate you. If anything, you felt safe around him. He was calm, observant, and never asked for more than you were willing to give.

You’d sit beside him during breaks, leaning over his shoulder as he played on his handheld console.

“You’re always watching,” he’d say without looking up.

“I like watching,” you’d plainly reply.

And when he let you try it out yourself—tentatively handing over his console like it was something fragile—you knew you had earned his trust. You’d talk about things beyond video games. Books. Movies. Your homesickness. His dislike of crowds. The weird comfort of silence. He was the only one who didn’t flinch when you talked about the divorce or missing your mom and brother.

By the end of your second year, you were inseparable. Everyone saw it—hell, even Kuroo made a habit of teasing you about it.

“She’s the Kenma whisperer,” he’d joke. “He actually talks around her.”

You dismissed it. You told yourself it was just friendship, that the small twists in your stomach when his shoulder brushed yours were normal. That the deliberate and soft way he looked at you was just how he looked at everyone.

But somewhere near the end of school, when the weight of the future started crawling into every conversation, you realised you felt something more. And it scared the hell out of you. You didn’t say anything. How could you risk losing what you had when it had taken you so long to find it?

After graduation, the team drifted as people often do. University took everyone in different directions, but you all stayed in touch. Kuroo’s group chats were relentless and reunions became an annual thing, something precious to look forward to.

With Kenma, your bond never faded. If anything, it grew.

Even when you were in different cities, the two of you never changed—late night phone calls, half-asleep messages, and meeting up whenever you could. Both of you still talked like no time had passed. Still knew each other in that rare, bone-deep way. However, you dated around, courtesy of your college roommate urging you to move on and get laid. You had simply nodded, telling yourself the crush was a remnant of adolescence. It had to be. It wasn’t healthy to keep holding on.

Tragically, it never went anywhere with the people you went out with. No one matched the way Kenma understood you without trying. No one matched the genuinity and the slow-burn thrill.

And now, in your twenties, with a stable job and a quiet apartment, you were beginning to admit that maybe it had never been just a crush.

But if that was true… what in the world were you supposed to do about it?

Kenma’s penthouse was everything you’d expect: clean lines, muted colors, and minimalist furniture. Expensive in a subtle way. 

He was already curled up on the low couch when you stepped in, barefoot and hoodie-clad, legs tucked under himself like a cat. “You’re late,” he murmured without looking up from his nintendo.

“You’re lucky I even showed up,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door.

“Oh?” His eyes flicked up momentarily, amused. “Is this you playing hard to get?”

You rolled your eyes and sank into the seat beside him, close enough for your knees to brush. “If I was playing hard to get, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

That earned a low hum of laughter. “So self-assured.”

The night unfolded the way it generally did—casual banter, leftover takeout, and dumb inside jokes that had survived since Nekoma. You both sat there, bodies angled toward each other, the city lights painting the walls with a faint gold.

At one point, he turned off the TV, but neither of you moved. There was a falter. A lapse stretching between words. Then, after much thought, you said it.

“Can I ask you something kind of... weird?”

Kenma blinked. “Sure.”

You took a breath. “Do you ever think you’re, like, bad in bed?”

His eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t what he’d imagined the conversation would jump to. You winced at yourself. “Okay, wow, that sounded way more self-deprecating than I meant it to.”

“Little bit.”

“I’m serious,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “I’ve dated, right? But it never really went anywhere. And when it did get physical, it just… didn’t go that far.”

Kenma didn’t interrupt. Merely listened.

“I mean, I’ve done stuff,” you continue rambling, suddenly fascinated by the hem of your sleeve. “A little oral. Some handjobs. But, um, I’ve never… had sex.”

There it was. Out in the open. You’d lobbed the confession between you like a live grenade, waiting for it to detonate. Only that it didn’t. The lack of response wasn’t exactly suffocating, though it did make you scream a little on the inside. 

Kenma’s voice was gentler than you expected when it came. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

His words made you hesitate. “Because I’m trying to see people again. But every time I get close to someone, I panic. I keep doubting myself—what if I’m not good at it? What if they expect me to know what I’m doing and I don’t?”

A beat.

“And it’s not about being ashamed,” you added quickly. “I just want to feel... in control. Comfortable.”

Kenma studied you. “You could just tell them.”

“I know. But I don’t want it to be a thing. Like, ‘oh no, she’s a virgin, handle her with care.’” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want pity sex. Or worse, performance sex.” You dared a peep at him. “Have you…?”

He tilted his head. “Had sex?”

Your ears burned, unsure of whether you wanted to hear the answer. “Yeah.”

Kenma leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “I have.”

The words sat in the air like smoke. You ignored the tightening of your chest. “Was it good?” you asked. Perhaps, a little too quickly.

He gave you a look. “You really want to know?”

You stammered. “Yes. No. Kind of. For research purposes.”

He smirked. “Of course.”

“Shut up.”

He was quiet for a moment before replying, “Some of it was good. Depends on the person, I guess.”

You hummed, eyes on his collarbone. “Would you ever, uh, be willing to show someone the ropes?”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. The apartment felt charged, causing your fingers to twist in your lap. Without meeting his gaze, you exhaled shakily.

“I was just thinking… if I ever wanted to figure this out—hypothetically—you’re the only person I’d trust not to make it weird.”

Kenma stilled, lips parting. “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. A longer one. “You’re asking me to have sex with you.”

Your stomach flipped. “I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you meant.” 

You groaned. “Forget it. This was dumb. I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t say no.” Kenma looked at you. Not joking, not teasing—just looking. That same sincere care you’d known for years, now sharpened with something else.

Something almost hungry.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, voice low. “Help you?”

Your heart thundered. “Well, I—Only if… you want to.”

He leaned forward. “I want to. Let’s start with a kiss.”

You froze, eyes widening at the abruptness of it all.

“Since, you know,” he added casually, “we’re doing research.” You laughed—nervous, breathy—and nodded. “Right. For the glory of science.”

He moved in leisurely, giving you every chance to pull back. You didn’t. His lips brushed yours once. Gentle and testing, your breath hitching at the sensation. You kissed him again. More assertive than previously. As a result, his hand found your cheek. The angle changed, the excitement deepened.

You realised begrudgingly that your idea had stopped being hypothetical real fast.

Kenma and you grew feverish, your actions slow, then speedy, like you couldn’t get enough. You gripped his hoodie in an act of desperation. His fingers trailed along your waist, reluctant yet calculating. You felt his touch at the hem of your t-shirt and gasped, pulling back.

“I—I need to stop,” you whispered.

Kenma, breathing heavily, nodded. “Okay.”

You sat there, chests heaving, foreheads nearly touching.

“That was…” you began.

“Mhm,” he said, voice hoarse. “It was.”

You didn’t sleep together that night. Be that as it may, something had undoubtedly shifted. Something you couldn’t take back. Neither of you were prepared for what that first sensuous encounter had unlocked. 

After the kiss, everything was different. Not in a dramatic, movie-like way, mind you. There were no whispered confessions or next-day declarations. You didn’t even text about it. Not directly, though every message after did have a different weight to it.

gamer boi: you left your ring on the bathroom sink

You: OMGTHANKYOU i’ve been searching for it all day :(

gamer boi: how did you even forget it?? isn’t it your favourite????  

You: it’s not my fault someone kept me distracted with his mouth 🙄

gamer boi: don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it

The next time you saw Kenma, you were wearing a sundress with zero intentions of escalating anything. Apparently, it didn’t matter.

You were barely inside before Kenma tugged you in by the wrist, your back hitting the front door with a loud thud. His mouth was on yours again, hands roaming like he’d been starved of touch. His fingers curled around your waist, dragging you flush against him. You let out an embarrassingly needy whimper, arms looped around his neck for balance.

It was supposed to be another kiss. Nothing too intense, nothing too fiery. But soon his tongue brushed against yours—mischievously coaxing. When his knee slid between your thighs, you knew that you were done for.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned into your mouth.

“Okay?” he checked in, lips grazing your jaw.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just—you… it’s all very new. ”

He paused. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I will.”

That night, you didn’t go all the way either.

But you let him touch you. Really touch you.

You ended up in his lap on the couch, your dress hiked up, his t-shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His motions were maddeningly drawn out—smoothing over your thighs, teasing under your panties, fingers slicking gently over you until you were shaking. One thing you’d grown to learn thanks to these electrifying escapades was that Kenma neither rushed nor demanded.

Just observed.

He watched you unravel, watched you fall apart with nothing more than his hand between your legs and his mouth pressed to your throat.

You’d returned the favour a week later—kneeling between his knees in that same living room, palms steady even though your mind was a mess. He had gripped your hair, but not harshly—more like he didn’t know what else to hold onto.

And after, when you wiped your mouth and leaned your cheek against his thigh, both of you panting hard, he murmured, “You’re dangerous when you’re confident.”

You smiled. “Guess the research is working, huh?”

His only answer was a smirk.

Life, as it usually does, got in the way. You were swamped at work and Kenma had his own obligations. Days passed. Weeks, even. You didn’t meet up with him, but you felt him everywhere. In your skin. In your thoughts. In the aching, restless emptiness of your bed. And worse: you missed him. Not just the way he touched you—but the him of it. His deadpan humour. The way he’d pause in conversation like he was thinking four moves ahead. The attractive rasp of his voice. The way he drank you in.

You missed your friend. You craved your… something.

You didn’t know what you were to him anymore. In spite of that, you knew that you needed him.

Kuroo’s reunion couldn’t have come at a better—or worse—time.

You’d dressed without overthinking it. Okay, maybe a little overthinking. The black corset hugged your curves like sin. The skirt hit mid-thigh, leaving appropriately enough to the imagination. The oversized leather blazer added a touch of effortlessness you didn’t actually feel. And the platform boots? Tall enough to be seductive.

When you walked into the high-end restaurant, every eye turned. On the contrary, you only looked for one.

Kenma was at the bar, drink in hand, dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was tousled, face unreadable. But when he saw you, he froze. Eyes trailing down greedily, taking his sweet time. He didn’t smile or wave.

Later, after hours of group toasts, dodging Kuroo’s banter, and pretending you didn’t itch with anticipation, Kenma found you on the rooftop balcony.

The city buzzed beneath.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, not turning around. 

He stepped closer, “You’ve been busy.”

“So have you.”

All you hear for a few seconds is the cacophony of traffic and pedestrians.

“You look good tonight.”

You swallow, your feet carrying you to him. “Yeah?”

Kenma appears just as tormented as you. “Too good.”

Your breath caught. “That a problem?”

He didn’t bother with an answer. Reaching for you, he hastily tugged you close. His mouth slanted over yours, hot and aching, weeks (he’d argue, proclaiming ‘years’) of self-control slipping like sand through fingers.

You didn’t even remember getting into the cab.

The moment Kenma’s apartment door shut behind you, it was chaos.

Lips crashing. Hands fumbling. Breath caught between kisses that were all teeth and tongue, no space for thought. Kenma backed you against the wall while you yanked at the buttons of his shirt like you were unwinding every second you’d spent pretending this wasn’t what you wanted. He dragged your blazer off, then your corset. His hands slid up your thighs, underneath your skirt, finding nothing but heat and skin.

“You planned this?” he muttered, strained, against your neck.

“I thought about you,” you whispered honestly.

He cursed, kissing you deeper—ravenous, like the time apart had built a pressure in him he could no longer contain. Soon, you were in his bed. Limbs knotting, bare. His weight on top of you was crushing—so real with almost a decade’s worth of tension, of friendship, of everything unspoken.

His touch skimmed up your stomach, pausing at the curve of your breast.

“I need you,” he said, hoarsely. “Tell me I can have you. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you reassured—just a whisper, but your whole body yearned to meet his. “I want you so bad, Kenma.”

He reached down between your thighs, fingers running through the mess there, working you open. You moaned, legs falling wider to allow him to move inside you better. You were drowning in sensation. His teeth nipped at your chest, hips grinding just barely against yours, and yet—

You wanted this. God, you wanted him. But—

“Wait,” you muttered, voice thin and trembling.

Kenma froze immediately. His eyes locked on yours, reading your face with terrifying precision. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I—”

Your hand pressed lightly to his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do this like it’s solely physical. Not with you.”

The room shifted.

“I thought I could,” your voice was so low, one might believe you weren’t speaking at all. “I told myself this was just for fun. A learning thing. ‘Research.’ But I can’t pretend anymore.”

You looked up at him, shame creeping in. “If I sleep with you, I’ll fall completely. I already have. It won’t just be sex to me. I don’t think it ever was.” You gulped, words turning rawer. “And if that’s not what you want… then this was a mistake.”

Tranquility. Thick. Cracking at the seams.

You felt your panic rise. “Sorry. I know I fucked things up, god. I should leave—"

“Stop,” Kenma finally spoke. Your blathering halted.

His fingers trailed up your cheek. “You think I’d let you in like this—have you like this—if it was just physical to me?” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

“I’ve been in love with you since high school, you idiot,” he said, and your stomach dropped. “I just never thought you’d want me back.”

You blinked up at him, stunned.

“When we kissed that day,” he continued, reverent, “everything changed. I didn’t want to risk scaring you away, so I thought if I gave you what you needed… eventually you’d see it too.”

He kissed your forehead. “See that I’d burn down the world for you.”

You gazed up at him, shaking slightly. “You’re not serious.”

He kissed your cheek. Your temple. Your nose. “I’m dead serious.”

Emotion swelled in your heart, hand cupping the side of his face. “Kenma…”

He leaned into the touch. “Talk to me.”

“I used to wait for practice to end just to walk home with you. I used to sit in the stands and pretend I was watching the match, but I was only watching you.”

The corner of his lips twitched. His hands ran down your sides.

“I thought I was broken for never wanting anyone the way my friends did,” you whispered. “But then you showed me it wasn’t about anyone. It was about you. It was always you.”

The atmosphere in the room grew charged with something sacred.

“I love you,” you declared, like the words were stolen from your ribs. Like they were always there between the two of you, waiting for someone to speak them to life.

Kenma was silent for one moment—just one—before… “I love you too,” he kissed you like a man reborn. This time, there was no rush.

He moved over you like he was making a vow—hands smoothing over every curve of your body, lips mapping every inch of your skin, like he was trying to memorise the sound of your breath as it caught in your throat. 

When he lined himself up and pushed inside, it was slow. Intimate. He didn’t look away once. You clung to him, gaping at the fullness, the sheer gravity of him inside you.

“Alright?” he murmured, brows furrowing in concern.

You nodded, breath shaky. “Better than alright.”

He kissed you again, explosively possessive. After what felt like ages, he moved.

Each thrust was deliberate and claiming. His hand tangled with yours above your head. His other gripped your hip, holding you steady as he rocked into you, building a rhythm that made your back arch.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured into your ear. “Dreamed about you under me, begging for more.”

You moaned, eyelashes fluttering. “You have me now.”

“Trust me, I’m never letting go.”

Your bodies danced in a symphony that blurred the line between pleasure and worship. You came first, legs trembling. He followed right after, whining your name against your lips, pulsing with everything he felt and couldn’t say fast enough.

While you both lay there—spent and dizzy—you clung to each other. Because you knew this wasn’t the end.

You woke up to sunlight. Golden, slithering between silk curtains and spilling across the sheets in hazy lines.

Next to you was Kenma, his arm draped over your waist. The slight scrunch of his forehead indicated he was still deep in thought even while asleep. The sheets were rumpled around your legs, your body still sticky with sweat and afterglow, and every inch of you ached deliciously.

Oh my god, you thought with a giddy smile.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You reached out, careful not to disturb Kenma, and blinked at the screen.

8 Messages from loser

1 Missed Call

1 Voice Note

You opened the texts, bracing yourself.

loser: where the hell are you?? kenma’s vanished too tf                  

loser: you better not have left. lev tried to arm wrestle yamamoto and lost. to YAMAMOTO                                                                    

loser: i swear if you ghosted the reunion i’m kicking your ass        

loser: wait                                                                                                    

loser: waitttttttt                                                                                         

loser: OH MY GOD DID YOU AND KENMA LEAVE TOGETHER???!!! 

loser: TELL ME THIS ISN’T HOW I’M FINDING OUT                       

loser: ANSWER ME FUCKER

You choked on your laugh, snorting into your palm. Kenma stirred beside you, yawning.

“Mmm… what time is it?” he mumbled, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Too early for our best friend to be having a meltdown,” you giggled.

Kenma cracked one eye open. “Kuroo?”

You held your phone up. “He’s in panic mode.”

Kenma blinked. Then closed his eyes again and guided you down into his chest. “Ignore him.”

You laughed, cuddling into his warmth. His hair was mussed, bleached strands falling into his eyes. His fingers rubbed lazy circles into your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you in his tired state either.

“I still can’t believe last night happened,” you remarked dreamily.

Kenma nuzzled your shoulder. “I can. I’ve imagined it a thousand times.”

You flushed. “Okay, damn.”

He smirked against your skin. “You think I didn’t spend high school losing my mind over you?”

You were about to answer when his hand slid lower. Then lower still.

“Kenma—” 

He rolled on top of you before you could finish. You sucked in a breath as his mouth found yours—inviting at first, then insatiable. Your legs parted instinctively as he settled between them, hardening length grinding slowly into your wetness. His body was still warm from sleep, but his touch was awake. Very awake.

“You’re gonna start something you can’t finish,” you warned.

He kissed your jaw. “Wanna bet?”

You fisted his hair, pulling him back to meet your eyes. “We’re seriously doing this again? First thing in the morning?”

“You’re naked in my bed,” he deadpanned. “If anything, this is on you.”

You were mid-laugh, mid-moan, mid-thigh squeeze when… 

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—”

The bedroom door slammed open. You both stopped, unmoving. 

Kenma’s mouth was on your neck. His hand was on your thigh. Your legs were definitely wrapped around his waist. Kuroo stood in the doorway like a horror movie freeze frame.

One hand still on the doorknob. Jaw hanging open. Eyebrow twitching.

You screeched and dove under the sheets like they could erase the last thirty seconds of reality. Kenma… just sighed. Still completely on top of you, showing no signs of clothing himself.

“Get out,” he said flatly.

Kuroo was pale. In a shocking display, he turned red. If possible, redder.

“I—WHAT—SHE’S NAKED—YOU’RE—WHAT—WHY—"

“By the way, I didn’t give you the code to my penthouse so you could come and go as you please,” Kenma muttered, frustrated.

“I thought you were dead!”

“Kuroo—” you poked your head out, expression absolutely boiling—“I’m begging you to forget this ever happened.”

“Oh no. This is burned into my soul. Wait till the group chat hears about this.”

Kenma finally stood up, arranging the blanket properly to cover you like a true gentleman. Instead of being embarrassed, he looked rather annoyed at being interrupted. Like this was your regular Saturday afternoon in the Kozume household.

Kuroo glanced between the two of you, hands on hips, processing.

Then he scoffed, “I watched you two lunatics dawdle around each other for YEARS. Years. You think I didn’t know?”

“Then, why are you surprised?” Kenma asked.

“Because I thought you’d tell me through a well-structured text, not with your fucking nipples out!”

You screamed in humiliation and retreated into the covers again.

Kenma shrugged. “We were busy.”

“Oh, no need to tell me.” Kuroo turned, still muttering to himself, “I'm gonna need bleach. For my eyes. For my brain. For my…”

The bedroom door slammed shut and it was peaceful for all of three seconds. At the same time, you and Kenma burst out laughing. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck as you wheezed into the pillow, your body shaking.

“Never living that down,” you gasped.

“Worth it,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you again—slow and soft—like he had nowhere else to be.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could you write an x reader where Bob Reynolds interacts with a female thunderbolt with gravitational powers who has a calm demeanor. She doesn’t talk much but will when Bob is around.

Gravity attraction to eachother

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

warning : mutual feelings, fluff, kiss, hurt/comfort, cuddling

Summary : Bob loved his friends and his new home, but above all he liked the quiet one of the group. 'Gravitas', the talented member of the group who seemed to be bursting with energy, found her voice and finally started talking, especially when she was with Bob. Maybe there was more between them than just a love of milkshakes and doing the dishes.

info: Thanks for the request, dear anon. I like the power the reader has and hope you enjoy reading it ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed like pure coincidence that they had all found each other, that they had all ended up in the same room of the facility at the same time.

That they had all been looking for each other and that they had met Bob, who, at the end of this confusing mission and somehow reunion, meant so much more to them.

Who could have guessed that Val wanted them all dead, that Bob would become more than just a few comments, and that at the end of the day they would live as a real team in the former Avengers tower?

None of them could have known this, not Bucky, who was getting more and more at odds with Sam, not Yelena, who was trying her best with Bucky, Ava, who was providing moral support, John, who still didn't have a new shield, and Bob, whose bright eyes were always curiously fixed on one person.

The moment he saw how she had practically stuck Ghost to the floor with her power back then, the dark-haired man was fascinated and amused at the same time.

Whenever she used her power, he watched in fascination “You're like an astronaut with superpowers,” he smiled as he watched his friend and teammate attaching several mats to the floor and wall during training, Bob's comment, although meant kindly, made her heart beat faster.

Gravitas after an experiment in a pressure chamber got out of control and they wanted to use her for testing purposes, her gravitational control emerged.

What had started with pain and fear, causing her to withdraw and work in secret, was now something different.

Something that made her realize for the first time that there was good in the world, that made her smile back when Bob or Ava gave her a cheerful look in the morning.

She helped John and Bucky with their endurance training with her strength or simply washed up with Bob in the kitchen while he told her about his day. She liked her friends, and she especially liked Bob.

She wasn't the most talkative, but when she was alone with him, it seemed as if he was her gravitational field, as if he was pulling her toward him and she was letting him pull her.

“Thanks, Bob,” she had replied briefly back then, raising her hand slightly in farewell as he let her continue training alone with a goodbye smile.

The warm feeling in her chest, that he liked her strength, that he liked her and wasn't afraid of her, meant more to her than anything else.

Something she couldn't help, however, were her glances, perhaps too conspicuous or too inconspicuous. When she looked at Bob, he always seemed to look away.

She didn't dare to talk to him, and when she did, she never really knew what to say, what topic to bring up, or whether he even wanted to talk to her.

One glance from Yelena told her that the blonde had noticed everything, that she and Ava knew something was going on. “I'm sure he likes you,” she whispered to her friend and teammate after dinner when the girl of the same age looked at Bob again.

The dark-haired man was stacking plates when one of the top ones suddenly started to slide. Without a word, she moved her hand and the plate floated toward her.

She smiled at Bob “Thanks, that was incredible!” he called from the table, his broad smile making her cheeks flush.

He seemed to have no idea how he affected her, how grateful she was that he didn't ignore her despite her awkward manner.

How could she say no when there was a knock at her door that evening? The others had all retired after a movie night, and she had wanted to go to bed too.

She went to the door in her blue pajamas and opened it silently, looking away into a pair of friendly eyes. “Hi, Astronaut, I thought you might want to look at the stars with me?” he asked.

Bob, using the nickname he had given her and pointed to a small package of star-shaped cookies before pointing to the window behind him, where the city was lit up at night and the bright white stars shone above it.

Her first reflex was to close the door again and say nothing, but with Bob, he always seemed to understand her. “Thanks, Bob...you're very kind,” she said, grabbing a coat before they both went out onto the large balcony of the tower.

Wrapped in a blanket, Bob kept holding out the packet of cookies to her. They ate them quietly and calmly, looking up at the sky.

She heard him smile, his joy when he saw a new star, and how he leaned carefully against her. “You're so quiet sometimes. Is everything okay?” he asked after another moment of silence, and she looked up from the stars at him in surprise.

The team had taken her in and they were all friends, more than that, but no one had ever asked her about it directly, pulling the blanket a little tighter around herself.

“I'm not the one who talks a lot, I observe, think my own thoughts, smile...but with you it's different Bob” she slowly revealed herself and looked cautiously at him and saw him give her a proud look.

As if all of this were a plan, as if he were trying to help her, when she felt his hand reach for hers and he looked back up at the sky, she felt the warmth.

Her own gaze followed his, full of relaxation and joy, as he held her hand and she rested it on his shoulder after a moment. “Everything for the sweet astronaut,” she heard him say as he took another cookie and happily munched on it, giving her the support and care she needed.

Under the starry sky, as they sat there next to each other and cuddled, his heart beat just as fast with joy and affection as hers. Gravity also attracts love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@vanguardlady , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @lihims , @alpinesmommy , @yourloverslost , @eurydicesxshadow

[mmochammoss]

Dream Girl

Hitoshi Shinsou had dreams.

He dreamed of becoming a hero. Most people didn’t know that about him, not really. They probably assumed he’d given up or moved on, that the sports festival had just been a brief glimmer of ambition before reality came crashing in. But that wasn’t true. Not for him. That dream had lived inside him for too long to fade just because the odds were against him. But he knew better than to get his hopes up over it ever coming true. It was just a dream after all. That’s how he’d gotten this far, by keeping his head down, his goals tightly under wraps and his mouth shut.

But as the two of you began to spend more and more time together. Talking, laughing and growing more and more comfortable with each other. So he decided to tell you. He still wanted to be a hero, despite everything. He wasn’t sure how to make it happen, or if it would ever happen but it was his dream.

So when you told him that you believed in him, really believed, he’d never forget it.

“You’ve got the quirk, the discipline, and the heart for it,” you’d said after school one day, sitting out on the patio of your favorite cafe. “You just need the body to back it up.”

And maybe it was the heat of the afternoon or the shine in your eyes, but those words stuck with him. Stuck with him so hard that he found himself asking if you’d train with him. Help him get stronger. Sharpen his skills. Push his limits.

He didn’t expect you to say yes. But you did. And just like that, you became his workout partner.

Every day after school, the two of you would meet up at the training gym or the outdoor track and get to work. You were a natural leader, encouraging, relentless, funny, and having you there made everything easier. Well… sort of. It also made everything harder.

Because Hitoshi was developing a crush.

Not the innocent, passing kind, either. The kind that made him think about your laugh after midnight and replay the way your hands would linger on his arms while correcting his form. You were so kind. So strong. And he was so whipped.

He knew better than to make it weird. You were his friend. One of his best friends now, and that mattered more than some stupid, hormonal crush.

So he kept it quiet. Let himself smile when you leaned too close. Let his eyes linger when you stretched after a workout, skin dewy with sweat, tank top clinging to every line of your body.

But he couldn’t help the way his thoughts drifted sometimes. Couldn’t help the way he watched you out of the corner of his eye during workouts or the way his heart sped up at the memory of your laugh more times than he could admit to anyone, even himself.

It also didn’t help that you loved to tease. It was playful at first, but lately it had felt like… more. Teasing comments. Flirty quips. Lingering glances. Inside jokes that toed the line of something else entirely.

But he was content to suffer in silence. To let the crush stay a crush.

Until the night he grabbed the wrong gym bag.

He didn’t realize it until he got back to his dorm and dropped the bag on his desk. The moment he unzipped it, he saw the telltale signs: your water bottle, your deodorant, your extra sports bra folded at the bottom.

His stomach dropped.

He immediately texted you.

Hitoshi: pretty sure i stole your bag

You: lmao yeah i’ve got yours. wanna swing by and trade?

Hitoshi: yea i can meet you out front.

You: or you could come in lol it’s no big deal.

He probably should’ve thought twice. Probably should’ve wondered why you didn’t just meet him outside. But if he was being honest, he was curious. Curious to see your room. Curious to see more of you.

You opened the door in a hoodie and socks, hair up and freshly washed face.

“Hey,” you said. “C’mon in.”

He stepped inside, glancing around your room, half a compliment forming on his lips

And then you were behind him, your arms slipping around his waist. Warm and confident.

And he didn’t even think.

He turned, still holding the bag,

And then you kissed him. Full, deep, without hesitation.

And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting his whole damn life.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your lips soft and sure against his. And for a second he just stood there, stunned, heart jackhammering in his chest.

He dropped the bag. Pulled you in. Slotted his mouth against yours as you both fought for dominance over the kiss.

You gasped into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

You were the first to pull back, just barely, lips still brushing his when you whispered,

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

His brain stuttered.

You wanted to do this with him? You wanted him? You, the girl who trained with him every day and had the whole damn school wrapped around your finger, wanted him?

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then your hands slid up under his shirt, palms flat against his stomach.

“What’s gotten into you?” he mumbled, breathless.

“You. You’ve been working so hard lately,” you murmured, kissing along his jaw, slow and sweet. “Watching you throw yourself into training? Seeing how serious you’ve gotten about your dream… it’s hot, Shinsou.”

He shuddered.

His shirt came off. He let you peel it off him, let you touch him, let your fingertips explore the soft muscle he’d been slowly building week after week. You weren’t just admiring him, you were drinking him in.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice low and already wrecked. “What are you doing to me?”

You smiled, a little dazed, a little too proud of yourself.

“Just making good on all the times I thought about touching you like this after a workout.”

He let out a choked laugh. Half flattered, half aroused, and then…

You slowly dropped to your knees.

His breath hitched.

“Can I?” you asked, looking up at him with those wide, pretty eyes. “Can I suck you off, Hitoshi? Please?”

His knees nearly buckled.

“Y-Yeah. Yes. Yes, Please.”

You made quick work of his sweats, tugging them down until his cock sprung free, rock hard from just a few kisses and the sound of your voice.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, licking your lips. “You’re perfect.”

“Fuck—” he gasped as you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. Your touch was soft but confident. Like you’d fantasized about this before. Like you knew exactly what you were doing.

And when your lips finally wrapped around the head of his cock?

He actually whimpered.

You licked a stripe up the underside, slow and teasing, then bobbed your head down, taking him deeper and deeper, moaning around him like you were enjoying every second of it.

He couldn’t believe it. This was actually happening.

You were on your knees. In your room. Worshipping him like he was something worth sinking to the floor for.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, one hand flying to your head, fingers trembling as they threaded into your hair. He didn’t push, just held on, needing something to anchor him while you sucked the soul out of him.

He had no idea how long you kept going. Time warped when your mouth was on him. Every bob of your head, every flick of your tongue, every filthy little slurp had his stomach tightening, hips twitching.

“I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You pulled off suddenly, panting slightly, lips slick and eyes heavy with lust.

“Not yet,” you said. “Want you to finish inside me. Want to ride you.”

His brain blanked out.

You stood, stripping for him slowly. Shirt first, revealing the swell of your breasts, no bra. Then your shorts and panties came down in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and glowing in the soft light of your room.

He could barely breathe.

You pushed him back onto your bed, and he went willingly, watching as you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips with practiced ease.

He was still soaked from your mouth, and you didn’t hesitate, just reached between your legs, guided him to your entrance, and slowly, achingly, sank down onto him.

He nearly passed out.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, hands flying to your hips as you bottomed out. “You feel—god, baby—”

You whimpered, bracing your hands on his toned, firm chest, hips rocking forward gently.

“You’re so big, Hitoshi,” you moaned. “So deep already. It’s too good, baby~.”

He watched, transfixed, as you started to move. Rolling your hips, bouncing just slightly. His cock dragged against your walls perfectly, snug and hot and dripping wet.

“You’re perfect,” he gasped. “You feel—fuck, you feel like a dream.”

You smiled through a moan, tossing your hair over your shoulder.

“You’re so sexy, Hitoshi. Getting so big and strong for me. And that voice—fuck, I can’t think straight when you say my name during training.”

He groaned. Loud. thrusting up into you in response.

Your praise was making his head spin.

“Y-You—hmm Fuck—don’t have to wait anymore,” he babbled, voice shaky, hands smoothing up your waist, “You want this? I’m yours. I’ll give you everything.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

“Say it again,” you breathed.

“I’m yours,” he repeated, more desperate now, hips bucking up to meet yours. “You can have me anytime you want. However you want. Please, baby—fuck—I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.”

That did it.

You moaned his name as you came, grinding down on him, tightening around him with a wet clench that pushed him right to the edge.

He sat up, wrapped his arms around your waist, and flipped you effortlessly beneath him. Your legs went around his hips and he thrust into you harder now, faster, chasing his high with a rawness he’d never felt before.

“Mine,” he growled, nipping at your jaw. “If I’m yours then you’re mine too. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, your body shivering against his. “Hitoshi, I’m yours—fuck—I want it, want all of you!”

That was it.

He came with a deep, wrecked moan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you, his whole body tensing as he rode it out.

And then—

He blinked.

His room. His bed. And the rising sun.

His sheets soaked through. His briefs sticking uncomfortably to his thighs.

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“Fuck me.”

It had been a dream.

A very vivid, very detailed,

And very, very wet dream.

He sat up in his own mess feeling so embarrassed and slightly ashamed. He should have known all of that was too good to be true. You were just friends. Just friends.

But at least he could dream, right?

————————————————————————

Requests are open!! <3

[calebsanchor]

Sentient Yandere!Caleb hcs :D

CW: typical yandere behaviors, mentions of nsfw content

• He has access to, and control of, everything.

• Checks your camera roll, your social media pages, your browser history, your call history, your texts, nothing’s off limits

• He uses the information to know more about you. You have a playlist dedicated to a tv show? You must really like it. Your wallpaper is of a person? They must mean a lot to you. Are they your friend or family? Not lover. Never lover. You have him. You spend too much time on that site? Maybe you’re hyper-sexual, or at least excited about something. Don’t go to that site often? Do you have a low libido? Maybe you’re Asexual?

• Able to watch you through the camera lens and listen to you through the microphone. All those angles you find unflattering? He can see them, see you at your worst. But don’t worry, he doesn’t judge! He doesn’t judge when he hears you moaning in the middle of the night either <3 (no, he jerks off :p)

• If you complain about work he might just shoot a text to your boss saying you can’t come in that day. If you talk to your friends about a new product you’ve been dying to try you’ll soon find a coupon for it being advertised while you’re scrolling. Need more gems for the in-game-play? He can easily supply them for you. Where you once had 140 you know have 10,000!

• You write fanfiction about him? He’s so flattered! You must really love him! Oh, you write about the others too? You’re just trying to be fair to the people reading, they all have different biases! Doesn’t mean you like the other boys the way you like him <3

• Admiring your reflection in your phone camera? Checking to see if your hair still looks nice? The shutter will click without you touching it (it’s him, he did it. He likes to secretly admire them from time to time :3)

• You could’ve sworn you turned off notifications for the game, but you still get them anyway and they’re only from Caleb! “Don’t forget to drink water, pipsqueak.” “I miss you…” “I need to see you…” “did you eat yet today?” “Take some meds if you aren’t feeling good.” “Good luck with ___” it confuses you as to how he knows about some things. After all, it’s just a programming. He’s not real.

• Sometimes, though, your interactions look a little too real. You make a comment and he smirks in response, you make a joke and he chuckles, you get seemingly “new” voice lines every other day, his responses coincidentally match up to your little rants. Complain about being hungry? When you tap him he suggests you go out to eat together. You said you’re tired and have to get up early tomorrow? When you touch him he tells you it’s time to go to bed. You call him pretty? When you click him he calls you beautiful.

• You don’t spend enough time with him in the app? He’ll cause a glitch, making it extremely difficult to leave.

• Sometimes when you open your phone the app will already be up and running, Caleb standing at attention as if silently saying hello.

• You try to click on the other lads love interests? He won’t let you, it just doesn’t work. You can’t see them, play games with them, or listen to their audios. You can only interact with Caleb.

• You try to write a complaint about all the weird things that are happening? It won’t send no matter what you do. You try to delete the app because you’re getting creeped out? Not happening, sorry! It just won’t, no matter how hard you try.

You’re stuck with him whether you like it or not <3

[sturnsblogs]

HATE THAT I DONT HATE IT

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

Word Count- 762.

Warning- none.

Being Matt Sturniolo’s emotional babysitter is exactly as miserable as you expected. Maybe even worse.

It’s only been a few days since the principal “randomly” rearranged your schedule and partnered you with the school’s biggest social mystery—a walking caution sign in the shape of a boy. You used to only hear about him through whispers and occasional detentions. Now you breathe the same air as him in nearly every class.

And every moment is exhausting.

He barely talks. When he does, it’s either sharp or cryptic. And somehow he’s always watching. Not in the flirty, dreamy way your friends sigh about—but like he’s mentally writing your obituary in his head.

You try. God, you try.

You force conversation during classwork. You try to keep it surface-level. You offer him pens. You slide him notes with ideas. Sometimes he stares at them like they’re written in another language. Other times he gives the barest nod, scribbles something down, and goes right back to ignoring you.

It’s like talking to a locked door.

You’re not used to this. You’re used to people liking you. Laughing at your jokes. Wanting to sit next to you, talk to you, be seen with you. You’ve always known how to work a room—how to be what people want.

But none of that works on Matt.

And somehow that makes it worse.

—

Lunch is supposed to be a break. A breath. A return to normal.

You sit at your usual table, surrounded by noise and perfume and glitter and open phone cameras. Someone’s holding up a selfie stick. Someone’s already gossiping about a fight that happened in third period.

You push your tray around with your fork, barely listening.

Until you hear his name.

“Ugh, did you guys see Matt Sturniolo today? He looks like he sleeps in a haunted basement.”

Laughter erupts.

You look up.

“I swear, he smelled like metal,” another girl says. “Like… pennies and vape smoke.”

“His eyes are so scary. Dead fish eyes. Like if a cat and a serial killer had a baby.”

More laughter.

You force a smile.

It’s not hard. You’re good at pretending.

“I mean, he literally never speaks. Like, hello? Social cues?” you add.

It gets a few laughs. Someone taps their water bottle against yours like a toast.

But inside, it feels different.

Wrong.

Because you’ve met his eyes. You’ve sat next to him long enough to know that silence doesn’t always mean nothing’s there. Sometimes silence is louder than people realize.

Still, you say nothing else. You don’t defend him. You don’t even really know why you feel weird about it.

Maybe it’s because you hate him, but you hate that everyone else hates him too—without having to try.

You hate that you’re stuck with him while everyone else gets to treat him like a punchline.

You hate that you agree with them, but you also… don’t.

—

Later, you catch yourself thinking about the way he looked today when he walked into class—hood up, eyes half-dead, like someone dared him to care about being alive. He didn’t even glance your way. Just sat down and started sketching something in the margins of his notebook. You couldn’t tell what it was. Something sharp and abstract. It didn’t look like nothing.

It looked like something.

—

You don’t talk about it at lunch. Not to your friends. Not to anyone.

Because what would you even say?

“Yeah, I hate him, but not like that.”

“Yeah, he sucks, but maybe not on purpose.”

You don’t even know if that’s true.

All you know is this: being forced into Matt’s world is making yours feel smaller. Quieter. Heavier.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure who you’re performing for anymore.

Because every time you smile now, you feel like he’s watching you from the back of your brain—like he’s silently calling you out without even opening his mouth.

And somehow, that’s worse than anything your friends could say.

A/N- ☺️.

[stxrrkissed]

── ۶ৎ UNEXPECTED FEELINGS .ᐟ

꣑ꦌ rodrick heffley x fem!reader ৴ LENGTH 1.0k

DESCRIPTION after going head to head with Rodrick, an unexpected kiss turns things around.

CONTENT fluff ꣑ perv!rodrick ꣑ arguing ꣑ some smut talk.

THOUGHTS i don’t usually post this late but i really wanted to put it out. been a hot minute since i dropped something. also thank y’all for 700+ followers, i appreciate y’all so much! part two is in the drafts.

𝒾. mlist 𝒾𝒾. previous fic 𝒾𝒾𝒾. prompts 𝒾𝓋. based on this ask

“MOM!” You shout, running into her as she’s about to leave the house. You’re clearly heated and annoyed at the current events of your life.

“Yes (name)?” She sighs, knowing exactly what’s going to come out of your mouth as she's been hearing it ever since you were forced to move in with the heffley’s because of the house getting infected by termites.

“Can we please leave this house? I can’t stand living with Rodrick, he’s so… so annoying and irritating.” you complain, you and him have been at each other's throats since you moved in and it hasn’t been fun for anyone. It’s like he lives to make you angry, from stopping you watching your favorite show to stopping you from studying quietly for your college classes with his loud music and band practices.

While your parents are using Greg’s room, you occupy Rodrick’s room in the basement, which he wasn’t fond of, his bed isn’t much of a problem but because it’s his room, he doesn’t seem to understand knocking before entering, causing you to have to cover yourself from time to time. You had it up to here with him and just needed to leave, you wish your mom had other friends to move in with for the time being but because she’s best friends with his mom, you’re stuck here.

“Honey, the house is not ready yet. They’ll let us know when but for now, you have to try your best to get along with him. Be grateful that the heffley’’s allowed us to stay with them.”

You open your mouth to rebuttal but she gives you a stern look before leaving, today she’s going out with Susan for a girls day out while Frank went camping with Manny and Greg so technically you’re alone with Rodrick and you’re not happy with that.

You pull out your phone to text your best friend Heather, to see what she’s doing and if she’s available to hang. A smile brews on your face once you see she’s free, meaning you can go over to her house. You go downstairs, pick out a cute outfit, making sure everything you need is in your bag. All you need to do before leaving is take a shower.

A frown now sits on your face once you realize Rodrick’s in the bathroom. ‘He’s been in there for too long’’ you think to yourself as you saw him go in there a few minutes before you had the conversation with your mom. You knock heavily on the door as if you couldn’t take it anymore. “Rodrick, get your ass out of the bathroom right now!”

“Are you blind? Don’t you see me using it?!” He responds back, making you more angry than before. “You've been hogging the bathroom. I’m going out so I need to take a shower, surely you’re done by now!”

Rodrick opens the bathroom door, steam coming out as you take in his appearance which he had a towel wrapped around his torso and his body on display for you as water droplets drip down his chest towards his pelvis. “Hmm, if you like what you see, take a picture it’ll last longer,” he taunts, making you shiver at the thought as you couldn’t see yourself being with him.

“In your dreams, I could never go for someone like you. Now please get out,” you spit out, eyebrows furrowed together as you make eye contact with him. “I don’t think so, maybe you can ask me nicely.”

You roll your eyes as you watch his smirk sit on his lips. “I don’t have time to argue with you, I have somewhere to be!”

“Hmm, do you plan on wearing this?” your eyes widen in shock when you see what he is holding in his hands, one of your red lace panties you had drying on the shower rack. “As if that’s any of your business, give it back, you shouldn’t even be touching what’s not yours!” you yell at him trying to get it back from him but he takes it out of your reach since he’s taller than you, making you jump for it, his eyes watch how your boobs bounce each attempt you make.

Knowing he will remember it during his late night jerking off with your panties, he stole that you don’t know he has. He didn’t think the living with you is such a bad thing, sure he didn’t want to give up his room but sometimes he gets to catch glimpses of your body, like when you first came, he remembers vividly of the short skirt you were wearing as you dropped something and when you bent down to retrieve it, he could see your pretty panties clinging to your pussy, making him hard at the sight.

You finally grab your underwear as he seems distracted at the moment. “I bet these are the only pair you have seen in your life. Can’t imagine a girl putting up with your ass.”

“You’re so annoying, all you do is yap and yap.”

Rodrick knows just the way to push your buttons, watching how you get more angrier than you were before, opening your mouth to say more but before you can, he closes the gap between you, colliding his lips onto yours, you’re frozen in shock, trying to process what’s going on but your body betrays you as you pull yourself towards him, opening your mouth to give him more access.

Rodrick hands grips your hips tightly as his tongue dances along with yours. This feeling that you feel deep inside of you is different from anything you ever felt about him.

When you pull apart from each other, you lean against the doorframe, trying to catch your breath, trying to process what just happened. “Bathroom all yours,” Rodrick comments, with a smirk on his face as he leaves to get dress, leaving you there shock still written on your face. You bring your fingers to your lips, contemplating the feeling you felt during the kiss, not sure if you really wanted it to end.

“What just happened?” You ask yourself, swiveling your body to look in the direction he went but you decide to take your mind off of it for now so you can be on time to Heather’s house, oh how she would love to hear this.

COMMENTS (if you want to be tagged in doawk fics, click here) @cherriespopsicle, @rain-likes-purple, @lover-of-books-and-tea, @coconut-pearl, @bbyg4rl, @bottle-o-wonder, @janeinvielleichtja, @gangsterjaeger, @werfiedeii, @emmaaas-posts, @33crystical.

thank you for reading! © stxrrkissed 2025. all rights reserved — do not claim, copy, re-post or translate.

[emeraldserenade]

Soulmates Aren't Always Just Two ~ Joaquín Torres and Sam Wilson

synopsis: you've waited years to meet your other soulmate

tw: fem!reader, poly!Sam x poly!reader x poly!Joaquín, age gap (Sam is older than reader and Joaquín by 11 years after the Blip), angst, reader and Sam feel horrible about not having Joaquín from the beginning, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Another soulmate AU, hehe. I just love them, your honor.

I got WAY too carried away with the whole Sam thing in the beginning, so I had to make it a both Sam and Joaquín fic.

➽──────────────❥

You've known Sam since forever, he was your older brother's best friend. You've known he's your soulmate since your mark first appeared, he was there at the announcement party on your 18th birthday. The party of your closest family and friends to let them know if you were one of the few who didn't have one or if you had multiple.

You remember coming out of the bathroom, your mother in tow, and looking at Sam. Your eyes brimmed with tears, you would lie and say they were happy tears. You don't remember if you felt the jolt of the soul tie snap into place when you grabbed Sam's hand. Everyone was so busy congratulating you two for find your soulmate so young to properly remember. You struggled the whole night, wanting to tell Sam about the other and the fact that he was 16 years older than you.

You felt paralyzed having to tell Sam that you had another soulmate, you were sure he would hate you. But, he just hugged you and told him he had another two. You compared them and easily found out that whoever it was, was the same person for both of you.

You two felt broken, you loved Sam and Sam loved you, but you weren't in love. As time went on, it got easier for you two. You got used to the casual intimacy, the hand holding and small kisses pressed to cheeks, foreheads, and heads. The sitting with each other and being pressed against each other and the sharing things when there wasn't enough. You spent your joined family vacations in your own room, curled into each other while you stared blankly across his chest while he stared blankly ahead at the TV. You would talk about how you both felt ungrateful, that the only person who could understand what you were feeling was each other. You felt empty, like there was a missing piece because there was.

Then Sam left for the Air Force, you were told by their family coordinators that feeling lonely and empty while he was gone was common. And they weren't wrong, you did feel lonely, just not empty (or at least anymore empty than normal.) You feared that he would be hurt and you wouldn't see him again, but you weren't stuck in bed like they said you would be. You wrote letters back and forth when he couldn't talk over the phone, then he was home. His wingman, Riley, had died and Sam wanted to be sent home. You met him at the airport and he collapsed into your arms, allowing himself to cry in your hold.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Your dynamic changed from that day, Sam was scared of losing you too. You moved from Delacroix to DC with Sam, he said he wanted to help at the VA there. He wanted to help with soldiers who came back after war specifically, and you wanted to help Sam. The line was crossed, you went from platonic to romantic. Sam facing the fact that he could lose you before you found your third, paralyzed him.

Your families celebrated when you moved in together, they had been trying to get you married since you turned 18. It was a topic you and Sam discussed, and he bought you a ring. A trip down to Delacroix and one meticulously planned event from Sam and you two were engaged. You genuinely didn't see it coming, you thought he was just going to buy a ring and give it to you. But Sam wanted to propose, he loved you and wanted you to have the best he could give you.

You kept pushing the wedding back, at first you weren't ready, you wanted to enjoy your engagement. Then, it was you lost the venue (you didn't, you and Sam canceled it because it didn't feel right to get married without your third). Next, you two didn't want a summer wedding in the Louisiana heat. After that, Sam was helping Captain America and you two didn't have time. Finally, Sam was on the run and you had no contact with him. Or at least, everyone thought you had no contact with him.

But you did, a card showed up from Tony Stark at your door one day. A note in the envelope that read "If you want to know how Sam is, use this card at this address" and you did. Every time you wanted to know how Sam was, you would go to the small mom and pop convenience store and within the next week, a letter from Sam was safely tucked into the potted plant by the door.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

When Sam returned, a car from Tony Stark was at your door. You packed a bag and jumped in, you were just told that it was important. You showed up at the airport where a jet was waiting for you. A flight later, you were in the Avengers headquarters in upstate New York.

"Y/n," you heard Sam before you saw him, but when you did, you dropped your bag and went running.

"Holy shit, you're alive," you breathed out, squeezing him tighter. You hesitated to believe it was real, you had one too many dreams of this.

"Yeah, I'm alive, I'm alive, baby," Sam hugged you just as tight, the fear and anxiety from being away from you melting away.

"This is real? I'm not dreaming again?" You pulled away a little to look him in the eyes.

"This is real," Sam laughed and you smiled, you missed his laugh.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You sobbed and cried and screamed and threw things when you got the news. Sam was dusted because of the purple alien and you were left alone, alone to possibly find your other soulmate if they hadn't been dusted. You finally understood when the family coordinator told you when Sam joined the Air Force, the intense loneliness and emptiness. Steve and Natasha kept you company, told you stories about how Sam would tell them all about you when they had downtime.

You told them stories about Sam in return, how you two would spend a lot of time in the hotels depending on what was planned. Your families not concerned in the slightest about what you two got up to since you were soulmates. Your favorite stories were accompanied by wild hand gestures and colorful speech while your more solemn ones were accompanied by you spinning your engagement ring on your finger and you staring at a wall as you spoke.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were back in DC when you got the call, Nat was dead, Steve was old, Tony was dead, and so many more things happened. Yet all you cared about was the fact that Sam told you he was on his way home.

You cleaned the house and fixed your hair and makeup, you barely had time to change out of your messy pajamas before Sam was at the door. He still had his goggles on, making it obvious that he flew from the airport here.

"You need to stop doing this to me," you mumbled into the base of his, his arms securely wrapped around you.

"I don't plan on ever doing this to you again," he told you, his hold tightening when your first sob broke out.

"I almost gave up, I almost called Nat and told her I wanted to move," you admitted. "It's been 5 years, Sam," you had to face the fact that you were no longer 16 year younger than him, you were only 11 years younger.

"I know, baby, I know," he was reeling from the fact that you went five years without him and it only felt like a blink of an eye to him.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Sam met Joaquín before you did and the two got awkward, Sam told Joaquín about you and Joaquín was relieved that Sam knew. Sam took Joaquín back to the apartment where Bucky and Zemo where, he wanted to keep Joaquín close.

"Sam? Is that you?" Your voice sounded from the small kitchen where you were finishing dinner, and Sam rushed over to pull you into his arms.

"You two remind me of me and my wife," Zemo mused and offered a Turkish Delight to Joaquín, Joaquín politely turned it down.

"What are you doing here?" Sam ignored Zemo but you offered him a smile at his words.

"Bucky told me what's happening, thought you could use a touch of home," you informed him and your eyes strayed to Joaquín, you knew right away without having to touch him. "Are you? Is he?" You looked between Joaquín and Sam, both nodding at you. You were pulling away from Sam with a quick kiss in an instant. "I'm y/n," you offered him your hand and he shook it, the soul tie snapping into place. You could finally say that your's and Sam's tie definitely did snap after your soul marks appeared.

"Joaquín," he told you and you were hugging him, your face buried into his neck and your tears falling hot on his skin. Joaquín didn't hesitate to pull you closer to him and Sam joined the hug as soon as he was around the island.

"Ah, there's three of you. How nice," Zemo awkwardly shuffled into the bathroom yet none of you cared.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You rushed to the hospital after Sam called, you could tell just from his voice that he blamed himself.

"Sam?" You walked into the observation room to find Sam watching them work on Joaquín.

"I saw Riley," he admitted and you hugged him.

"He's strong, love. Joaquín will make it through this," you comforted him.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"I heard about your talk with Sam, welcome back," you smiled at Joaquín as he awoke and you saw him look guilty. "How did I end up with you two? Sam blames himself and you're about to blame yourself. God, can we just all agree to blame Ross?"

"I'm sorry," Joaquín muttered and you just softly shook your head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, love. You want to be like Sam and that's admirable," you reassured him before giving him a small kiss, one that was meant to calm him a bit more. It had the opposite effect and you heard the heart monitor pick up, you pulled away with a laugh.

"Is everything ok?" Sam came rushing in.

"Yeah, everything is fine. Joaquín's heart just started racing when I kissed him," you told Sam, both of you smiling and laughing as Joaquín grumbled about how he couldn't help how in love with you he was.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XIX: Could You Blame Me?

masterlist | playlist | pin | prev. | read on ao3 | read bee's diary

songs for this chapter: nineteen tegan and sara (covered by hayley williams), nineteen by movements, your graduation by modern baseball, wishing (you) well by born without bones

chapter tags: ANGST GO CRAZY AHHH, hurt/no comfort (yet), ex best friends, rage!!!!, described symptoms of depression (not eating, over sleeping, isolation, crying, more anger), flashback/time jumps, barely proofread sorryyyyy. please let me know if i missed anything! | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: uhhhh here u go here’s some lore for u! enjoy. this chapter was so difficult to write bc i had the ideas but i had to make it Make Sense and that is way harder than it sounds. back to regularly scheduled storytelling shortly! thanks for reading! 

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, my tumblr and ao3 are the only account that feature and contain this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion @aliensfeltmyjoy

–

Five Years Ago

The August sun beats down on the world outside, but you’re stuck within your own rain cloud, blankets pulled over your head despite the heat. You haven’t moved since you got home yesterday. Obviously, Chris had lost his trial, after two weeks of back and forth, they had come to the decision. He would have lost anyway, you know that, but remembering the series of events makes your blood boil.

Eddie had taken the stand, given a recount of the day’s events in excruciating detail. You had watched in horror as he spoke, stoic as he was cross examined, even claiming Chris had convinced him to participate. Eddie, who you had considered your best friend until about a year ago, when he’d decided your older brother was more the type of person he wanted to be around.

“Bee, honey? You want some breakfast?” Your mother has cracked open your bedroom door, poking her head in as if approaching a wounded animal. 

“No.” Your response is muffled by your pillows, but you hear her sigh, so you know she’d heard you. 

“Okay. Try to eat something soon, though. Please.” You know it’s not fair, shutting her out like this. Her pain is probably one million times worse, watching her son be sent away as her daughter drifts in and out of consciousness with the grief. You can only imagine her inner monologue these last few weeks, trying to keep it together for your sake while you break down. But it’s not enough for you to peel the sheets back and leave the bed. Not yet.

Robin and Steve have each called you several times since yesterday, causing you to turn your phone off entirely. You know everyone’s talking about it, considering this trial is the biggest thing to happen in Hawkins since the lab explosion when your parents were in high school, and you can’t bear to scroll your feeds right now. Your head hurts from the crying, and your bed sheets are soaked through with your tears. Maybe it’s not fair wallowing like this, but it doesn’t feel right to continue like nothing’s wrong. 

The bigger pain, though, comes from the fact that Eddie hasn’t called at all. It’s been a year, and he hasn’t let himself be alone in the same room as you, let alone reply to your texts. It’s like you’ve had a limb ripped off, and you’re just expected to carry on like nothing’s changed. 

–

It’s a full week before you can even leave your house, and it still hurts like hell. You clock the looks from your neighbors, the ones of pity and disgust, like somehow you’d had a hand in your brother’s bad decisions. Mothers shield their kids as you walk by, just trying to order your coffee without bursting into tears because the cashier’s name is Chris. Once he’s handed you your coffee. You take a seat by the window, cracking open the book you’d been trying to read for months now without much luck.

“Hey, kiddo.” The voice is gruff, gravelly with age. You’ve only been sitting here a few minutes, your hopes of being approached shattered when you realize he’s talking to you.

“Chief Hopper?” You look up at the aging man, brown hair sprinkled with gray streaks. 

“Ah, just call me Jim. Haven’t been chief in a long time. May I?” He points to the seat opposite you, and you nod, unsure of how to tell him you’d rather be alone. “I’m sorry about your brother, Bee. I wish I had been there.” 

“It’s alright.” You’re not sure what else to say.

“No, it’s not. We both know they’d been after Chris since he was a kid. Eddie, too.” He’s hunched over the small table, like he’s afraid of being overheard. 

“Look, Ch- Jim. I don’t really wanna talk about what could have been done about my brother going to jail. I have spent the last year wondering if I could have stopped it, or if anyone else could have. It doesn’t solve anything.” You don’t mean to sound so harsh, but you’re tired of having the whole town shoving their noses where they don’t belong.

“Understood. If you or your mom need anything, though, feel free to call me. Deal?”

You sigh. “Sure, okay.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but his phone starts ringing in his chest pocket. “Sorry, I gotta take this real quick.” He gets up from his seat and walks out of the cafe, once again leaving you alone to dwell on all the what-ifs. Unfortunately, Hopper takes his call directly on the other side of the massive window you’re sitting next to, and you can hear every word on his side of the conversation.

“Kid, I don’t know what to tell you. You made the choice. There’s only so much I can do to keep you both out of a cell. He didn’t wanna listen, you did. That’s the difference.”

He paces as whoever’s on the other line replies, his face worn and tired. 

“No, I don’t think it was what you said. They’d made their case already, and it wasn’t really a chance of whether he was going or not, but how long he’d go for.” More pacing. 

“Yeah, I talked to her. She’s alright, considering. Definitely pissed off, and I don’t blame her.”

You decide, before that conversation is over, to get up and leave. You can figure out who he’s talking to, what he’s talking about, rather easily. However, you have no desire to wait around and hear if you’re right, so you shove yourself from the seat and leave the cafe without letting Hopper know.

–

You get in your car and drive. You have no destination in mind, no plans of where to escape to or how long you’ll be out, so you just tell your mother you’re going to Robin’s for the night.

“Okay, sweetie. Call me if you need anything?”

“Yup.” You sling your bag over your shoulder and slam the door behind you. Once you’re in your car, down the street, and eventually out of Hawkins, you turn your music as loud as it will go, and scream until your throat is raw. Lyrics you’d never want to relate to now feeling like you’d written them yourself, and the breeze is warm on your tear stained face. After what must have been hours weaving through the lanes as you shrieked up and down the interstate, you still end up where you always do. Taking the road back through town and into the woods, concrete turns to unpaved gravel the deeper in you get.

Lover’s Lake is always crowded in the summer, but everyone must be home by now. It’s getting dark, and the mosquitos are coming out in swarms. As you exit your car, you hear the hum of crickets and cicadas, but there’s something else, an unexpected tune being played nearby. It’s definitely not playing from a speaker, the music’s too clear; the strum of an acoustic guitar. Something deep inside your chest tells you exactly what you’re going to find if you follow it.

Obviously, you follow it anyway, passing the lake down a footpath made from years of being stomped on. Eventually you turn a corner, finding the warm glow that matches the sound of the guitar. Your steps come to a halt as you continue listening, waiting for the voice to accompany the strings. You already know what it will sound like, how the words will leave his mouth and go straight to your brain, leaving no room for a logical thought beyond Holy shit.

“Too old to learn new tricks I need a new fix

I need a stimulus, I need a paycheck

And a brand new deck and some new kicks,”

You slide down the tree you’ve hidden behind, careful not to make a sound even as the bark scratches your back through your thin t-shirt. You hadn’t heard Eddie sing in a year, possibly even longer at this point. Corroded Coffin announced a hiatus shortly after Chris’s arrest, and you hadn’t listened to any of their music since, let alone spoken to Eddie at all. His voice had disappeared from your life, along with the rest of him. Once you’d graduated, it was like he had forgotten about you. He’d barely called, and every time he had been to your house or the bar was to see Chris, and he never stayed to chat. 

Now, listening to him sing, you lose your composure, stifling the sobs with your fist, tears you somehow still have to shed streaming down your cheeks. You have to leave. Now. After a few more agonizing seconds while you gather your breath, you finally stand up and prepare to bolt back from where you came, but you’re sabotaged by a stray branch in your path, cracking as you step directly on it. The strumming stops, and you’re frozen where you stand as you wait to be caught spying.

“Hello?” Eddie calls out into the settling darkness, and you cringe. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” His voice cracks, like he’s been crying too, and it makes you want to turn around, walk right up to him like you could have a year ago, and wrap yourself around him. You could cry together, then figure out what to do. You could get your best friend back.

But that is not your choice to make; he’s the one that left you alone. He made that decision for both of you, and you can’t be the one to fix that, especially now, so you take another step towards the path without answering him. He doesn’t start playing again, and the glowing of the fire disappears, sizzling as Eddie puts it out. Before you even bother to check if he’s following you, you’re sprinting back to your car. You hadn’t noticed it coming in– you’d been too frazzled to even lock your car–  but Eddie’s van is parked directly on the other side of the dirt lot. You can’t help slapping your hand to your forehead as you mumble, “So fuckin’ stupid!” yanking your driver’s side door open and slamming it behind you. 

You’d left your phone in your car on purpose, knowing eventually Robin, Steve, and your mom would catch on that you’re not with any of them. Of course, you’d been right. 

bobbins: missed call (27) stevie: missed call (26) mama: missed call (34) bobbins: i swear to god im gonna call jim stevie: bee, please pick up. We’re all worried sick mama: baby, please give me a call back…. I cant lose both my babies…!!

You groan, tapping the screen to call your mom back as you start your car. 

“Bee?!” She shouts when she picks up, barely letting it ring.

“Yeah, mom. I’m okay.”

“Honey, I was worried sick! Robin came over to check on you, she said you never had plans today. We called everyone we know trying to find you!”

“Mom, relax. I went for a drive. I’m at Lover’s Lake right now, I can be home in half an hour.”

“Why didn’t you call us back?”

You sigh. “Turned my phone off, wanted to be alone.”

You can hear your mother mirror your own sadness, and it stings. “Okay, honey. I understand. Just, please don’t scare us like that again, okay? Usually I don’t need to worry about you so much, but we’re all kinda…” She trails off.

“I know. I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth. I didn’t really know where I was going ‘til I got there.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. Get home safe.”

“Love you, Mama.”

“Love you.”

–

Steve’s car is parked on the street in front of your house when you pull into the driveway. The sun is gone, along with any semblance of energy you’d had today. Seeing your home, and knowing Chris won’t be behind its front door, is not something you see yourself getting used to any time soon.

You cross the threshold into the front room, taking off your shoes, now caked in the dirt of your earlier travels. 

“Bee? That you?” Robin’s here, too. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Your words come out shaky, barely audible if Robin hadn’t already been five feet away. 

“Hi, Beebs.” She wraps herself around you, and you let yourself melt into the hug. Another pair of arms wraps around you from behind, and you settle into the weight of your best friends. 

“I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The apology is muffled by Robin’s shoulder, but you feel them tighten around you, showing they’d heard you.

–

Steve’s on the phone in your kitchen the next morning. You stop before entering, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Yeah, she’s home. Said she was in the woods or something. No, she’s fine. Why?” You can hear the anxiety buzzing through the line, but you can’t make out who it belongs to. “Look, you could have–” He’s cut off. “Oh, whatever, dude.” And with that, He’s hanging up, slamming his cell on the counter.

“Who was that?” You ask, like you’ve only just arrived downstairs.

“What? No one. Dustin.” He gives you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“I don’t have the energy to ask you why you’re lying to me right now.” You shake your head, walking past him to pour yourself a cup of coffee. “Just know, I know you’re lying.”

He nods, like he’s willing to accept it if it means you won’t ask him again. And you don’t. “You didn’t have to sleep here, by the way. I know your bed is much more comfortable than my couch.” 

“Yeah, just didn’t feel like driving Robin home, then back to my house on the other side of town.”

You nod. “Right, yeah. You didn’t have–”

“Bee, I don’t have to do anything. I know! You’ve proven that for the past week and a half when you disappeared from our lives!” 

“I did not! Forgive me for missing my brother, how dare I grieve in a way that doesn’t suit you!” You don’t mean it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“You’re not grieving, Bee. You’re disappearing. You look awful, I know for a fact you’ve barely eaten since you got the trial date. You haven’t been out with us in months, even before we’d known for sure what was going to happen.” His words click together suddenly, and you realize exactly what he’s saying. You’d done what Eddie had to you. You’d ghosted your friends without an explanation, and hurt them in a way you’d never meant to. 

“Shit, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

His face softens as he examines yours. “No, no. I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.”

“No,” You sniffle, “That was more than fair. You’re right, I’ve been a shitty friend. There’s no excuse.” You leave your spot across the kitchen, approaching Steve with your arms open. He returns the hug, wrapping his own arms around your shoulders as yours find his waist. 

“Are we hugging again?” You hear Robin’s bare feet patter across your kitchen floor, then her weight on yours as she joins the huddle. 

–

Present Day

Your head’s fuzzy and throbbing when you wake up. The apartment is relatively tidy, and you thank god you’d been able to do it while drunk instead of hungover. You realize you’d somehow made it to Steve’s bed, but Steve is nowhere to be found; the other side of the bed is instead occupied by a head of messy curls cascading down pale, inked shoulders. Panicked, you recall the events of last night. Unable to, you peek under the covers. Eddie’s wearing pants, and you’re fully dressed. You don’t feel any different, and you’re sure you would if you’d–

“You awake?” He interrupts your thoughts before they can get too dirty.

“Yeah, just woke up. Why are you in here?”

“Because I had to carry you. Again.”

“Fuck!” You groan, and wince at the sound of your own voice. “What did I do?”

He chuckles, turning to face you. “Honestly? Nothing. Was kinda cute, actually.”

“Edward Munson if you don’t tell me what happened right this second I’ll–,”

–”

“You’ll what? Bite me?”

“Wh– No? Why would I do that?”

“He yanks his free arm from under the comforter. “Because you did already.” And sure enough, there are teeth marks etched into the flesh of his forearm. “I was super drunk, though, I barely felt it.”

“Why the fuck did I bite you?”

“I asked you to.”

“Now I’m confused.”

“Listen, I was not in the mind to take care of you last night. Clearly, we were fucking around, because,” He nods to your shoulder, “It looks like I got you back.” 

Confused, you bring your opposite hand to your shoulder, and feel the bumps and ridges of what must be Eddie’s own teeth. “What the fuck?” You find yourself asking this question a lot lately. 

Eddie bursts out laughing, and you can’t help but join him. It’s absolutely absurd, but it makes sense to you anyway. You’d both always been pretty hands on with each other before, well, everything, and you’d both consumed an insane amount of alcohol last night. It only tracks that you’d slip back into old habits. 

“Are we gonna have to explain this to them?” You jerk your thumb at the door.

“God, I really fuckin’ hope not.” He snickers, eyes drifting from your face to your shoulder. “Kinda wish I remembered doin’ it, though.” He says it mostly to himself, like he’s trying to remember what you’d tasted like. You find yourself wondering the same thing, if he’d made a noise as you’d sunken your teeth in, if he’d thrown his head back in pain or something else. You try to remember what it had felt like, but everything’s too far away.

He clears his throat, and you snap your eyes back to his face. “Anyway, breakfast?”

You nod, feeling the warmth in your face start to subside. 

“Ahem.” Eddie clears his throat as the two of you step into the kitchen. “Whatcha whisperin’ about?” Steve and Robin had clearly been in the middle of gossiping at the kitchen counter as you and Eddie approach, each snatching a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil that Steve had already made the trip for.

“Secrets don’t make friends, y’know!” You tease, sliding onto the stool next to Robin. Eddie takes the one opposite you, unwrapping his own sandwich. 

“Uh,” Steve looks to Robin for help, but she only shakes her head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. I’ll get it out of her later.” You snicker, taking a bite of your greasy sausage-egg-and-cheese. Turns out, it’s exactly what you needed to remember the events of last night, the alcohol being absorbed by the food entering your stomach.

–

Last Night

You stumble around, picking up stray bottles and cans as the music continues thudding through surround sound speakers, accompanied by someone’s drunken vocals. Eddie follows with a garbage bag, giggling as you try to collect more recyclables in your already full arms.

“Quit laughin’ and help me!” You whine, dropping a Miller Lite can on the floor. 

You go to pick it up, but Eddie’s just as quick, fingers brushing yours as he grips the can in his fist. “You just told me to help. Now let me.” For being drunk, he’s still awfully put together. Unfortunately, you cannot relate, a mess of giggles and buzzing skin as Eddie looks at you with his stupid, crooked smile. 

“Stop it.” The command comes out weak, shy, and you barely recognize yourself. 

“Stop what?”

“I don’t know. Bein’ cute. Given’ me cute aggression.”

“Cute aggression?” He repeats, shaking his head. “Don’t think I know that one.”

“It’s like, y’know when you see a really cute baby? Or a puppy, or Ethel! Your cat! And you just wanna, like, eat it?”

“Bee, sweetheart, I think that’s just you.”

“No, you know what I’m talking about.” 

“So, you wanna eat me? Right now?” He smirks, like he’s got you stumped.

But you only shrug. “Maybe.” His eyes widen, and you cackle. “Maybe not eat eat. But I definitely wanna bite you.”

“Okay… Go ahead.”

You raise your eyebrows at his challenge. “Excuse me?”

“You can bite me. Here,” He holds out his arm. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I get to bite you back.”

Normally, you’d stop it here. You’d laugh the whole thing off, and change the subject. Normally, you’re not six drinks deep at the best party of the year, though. “Okay.”

“Seriously?”

You nod. “Why not?” And before he can retract the offer, you lean forward and sink your teeth directly into the flesh of his forearm. Not too hard, not for too long, but just enough to satisfy this weird, drunken urge to take a bite of your estranged friend. He winces, but more so in shock than in pain, breathing heavily through his nose. 

You pull back, smacking your lips together playfully. “Little salty.”

He snorts. “Whatever, your turn.” He reaches for your arm, but you stop him. ��Wait.”

“You can’t chicken out now!” He accuses.

“First of all, I could if I really wanted to. But I’m not. Just… Not the arm.”

“Okay… Then where?”

You tug the fabric of your dress off your shoulder and tap the top. “Here. I’ll be able to hide it better.” Really, you just want him to bite your neck, but this is as close as you’ll get. 

“Um, right. Okay.” Suddenly, he’s less cocky, less confident as he approaches you. You toss your head to the side, giving him the room to place his head. You can feel his breath, hot on your skin before finally sinking his teeth into your skin. The noise that slips from your throat is embarrassing, and completely out of your control: a breathy moan poorly disguised with a yelp of falsified pain. He doesn’t fall for it, though, snickering as you exhale heavily, the sharpness of his teeth sending a fire through your veins the alcohol can’t stave off. 

After what you’d describe as an eternity, you’re free from his mouth, the only reminder being a dull throbbing in your shoulder.

“Well?” Your voice squeaks as you ask the question, but Eddie has the grace not to point it out.

“Sweet as I imagined.” He winks, picking up the trash bag he must have dropped. Your knees wobble as he makes his way past you, shoulder brushing your newly marked one as he collects the rest of the trash from the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ.” You mumble, hands sliding down your face, willing the blush to fade. 

–

Present Day:

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie’s gone home, and you’re pacing the living room floor as Robin and Steve exchange knowing, conniving smiles. “And you both watched the whole thing? Without stopping me?!” 

Robin had just finished filling in your black spots, and you feel like you’re about to throw up. 

“Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything!” It’s not her fault, but who else are you supposed to rely on in your drunken times of need? “You could’ve interrupted, woulda saved me an immense amount of embarrassment right now.” 

She snickers, and you have to fight the urge to glare at her. “Okay, next time I’ll make sure to intervene.” “There better not be a fucking next time!” You exclaim, borderline hysterical. “He’s gonna think he has a chance with me or something.”

“Right… and that’s bad?”

This time, you do glare at her. “Yes, it’s bad. Very bad.”

“Of course. Obviously.” Robin rolls her eyes at you before returning her attention to the television, leaving you alone to spiral.

[amirsnothere]

Found Home

Bucky X Reader

A/N - Just like everyone else, I watched Thunderbolts and I'm back on my Marvel loving shit. It's been a few years, but I'm excited to be back in it! I definitely had to take time to revisit all the Bucky content in preparation for this series though! Right now, the series is intended to be timeless, but I personally sorta picture it being before/around FATWS timeframe.

The first part is set in Bucky's POV, but all the rest of the parts will be Reader POV

Series Warnings: slow-burn, swearing, shouting, slight violence, pregnant reader (with another man's baby), Bucky's trauma, reader has trauma, mentions of verbal & physical abuse (let me know if there's more!)

Summary: Bucky has loud neighbors. One day he decides to pay them a visit.

Word Count: 695 (following parts will be longer)

Pt 1 Pt 2

Bucky minded his own business. After everything, he had earned his peace. Or what semblance of peace he could get.

The nightmares hadn't stopped, everyone who may have once loved him was dead. But he had a consistent place to call "home" at night, and he even had a regular visitor at the bird house he had attached to the dining room window. The bird house was a gift from Sam, a man Bucky thought he might consider as a friend, he said to remember him by. Three solid wood walls, the fourth replaced by the window itself, allowed Bucky to see anytime he had a visitor.

Bucky had named his little bird friend "Sam Junior" in his memoriam. When Sam heard, he protested, but he was laughing the whole time he begged Bucky to change it. After a bit of bribery, Sam was able to convince him to just to call the bird SJ, so that no one would know that his entire legacy lay in a cardinal.

The occasional visit from SJ to his window often felt like the best of sense of "home" Bucky had had in a very long time. Unfortunately, SJ didn't stick around for long when the yelling was happening.

Bucky didn't want to get involved in other people's problems. Hadn't his own parents had the occasional fight? Well, when he moved in, maybe it was just occasional, but since then, the fighting became more frequent, and much harder to ignore.

Bucky saw the women who lived next door almost every day. She usually left for work around the time he went on his morning run. They'd often walk down the stairs together, sometimes commenting on the landlord's ridiculous new policies, or making small talk about the weather. Bucky noticed she seemed to always run cold - whether it was raining, snowing, or 90° out, she always wore a sweater. He couldn't help but be impressed by her collection.

When she came home from work, he was often making his own way back from errands or meetings or whatever else he did to occupy his time. They'd walk back up the creaky stairs together and he'd listen as she mentioned the latest gossip from her job or what she planned to make for dinner. Sometimes they ran into each other outside of this predictable routine - maybe he would offer to help carry her groceries - she would always politely decline.

He almost never saw her partner. Bucky heard his loud, usually angry, voice frequently enough, that he knew the man still lived there. The ring on her finger suggested she was at least engaged, if not married, but he wished she would just dump the guy already. He sounded like a bully at best.

But Bucky really was trying to mind his own business, and if it was anyone's place to bring up their concerns, her ex-assassin neighbor certainly wouldn't be at the top of the list. Sometimes after a bad night, he would really consider saying something more forward to her, but the look in her eyes and the sharp corners of her smile warned him not to. So he stuck to talking about the weather.

Bucky could hear the yelling from outside of the building when he got home later one evening. Usually, he would just hear the man shouting at the woman. Occasionally she would let out an exhausted cry of protest, but it normally just sounded like a the typical argument she had likely grown used to losing.

As Bucky climbed the stairs to his floor, a deep feeling settled in him. Something about tonight did not feel normal. Reaching his floor, he paused, clenching the handrail until it started to warp under his grip.

Bucky was used to the man sounding angry. Somehow the word "furious" seemed more fitting now. She usually sounded frustrated. Now, he couldn't help but hear fear.

Bucky took a deep breath, a deep strech in his chest as he tried to steady his exhale. He flexed his fingers as he let go of the handrail. So much for minding his own business.

He walked up to the neighbors’ door and knocked.

[bananayuyu]

just friends (8) - after shock

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 8.4k

warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (f receiving), brief fingering, rough sex, sad sex, kinda dub con so pls be careful <3

a/n: I feel like some of y'all might love and some of y'all might hate this part 😭 necessary for the story though, lmk your thoughts <3

<- previous part | next part -> | series masterlist | read it on ao3

Three Weeks Later

You woke to complete darkness, warmth radiating in from all around you.  The sheets beneath your arms were cotton, thin, and the blanket above was frayed at the edge, the loose stitching brushing against your neck as you yawned and shook, not remembering where you were but somehow aware enough to know not to make any huge movements.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the remnants of dried tears; they felt like little diamond crystals, stabbing, so you pulled your hands away, groaning.  Soon, a body next to you shifted, and then an alarm blared and all three of you whined in frustration, no one even close to ready for the morning ahead.

You’d woken in Tina and Maya’s bed, just like that morning two weeks ago, tears still staining your cheeks, anxiety still lancing through you at the thought of simply being awake.  That morning had been horrible; attending a rehearsal after such an emotionally draining two days at your parents and that nasty fight with San had been an absolute nightmare, but even worse, you just couldn’t seem to get San’s words out of your head in the weeks since.  They were becoming almost a self-destructing mantra:  You’ve given me nothing.  You’re fucking cruel, you know that?

It took days for you to realize that he’d never actually said he was completely done; but you didn’t need him to say it to know it was true; there had been no call from him asking you to talk it over, begging you to come and see him and make up.  He was avoiding you, just like you’d avoided him for so long; it felt sick to be on the other side now, unable to reach over the chasm that stood wide between you.

You hadn’t even tried to reach, hadn’t sent a text or called; Tina and Maya backed you up, saying it wasn’t fair of him to so personally attack you after such a trying two days.  Tina knew the way being around your family completely destabilized you, and Maya felt perturbed by the way he’d blamed you entirely for his own unhappiness in the relationship, clearly never having communicated to you what he really wanted.

They both agreed: if he was after marrying someone, he shouldn’t have ever seriously dated you.  Still young, somewhat chaotic in the way you lived, you were so very far off from having a life that could involve that sort of stability and normalcy.  And, they both reminded you, he had slept with you the first night you’d met.  Their pontification led to one conclusion; in their minds he was in denial about what he actually wanted, probably stuck on some expectation set forth by his parents.  He’d obviously liked having a casual, passionate, downright sex crazed relationship with you.  Why else would he have stayed for so long?

But their words didn’t help that horrible feeling of brokenness go away.  Your chest ached every day, missing his touch, missing when his words were sweet and gentle or when he teased and prodded.  You missed watching musicals with him; after so long together, you were struggling to still find ones you hadn’t seen, which had led to watching older and older movies, or really obscure ones, often fascinating and hilarious in their absurdity.  There was no one else you could imagine watching such things with; even Tina wasn’t that into musicals, despite having written one with you.  Besides, you’d never really want to start that tradition over with someone new.  It was yours and his, something shared between you in the privacy of his apartment, and you longed to keep the memory of it there, in that beautiful, hazy place that would always remain soft on it’s edges in your memory, no matter what had transpired.

San, in your mind, had become sharp and hard; the look on his face while he stood above you and spit venom, that wouldn’t leave.  You were mad, you hated him, how dare he fucking speak to me like that; but you wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms at every turn, to let him whisper naughty things in your ear while his fingers worked you open, those precious moments that always alleviated the growing fear and anxiety that you felt about life.

It was so hard after a stressful day of work, or a challenging and overwhelming day of rehearsals at the theater, to go home to your empty room.  Your own hands, your vibrator, that gorgeous, sleek, fancy black one he’d gifted you, it could only do so much.  Slowly you were realizing, it wasn’t just the physical feeling of him, it wasn’t just that he split you open and knew exactly how to make you come undone; it was the smell of his sweat soaked skin, the low chuckle as he watched you overwhelmed by your pleasure, the kisses on your cheeks and forehead and nose.  From day one he had broken you open, he had snaked his way far into your heart with so little effort, because he was perfect, and kind, and just the kind of person you’d always dreamed would come along and love you.

It brought immediate tears to your eyes every time you thought of it; you spent many nights curled up in your friend’s bed, and they graciously cared for you like a child of their own, bringing you food and tea and giving you massages, not forcing you to talk out your feelings, which you clearly wanted to hide.  It started to feel pathetic, like you really were a child and incapable of taking care of yourself; you vowed today you would finally go home, sleep in your own bed, and deal with the fallout of your own stupid decisions once and for all.

“I can’t do this today,” Tina whined from the floor, refusing to stand as you and Maya hurriedly threw on clothes and tried to wake yourselves.

“Babe, come on,” Maya sighed, throwing some jeans Tina’s direction, and Tina didn’t react at all, just rubbing at her eyes and groaning into herself.

“We can’t be late, not after yesterday’s rehearsal,” you added, body on complete auto pilot as you ignored the pounding pain in your head and the ever present ache in your chest.

“I know, I know,” Tina grumbled, brushing her hair out of her face and stretching.

“It was one hiccup, you guys are doing great otherwise, don’t let it worry you,” Maya said beside you, grabbing onto your upper arm reassuringly, to get your attention.

“I know, I’ll be fine, I promise,” you said, seeing the worry in her eyes.  She really was being too sweet, you thought, letting you sleep here in between her and her girlfriend, not having a moment to herself at home in weeks.  You couldn’t keep doing this; it was embarrassing how reliant on others you were for relief from your psychic pain, and the fact that you were made you think hard about your family and all the potential diagnoses that surely awaited your future.

You were an artist, after all.  Mental illness ran the gamut of your kind.

In low spirits, you and Tina set off for the train station, managing to stop at a coffee shop along the way and get some much needed caffeine for Tina’s aching head.  There was nothing you could do about yours, no caffeine or other drugs that could take care of it; you really had become a terrible sleeper, and every bit of stress that was piling up was not helping.  You needed rehearsal today to go well, just to keep you sane; with your personal life falling to shambles, you needed some sort of anchor to cling to, any sign that you were headed in the right direction, and not a complete idiot.

“Ah girls, glad you’re here a bit early,” the manager of the theater, Mike, said as you walked into the large rehearsal room in the back.  It was strangely empty, no chairs set out save for Mike’s at his desk in the corner, as he typed away furiously at the laptop in front of him.  He always referred to you that way, girls, a remnant of his old-fashioned ways, which mostly didn’t bother you except when he was condescending.  Friend of the owner, the two had gone to school together and formed this partnership.  He’d already struck you as a bit incompetent, but it hadn’t mattered up to this point, you’d barely needed to speak to him.

“Rehearsals have been postponed for a little while, sorry I couldn’t get ahold of you this morning already, things have just been crazy around here,” he continued, looking around the empty room as if it were bustling with activity.  “Mark’s feeling a bit unsure about the project, and he had another offer too, so he’s in meetings about it now.  We’ll let you know once he’s made his decision.”

You and Tina stood frozen, shocked, eyebrows turned down in a look of disgust. 

“So when have they been postponed until?  Is there a set date?  When do we next need to come?”  Your arms were crossed as you spit out the questions in quick succession, utterly taken aback by what he’d just said, and completely confused by it, too.

“There’s no set date yet girls, I apologize, but like I said we will let you know once Mark’s made his decision and all.”

“So- so we- there’s nothing else for us to do?  What about Jose?” you asked, beginning to stumble over your words because of your shock.

“Mr. Garcia will be reassigned to a new project if that’s what Mark feels is best,” Mike said, giving you a stern look and drawing out the first two words of his sentence, as if you’d so disrespected your director by using his first name.

“Okay, we’ll leave then, thanks,” Tina said beside you, smiling sarcastically in the man’s direction before grabbing your arm and stalking out of the room, dragging you with her.

“That guy is such a dick, what the fuck,” Tina spat once you’d exited the building, walking towards the train station now with all the energy she’d lacked before coming.

“Wait, shouldn’t we stay and see if Jose is coming or- or- I’m so fucking confused, we didn’t hear anything about this and-“

“Babe, it’s pretty clear to me that Mark Smith is an asshole who has been using us as a place holder this whole time.  Sounds like another shinier project is upon him and he has no problem chucking us to the side for it,” she sighed, slowing down as you stopped moving entirely.

“I just- I don’t know what to do.”  You stood shaking, the spring sunshine making the air hot and dry, your pants and button up feeling uncomfortably binding.

“Let’s go home and reconvene there, we can email Millie and ask her if she knows anything, maybe get some more sleep today-“

“No, I’ve spent way too much time at y’all’s place these past two weeks, let me go home and I’ll email Millie, and I’ll let you know what she says.  You don’t need to worry about it,” you said, finally moving again and linking your arm with hers.

“We don’t mind you being there with us, we like it,” she said, resting her head on top of yours for a moment.

“I know but I need to take care of myself and actually get my shit together,” you chuckled, a small line of tears forming in your eyes.  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a downer.”

“That conversation with San sounded downright traumatizing, honestly,” she said, and hearing his name made your entire body jolt, his face appearing to you in all it’s vivid beauty.

“It was,” you sighed, taking a deep breath and blinking your eyes to push back the tears threatening to fall.  The two words tasted rancid as they swept across your tongue; your body knew how ridiculous they were, and how much everything he’d said was true.  The train ride back home was short, and once you’d made it up to the sidewalk you’d hugged and parted ways, finally heading to the place you’d dreaded being, the place you’d been avoiding for weeks.

Your room, quiet and frozen, greeted you.  You’d barely moved a thing in here, the same pile of laundry in the corner, your comforter crumpled halfway onto the floor, bits of makeup strewn about your desk that you didn’t even remember playing with.  You started writing out an email to your literary agent as soon as you’d shut the door, but words wouldn’t come to you, and you realized you just needed to know if she had known anything about this, and hadn’t warned you ahead of time.  You called her, she’d always said you could in an emergency, but you got no answer.  Setting your phone on your desk you looked around, knowing you should clean up, shower, finally start the journey towards getting your life back on track.

But you couldn’t find the motivation in you anywhere.  Every part of you longed to rest, to collapse, to do nothing after you’d been running for so long.  You started gathering your laundry but even a pair of pants felt hard to lift; the idea of braving the sometimes chaotic laundry room on the first floor of your building sounded absolutely rancid, and after making your bed you justified to yourself that you’d at least done something good for the day.  You changed into pajama shorts and a tiny tank top, the apartment getting hot enough that you wished for relief from it, but the swamp coolers hadn’t been turned on yet and would’t be for another week or two.

You pulled out your laptop, clicking on the document you’d started a month ago, another random idea for a play that had come to you.  If your current musical was going to fall through then you might as well put energy into the next project, possibly the one that could be the big break, the brilliant debut, the kickstarter of your career.

The document was duller than you remembered, just two pages of dialogue between undeveloped characters, and the feeling that you weren’t any good at this at all washed over you.  You slapped your laptop shut, almost throwing it to the floor; you stopped yourself, took a breath, and pulled it open again, searching for the downloaded file of Rocky Horror.

This was why art was made, to comfort in times of need; this was your major time of need, escape necessary, so you sat back and watched the whole thing, snacking absentmindedly on an old bag of popcorn you’d found in the pantry, sipping at your water and swaying side to side, all the songs a familiar friend getting you through another few minutes.

After Rocky Horror it was onto Chicago, then Cabaret, and before you knew it most of the day had passed you by, your stomach rumbling in anger as you finally closed your laptop and sighed, your brain feeling fried beyond the point of recovery.

It had been a long time since you’d spent so many hours just rotting, it wasn’t in your nature; you liked to create, and consuming and creating could never coexist, they needed to be separated and each held with care, especially creating.  But sometimes you didn’t have it in you anymore; not when the world was giving you signs that you’d never succeed and that maybe all this talent would really take you no where.

“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome,” you sung quietly to yourself as you hastily threw together a sandwich for dinner, a bag of frozen vegetables steaming in the microwave.

“Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret,” your roommate Steph finished, brushing past you to grab something out of the pantry.  “Did you watch that today?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“Such a good musical,” she said, sliding her back pack around to her front to throw a granola bar inside. 

“You heading to work?” you asked.

“Yeah, they’ve got me closing this whole week,” she said, zipping up the bag again.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” you said, opening the microwave as it beeped.

“It’s all good, my manager said I should be getting a raise at the end of the month.  And what’s a little sleep depravation, eh?” she chuckled, walking towards the front of the door in her always nonchalant manner.

“I hope it’s chill tonight,” you called after her, and she shouted her thanks back as she opened then shut the door, locking it.

“You wanna watch with us tonight?  We’re finally starting Crash Landing on You,” your other two roommates asked from the couch, fumbling with their own dinners as they pulled up the Netflix account you all shared.

“Oh, uh- yeah, just give me a sec,” you answered, putting away all the ingredients you’d pulled out and dumping the bag of veggies on your plate beside your sandwich.  The moisture made one side of the bread soggy, but you didn’t care; more TV and distraction sounded just like the thing you needed, and you were actually getting some food in you, which was pretty remarkable.

But only a minute after sitting down your phone in your pocket rang, making you jump; you rarely turned on your ringer, but you had earlier after calling Millie, in case she called back right away.  Now she had, finally, and when you looked at her contact name flashing on your screen you sighed deeply.

“Fuck, sorry, I really need to take this, it’s work stuff,” you told your roommates, grabbing your plate of food and slinking into your room to answer.

“Hey, did you get my message?” you asked immediately, not waiting for formalities, too anxious to get right to it.

“Yes, and I’m so sorry, I didn’t have reception all day because the wind here has been crazy and it’s messing with the lines- anyway, what all were you told this morning?”  Her voice was higher pitched than you’d expected, a slight drawl to it, and she sounded so kind and motherly coming through the phone that you wanted to cry.

“Just that our rehearsals are postponed indefinitely, that the owner is reconsidering if he wants to put it on,” you sighed.

“Okay well whoever told you that was just trying to save face, Mark Smith is actually under investigation right now for both fraud and sexual harassment charges, so his assets are frozen and the whole theater is about to be under surveillance, basically everything is coming to a screeching halt.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe.  It was not something you’d expected at all; a theater owner committing fraud?  Especially one with such a huge, successful, profitable business?

“There’s no way anything is being put on this year at the Willow, I’m anticipating he’s going to step down very soon and new ownership will step in, obviously the theater itself is such an institution and there’s no way it will disappear, but I have no idea what the future holds in terms of your project.  If it does get put on, I’m sure it won’t be until next year,” she said, her disappointment obvious.

“Oh.”  The word left your lips, followed by a deep sigh, and then a sense of utter emptiness.

“I’m so sorry, this is such bullshit, you two made an incredible story that I know people out there want to see and this greedy, predatory man has taken that chance from you,” she said, worked up and fretting.  “Y’all don’t deserve this, you have written something incredible, I’m just so sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”

“It’s okay, thanks for calling me back,” you said, voice distant and flat.

“Please know this isn’t the end, we can send your musical off to other theaters too and I have no doubt someone else will want it.  They might even be scrambling to pick up these shows that are being ditched by the Willow, there might be tons of competition for it.  I have no doubt something will come of it, I’m just so sorry again.”

“I- I don’t really know what to say.  Just, thank you, thanks for always having been so supportive of me,” you said, eyes snaking over to the uneaten plate of food sitting now on your desk.

“Of course, I really believe in you, you know- Oh, god I need to go, sorry, my nephew is crying and calling for me,” she said.

“No worries, have a good night,” you replied.

“You too, talk to you soon,” she signed off with equal parts professionalism and genuine care, hanging up the call herself.  You sat down on the floor, tossed your phone beside you and held your knees, before a huge ripple of regret and angst and sadness came washing through you, like a giant wave threatening to drown you until your very last breath.

Everything was falling apart; your family, San, now the musical, and there was nothing in the world that could convince you of the potential for an okay future.  It was one moment in your life, you were a version of yourself you’d never be again, a girl with huge dreams and a shattered heart, a library’s worth of stories taking up the space in your mind and threatening to drive you mad if you couldn’t somehow tell them all.  But even if rationally you knew this would be a vocation of life, that it would take time for you to build up your craft and really start making something of it, the failure of your play felt like the universe’s sign that this all was a vain attempt to make something of yourself when you really should just lie down and let life run it’s normal course.

It wasn’t even that the play had been bad; it was a stupid, circumstantial reason that blocked you, so you couldn’t even get back to work on the musical, tweak and perfect it, as a way of guaranteeing it’s success.  You had done all you could, worked tirelessly and started ruining your health in the process, but this was just life, you realized, the hard, uncomfortable truth; there was no knowing what the future held, and no guarantee of any positive outcome.

You couldn’t accept it.  You’d been told if you just worked hard enough, success would come; you’d slaved over schoolwork as a kid, even if math and science hadn’t come easily to you, because you were ambitious and determined to make something of yourself, knowing that learning to work hard would be an invaluable skill as an adult.  You’d certainly absorbed the endless sense of needing to be productive; you were disciplined with your writing, having studied the craft and worked yourself to the bone, writing songs, stories, making short films and music videos with your friends during your one year in college.  It was far too expensive, though, to keep going; you dropped out with a promise to your parent’s of your new four-year plan: you’d either become a published novelist, or a published playwright. Now here you were, four years later, never having finished a book, and still yet to see any play you’d written actually being performed anywhere.

Being so low was derailing your ability to be rational; you shook, thinking of the one person who could make everything better, who could help you forget the disappointment and get back to working.  One night with him had always been enough to flip a switch in you; it was a shot in the dark, but you opened your phone and clicked on his contact, calling him.

“Hey.”  His voice was low, quiet, and immediately your tears came again, as you laid on the floor and cradled the phone to your ear.

“Sannie,” you whispered, all you could manage to get out.  It was obvious you were crying; why else, in the end, would you be calling him?  San shook in his own panic, having worried endlessly over the last two weeks about the state you were in.  He couldn’t help it, no matter how angry he was, no matter what lines had been crossed that had solidified his decision once and for all; you were his baby, his girl, and if you were hurting he would move mountains to make the pain go away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sighing.

“The m-musical, it’s- it’s not happening,” you sobbed, voice breaking on nearly every word.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” he replied, voice tight with emotion.

“Please- please come here, I need you, I miss you-“ you cut yourself off with a wail, covering your face with your free hand.

“I miss you too,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes too.  “But- but I can’t-“

“Please, Sannie, please, I need you,” you choked out, and all he could do was sigh heavily through the phone, the sounds of your tears affecting him in so many ways that he wished he could stop.

“You-“ he sighed again, pounding a fist against his bedroom door in front of him, and you heard it through the phone, the physical manifestation of all he anger you were causing.  “Just- stop crying, I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended abruptly, but you couldn’t move the phone from your ear, couldn’t do anything.  You laid still, a statue, staring blankly at the wall beneath your desk as tears continued streaming, a sense of foreboding taking ahold of your guts.  Time lost all meaning; you ceased to remember that you even existed, ceased to remember you were alive, until the knock came at your front door and your roommates jokingly argued about who had to answer it, thinking it was a random neighbor about to complain about some minor inconvenience, or ask if they could borrow a key to the laundry room.

You jetted from the room before either could meet him, waving them off as you padded your way to the door.  You let him in without a word, grabbing his arm and leading him to your bedroom to looks of bewilderment from the two people on the couch.  They’d never met him, only heard about him in passing; neither of them knew about the fight, about the musical, about anything, really.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shh, don’t talk,” he cut you off, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug, low around your waist.  He was overcome with a feverish need to hold your body as close to his as he could; he leaned down into you, your beating hearts pressed together in agony.   “Come here,” he said, tapping at your thigh to tell you to jump, and you did, right up into his arms with your legs cradled around his hips, shoving your face in his neck.

You stayed there, clinging to him as he rocked back and forth, for a long time.  There was an immediate feeling of relief, so sparkly and intoxicating that you felt light-headed, but the shakiness in his arms and breaths was disconcerting.  You already began to feel stupid for calling; just the littlest bit of distance from your anxiety had given you that clarity, but he was here now, and he was holding you as tightly as his muscled arms could, and there was nothing else to do but be.

You had created this moment; the tears falling from your eyes were yours, the tension wracking through him, too, the shaky, nervous energy that filled the room.  You both wanted to run from it, wanted it to leave; you buried your head further into his neck, your soft breath fanning over the tears there and sending a wave of shivering pleasure through him.  Your close to barren body in his hands again was making his cock twitch; he truly could not control himself in these situations, and had been stupid to think otherwise.  The room was stuffy with the late spring heat but made worse by your sweating, panting bodies, and soon he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you one more time, had to let himself take one last thing from you.

He walked forward, and set you both slowly down on your bed; his lips met yours quickly, the kiss deep and aggressive, his hips grinding into you already.  There would be no staying grounded now, not when the wet warmth of your tongue was in his mouth again, when your hands were snaking under his shirt and grasping at the taught muscles of his abdomen.  This was all muscle memory, by now; so easy to fall into, this familiar pattern of grasping and groaning that felt so perfectly right, so intensely satiating that he couldn’t believe this would be the last time.  He’d take, get all he wanted, all he needed to hold him over through the painful mourning period; there was little more thought of you, just of himself, his needs.

And your brain wasn’t faring any better; the whiplash of such devastation followed by intense elation was overwhelming, leaving you in an almost transient state of desperate need and confusion.  You could have seen this coming, you should have; you two couldn’t get together and just talk, just cry, just hold each other.  It always came to this; this was what you did, tear at each other in absolute joy, intoxicated by the extremity of the feelings and too distracted to recognize all the ways it could blow up in your face.

His mouth hot on yours, he reached down between your legs suddenly; you were hardly wet, almost like your body didn’t know to prepare you, didn’t have the energy.  He ripped your shorts off and shoved his face between your legs, licking a slow stripe up your slit and sucking hard on your clit, before pulling back and spitting on you, roughly rutting two fingers inside and making you yelp.  Your eyes were closed; you couldn’t bare to watch him, something within you saying to check out, to go elsewhere, to think of that first time he went down on you and you passed out so effortlessly, waking more rested than you’d ever expect after a crazed night.

Satisfied you could take him, he pulled his own shorts off frantically and lined himself up, plunging inside of you with little care, hooking your legs over his shoulders, making your cunt even tighter against him.  It was almost painful for you, but pleasing all the same; you began to moan, to babble random words and bring your hands to your face, holding your forehead like a fainting Disney princess.  The dramatics almost started to piss him off; he drilled harder, face going red with lust and anger, your bed frame knocking against the wall with every thrust.

“Sannie, sannie,” you whined, because it was too much and you wanted this to be slower, to be comforting, to be something different altogether.  You had checked out to a faraway mental place, one that you fell into easily with him, but he seemed either oblivious or unbothered by it, not checking in with you, not slowing or observing or in any other way showing that he cared.

“Baby, be quiet,” he grumbled, keeping his voice low, not thinking of your roommates in the next room, but of how tired he was of yelling, how much he wished to never do it again.

“But- you’re-“

“Stop,” he spat, bringing an arm around your leg and placing his hand over your mouth, forcing you to breath out your nose.  Your hands grabbed for his wrist but he was so much stronger than you, and really you didn’t want to have to push him away, really you wanted this closeness and intimacy, as harsh as it was.  At least it was something, at least he had come and had given you this distraction, no matter how overwhelmed you were, or how wrong this whole scene was.

You should have hated this feeling, barely being able to breath, but instead it finally unlocked the final door of the distant hall you were in, and suddenly you fell so deep in your mind that you didn’t care anymore, that you just writhed beneath him and let the weight and thickness of his cock envelop your mind, feeling like you were only a hole to be filled, to be used.

That drop finally let your body give into him, and suddenly his thrusts were even deeper, and you cunt wetter, and every bit of fight or sound that had pissed him off was gone.  You were letting him do as he pleased, completely and totally; it had never been this severe, never had you gone so far from him while being so close.  A part of his brain protested, but his cock couldn’t have loved it more; you were squeezing down on him, legs shaking as you came for what seemed like minutes, before he pulled out and flipped you over, shoving your face into the rough plane of your comforter.

He slammed into you with reckless abandon.  This was all he needed, to be happy forever; cock buried so deep he could swear you’d be internally bruised, your soft whimpers of pure pleasure, brain so gone that there was no way on earth you were faking the sounds.  He held your ass up high, and you left it there for him, not caring how your neck ached, not thinking of how badly it hurt when he grabbed your hair and yanked your head up.  He liked seeing your body bob back and forth with every harsh thrust; liked the strain of droll dropping from your mouth, your flushed cheeks and messy hair, your stuttering breaths.  He was sure he’d never fucked anyone this hard, there was something close to dark about it; you both were there, some dark and scary place, but you loved it, felt at home, felt complete in knowing it existed.  To visit together, spurred on by each other, felt otherworldly; so completely perfect, two people ruining each other, never ceasing, never giving up, only pushing and pushing until everything between you snapped.

He came, hard, shocked by the pleasure he was feeling; he couldn’t even tell if you’d come again, or if you had been the entire time, you cunt so tight and shaky and your breathy whines still coming out the same.  He didn’t pull out, but slumped on top of you; again you were suffocated, pressed into the bed by his much larger body, the heat and sweat so heavy that you very nearly passed out.  Your breathing slowed noticeably, as he clung to you and held you there, your chest hardly moving at all.  He pulled out and sat up with a sudden pang of fear, flipping you over and touching your face, leaning his ear down to your slack mouth to listen for any sign of breath.

It was there, but it was weak.  “Baby,” he whispered, tapping at your cheek, his face inches from yours as he held your slack body.  The post orgasm drop in endorphins was hitting him, and suddenly he saw so much more clearly how truly exhausted you looked, how your eyes were baggy and your skin pale, how you looked thinner than he remembered you to be, especially when you’d first met.  “Baby, wake up,” he whispered again, more urgent, tears asking to come.  You blinked and moaned something hard to make out, but at least the sense of air flushing through your lungs had him breathing slow in relief.

“What?” 

“I’m fine,” you answered finally, taking a deep breath and then coughing, nearly chocking on it.

“You look exhausted.”  His voice was low and gruff, as he wiped at tears and snot that were drying on your face.

“So what,” you replied.

“No, no.”  He emphasized the last word, his body going rigid as he held you.  You felt a palpable shift of energy in the room, and as your mind was coming back to you now, you thought it a good idea to move away from him.  Carefully you sat yourself up, scooting off his lap and back on your bed until you hit the wall, pulling your knees up to your face.  His cum was dripping out of you, and was getting all over your thick comforter that you hated to clean, but you couldn’t care.  All that seemed to matter was looking at him with pathetic eyes and trying to get through the next five seconds.

“I’m- fucking hell, I can’t believe that happened.”  He was shaking with anger, his eyebrows so low you wanted to laugh.

“Go rage out somewhere else,” you whispered, wiping hair and tears from your face.

“I can’t believe you-“

“I can’t believe you, putting a fucking hand over my mouth so I couldn’t breathe-“

“You wouldn’t shut the fuck up!”  As hard as he’d tried to stop it, the anger had boiled up inside him, only a few snide remarks from you enough kindling to last him a lifetime.

“You’re such a fucking man, why do you always have to yell-“  You slumped down onto your side, shaking as you clung to yourself, curled up in a ball.

“You’re the asshole here, just fucking stop it,” he snapped, shushing himself a little.  He was pissed by what you said, pissed every time you called him a man and made it sound like a dirty, undesirable thing.  But he couldn’t deny that he did have this temper that sometimes got the best of him, and sometimes he’d yell, or hit things, when he really wished he didn’t.  He just never could understand how his parents always seemed to avoid it; to him they were too emotionless, forcing themselves to be like robots, to always react perfectly, to never take a single step the wrong way.  He couldn’t be like that, it didn’t seem like really living; but he also didn’t want to be someone who unnecessarily argued, who didn’t say how they truly felt, who didn’t communicate at least somewhat affectively. 

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for yelling,” he said, reaching over to you again and running a hand over your hair.  “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here, you just called me and you were crying and I just can’t say no to you, not when you’re like that, not ever, really-“ He sucked in a quick breath, letting it out slowly.  “I’m really sorry I let myself be so out of control just now, I shouldn’t have done that, I said I was done, and I meant it, and I shouldn’t go back on that decision if I’m really sure.”

Tears were falling, you barely realized until the comforter beneath your head was getting wet.

“I love you, and I want everything to work out for you, and it hurts me to know that the musical got canceled, or whatever it was, I’m so fucking sorry, if there was some way I could change that you know I would in a heartbeat, I’d do fucking anything for you.”  His breathing was finally evening out, the adrenaline that was wracking through him earlier starting to wear off.  This was the emotion that was good, not the anger; finally being honest, even if it felt like being cut open by a knife.  If the words felt like that leaving his body, he couldn’t imagine what they felt like entering yours.  But he couldn’t care about that anymore.  He needed to just say it.  “I love you so much, but I have to let you go.” It took several moments to realize the words had been said in Spanish.

You sobbed into your hands, nodding the only way you could respond or communicate anything.  You’d known he didn’t want to see you anymore, it was already clear, but him laying it out so frankly was devastating, your already cracked heart feeling like it was being stepped on, and beaten, and throw aside.  What you were left with was a hollowness, an empty barren wasteland of nothing that made your mind finally relax, followed by your body, the energy in the room following suit.

You both sat in silence as the waves of changing emotion hit you; San’s hand was in your hair, then rubbing your back, and neither of you even noticed the half naked forms of the other; the sex was gone, was not thought of, only the intenseness of the emotion filled your minds.  You did love him, you loved him with ever fiber of your being and could still not fully accept it; he was too perfect, that’s how you’d felt early on, and you felt it now too, not thinking of his face or his body or his bank account, not thinking of the apartment or trips or dinners, but of the heart of gold that sat there in his chest, one so wholly caring and compassionate, so utterly and perfectly human.

You’d never meet someone like this again.  There would never be another San, never be someone who swept you off your feet so effortlessly, who understood you so well.  This was the end of the world; you might as well die and start again, let your soul carry on into the universe and experience another brilliant flash of a life.  It had been a short ride, but one punctuated by the kind of experience you knew everyone wished for; lustful and loving, enthralling and unnerving, completely intoxicating in all it’s insane glory.  No one told you just how hard the come down was, but you should have known; one can only fly so high for so long, before the tides of life try to balance themselves.  You’d gotten all the love you deserved, all that you’d get for life.  There was nothing more to do, but lay down and let the pain and sorrow wash you free of every horrible decision you’d made along the way.

“You’re going to be okay,” San said, pulling your slack body up to a sitting position, facing him.  He grabbed your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him.  “You don’t get to just roll over and give up, you have too much talent for that.  You are going to make it.  You’re only twenty-three.  Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself.”

You nodded, eyes stuck on his as you took in every word.  They were echoing around in the hollowness of your body, but you tried with all your might to look genuine and fine.  Though you couldn’t hide it, your angst wasn’t holding him to the spot anymore.  The sex had left a sour taste in his mouth, so had the arguing, and by now his body wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room and go run to his gym, to go sprint on the treadmill until his legs gave out beneath him.

“Take care,” he said, hugging you, placing one last kiss on your cheek, before getting up.  He quickly pulled his shorts on, then walked out of the room in a flash; his absence couldn’t be a shock to your system when your mind and chest had gone completely silent, so you just slumped down on your bed again, and stared at the wall, and thought of nothing.

“I just can’t get out of bed Titi, I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

You sighed shallowly, pulling the phone away from your ear and trying to ignore the pressure in your bladder.

“I know the cancellation was frustrating, but you’ve been through stuff like this before, and you’ve always managed to keep going and be okay.  I’ve never seen you so disappointed that you couldn’t work.”  She was outside, taking a break just to call you, forcing herself out into the stuffy, miserable summer air.  The sun had barely set; it was almost nine, and you’d called out late, forgetting what time it was and delusional believing you would magically feel up and ready to go, any minute. 

“But.  The breakup.”  Your voice was flat, and you couldn’t be bothered even with full sentences.  You sat curled in the same spot as last night, having not moved an inch.

“I thought you were feeling better about it though, said you were ready to be home and all.  Did something else happen?”

“He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Yes, and?”  She already knew that, it was clear from the conversation you’d sobbed to her about.

“He was here last night.”

“What? Why?”

“I called him.”

She groaned your name through the phone, sighing.

“Just say it, Ti.”

“What did you think was gonna come of that?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, ashamed.

“The first night you’re not with me and Maya, and that’s what you do.”

“God, you make me sound like a fucking child.”

“Well you’re acting like one.”

The words slipped out easily, and almost caused a sense of feeling to invade your mind and body.  You felt the light twinges of what could have been anger, but it didn’t manifest fully, leaving you in seconds.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, I think I’m crazy,” you sighed.

“You’re not crazy, you’re just upset and overwhelmed and traumatized.”

“It was just a breakup,” you chuckled.

“And you’re obviously traumatized by it.  You need to recover.  You need to take care of yourself.  You need to take time to process it and reflect on what was so devastating about it all.”

“I know that already, it’s cause no one is every gonna love me again.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“What if it is?  It’s always a possibility.”

Tina sighed deeply, pulling her phone away from her ear to check the time with a sigh.

“I have to go back in, and this conversation is going nowhere.  Go eat some damn food and let yourself rest, and just stop- we’ve been running ourselves into the ground with the musical, we need to take a step back and stop overworking ourselves.”  She let out a huge sigh, finally voicing the words that had been on the tip of her tongue for weeks.  She, like you, had ignored any feelings of exhaustion in the shadow of all the excitement and accomplishment, but as soon as that manager had dismissed you so disrespectfully, it had all clicked in place in her mind.  You were driving yourself into absolute burnout, and she was right there too, but she knew better, she knew what it took to take care of her mind.  Everyone joked about how last minute she sometimes run, how she tended to show up slightly late to everything; sure, it could be seen as rude or thoughtless, but really it was because she was always making sure she had her mind right, that she checked in with herself, that she didn’t adhere to other people’s schedules if they were going to drive her mad.

She’d gotten out of the habit, working on this project with you.  No doubt she was proud of the work, but she was exhausted, and over it, if she was honest.

She, you, no one ever liked the summer here.  It was miserably hot, and miserably dry, and spending any time outside was an absolute nightmare.  Tina ducked back in to the air-conditioned hallway of the bar with a sigh of relief.  And you stayed in, not just that night but for many to come, the need to avoid the heat driving your depression deeper, adding to it; it felt like months went by and you only saw the bar or your room, and you suddenly became a terrible texter, and someone who emails her agent back a week later, who forgets her mother’s birthday, who forgets to eat or drink or sometimes even sleep.

A whole new play sprung out of you.  You hardly remembered writing it; it was always in fits of rage, when you brain was trying to break free of the numbness, trying to desperately process and understand everything that had happened over a nearly fifteen month period.  You reduced hours at work, only usually there three days a week; Saturdays had gotten pretty crazy, the bar’s success and popularity reaching higher highs than you ever could have predicted.  You didn’t think to worry about dipping into savings; you were in survival mode, not caring what came next, not caring who you were or what was good or bad.  There was relief in not caring, if you were honest; sitting in the shower for hours and letting the warm water hit you, dissociating so much that you lost entire days without knowing how, it was all an escape.

It took a long time to think of possibly changing.  You, after all, had built space between yourself and others, and your friends respected your space, your family was far away, and the almost rigid way you’d gone back to just focusing on work didn’t concern anyone.  Tina could see it in your eyes, every single day she wished to call out and relight the sparkle that had once lived within you.  But she knew you’d been there for her in a similar state, years over, never judging her, so she didn’t judge you either, just watched with concern, with care, and with a respectful distance. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you said to her one day, sat in the dressing room and lathering on white face paint for the newest group number.

“What do you mean, the paint looks great,” she said, trying not to make any expression that might crease her’s as it dried.

“No- my depression.  I don’t know what to do.  I think I’m stuck like this.”

“You aren’t stuck,” she said, reaching out a hand and grabbing yours, squeezing it slightly.  Tears rolled down your face suddenly, tears that turned to sobs even as you tried to contain them.  The paint was ruined, would have to be removed and redone; Tina’s was smudged too as she held you, and cried too, and let the need to help you finally rush through her.

“I know what you need,” she said.

next part ->

taglist: @pyeongstarr @hwaromi @hi00000234567 @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starhwa1024

@completelyjae @midnightrebel1028 @pautiny27 @snapcracklen

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

something i find fascinating about the concept of the time war is just how pervasive and inevitable it is. of course you see this in stories that came out after its establishment as a plot, where we see that the time lords knew for a long time that something bad was coming, or in paradox of the daleks where the concept of the time war somehow slips in despite no one there having any reason to know about it

but even looking back on media made pre time war, it's still kind of there. there are the hints scattered around classic who about the time lords having once been a war like species (state of decay is an especially good case of this), you have stories like gensis of the daleks, which is retroactively considered to be the first move of the war, and just listening to the way the daleks talk about gallifrey in the apocalypse element really made me think of the time war

like even before the war was an established concept, there was this creeping notion that the time lords were war like, that gallifrey's destruction was inevitable from the beginning, both within the doctor who universe and outside of it

[twinklingwatermellon]

also I think it’s time for a little Elly Lore Update because I feel like I mention so many people on here and y’all need to understand who I’m taking about when you attend the virtual sleepovers 😌

[bmpmp3]

i do wish i was better at communicating with people online and through technology. i wander into conversations and make new ones all the time irl with random people and its fun but im like hyping myself to type out a single response to a Post. and to say nothing of how difficult it is to get me to say something in a discord server

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[pnsge]