#if anyone wants to make something based on this

[madamechrissy]

Endless Summer

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Summary- You are staying home from summer break before Senior year of college with your Gran, Josephine, when a huge surprise happens, after over a year of being unable to see Caleb, he comes back to stay. You're so happy, but there's just a couple problems - one, you want him in ways you shouldn't, and you're just starting to get over it with the distance. And two, Caleb is pretty fucking pissed that you have a date, isn't he enough for you!?

Warnings- eventual smut, idiots in love, light angst, taboo relationships, TW- stepcest, mutual pining, yandere Caleb, him being obsessed. This chap - light angst, resolved sexual tension (yay!) oral sex (f and m receiving) fingering, overstim, breed kink, creampie, lost of virginity, possessive Caleb, Yandere behavior- WC 8.2k

Comments/Reblogs appreciated if you enjoyy

<<<Part Three - Part five (final) (coming soon)

Part four

Caleb stands by your door moments later that night, gently rapping on it, to see you open the door in tears, streaking down your cheeks, the sight breaking him. Knowing he just caused this, caused your eyes to glimmer, your lips to tremble, the Caleb who never let anyone make his pip squeak cry, had made her cry instead, the guilt eating at him.

Torn between doing what’s right, and doing what is ‘right’-  what is it?! What’s the ‘right’ move, the safe move, the one that doesn’t hurt you? What does he do, be selfish and devour you, make you leave everything to live on a base alone, away from all your friends and gran? Change the entire trajectory of your life - or does he let you go and hurt you in that way too?

Losing the years and years of friendship, it’s already been tense because he crossed that line, he let his jealousy wreck his mind. Years of holding his composure, of being in total control, of smiling and patting your head like he truly just thought of you as ‘family’ or a ‘childhood friend’ and not what it’s always been.

Since he saw you he fell in love, there was never one moment of Caleb’s life that he didn’t feel that way. The love grew and changed to something obsessive, but the moment Gran brought you home he knew it even then, that he had to protect you, keep you safe. That he needed you, and the need just kept evolving, until it reached the most dangerous obsession.

How would he ever say he stole your fucking panties, that he’s jerked it to you since he knew what it was, that he never even got hard to anyone but you. And you’re begging to suck him, god to fuck him, and he turned you down. It makes not only no sense, he has hurt you, he saw it on your face, your glittery tears with the moonlight filtering in.

It’s what he never, ever wanted.

It’s why he held back - ruining your relationship.

Was it better to absolutely never know what it was like, kissing your lips, to taste your sweetness from its source? To have watched you cum for him is the stuff he’d never even been able to picture fully, and he was so close to having it all. So close to being inside you, with you, only to now have you crying.

“What?” Your voice is harsh and quiet, he swallows then, swiping a tear off your cheek gently.

“I’m sorry, fuck… please…” He leans down and rests his head on yours, you feel your heart shattering when he cups your face, whispering your name gently in the quiet night. “Pips…”

“No,” it hurts to deny him, when all you want is him. “I’m tired of putting myself out there.”

His eyes narrow. “What!?”

“I am, just to get rejected,” you sniffle again, barely holding your composure, body trembling now as his lips that just touched yours hover precariously.

“You think there’s a world I reject you in?” His desperate words are hushed, his violet eyes dark in the night.

“You just did, Caleb.”

“I didn’t want to, I just…”

“Well, you did,” you step back, catching a breath. “You never thought to just ask me if I’d come? Don’t you know I’d follow you anywhere?”

He opens his mouth to speak, before shutting it, swallowing nervously then, knowing he’s waited his entire life for this very moment, and he’s fucked it completely, he’s made you feel rejected when it’s the last thing he wants. He keeps trying to find the words, on the tip of his tongue, chest tightening with how much he needs you, how much he craves you - loves you.

Hopelessly in love since he saw you as a kid.

Say it, Caleb - just say it.

“I didn’t want to ask that of you, I didn’t want to take you away from everything you know and love.” You take a shaky breath, eyes locking with his.

“I can’t take feeling any more, doing any more, if you’re just going to leave me, forget me.”

“I’d never forget you,” he whispers, holding you so close, your hands grip his wrists then, biting that lip as you two stand there, shadows of your figures cast along the expanse of the highway. “I’ll never fucking forget you, how could I? But I don’t want to ruin everything over this.”

“How would being honest ruin anything?” He sighs now, violet eyes dark as they tenderly take in your face.

“It already has. Look at how we’ve been since I came back?”

“You don’t understand anything, Caleb. You think I’m sacrificing something being with you, when I always wanted you to be my first, that's why I waited.” He swallows down the guilt, the torture of your words then.

“And you think I don’t want it? To be your first?”

“You just told me no,” you step back and put your hand on the knob now, looking away from the face you love, the man you adore. “Just leave me alone please.”

He walks away without another word, but you see it - his own tears, as you shut the door and lean against it, an arm wrapping your own body, struggling not to break down completely. You’re a mess of tears, the sorrow building in your heart, the dread of having to say goodbye - and now you can’t even pretend things are fine the way they have been.

Now it’s all fucking out there.

Maybe he’s right, maybe this would ruin everything, but you’re just so tired of lying to yourself any longer. 

*****

“Why so quiet, you two?” Josephine asks, tiredly looking between you both as you sit at the breakfast table.

Caleb’s hands tense on his thighs, staring and not touching a bite of food, the veins pressing up under his skin, looking at you now. “I guess I’m a little sad that I’ll have to be so far away.”

“And I’m sad he’s leaving I suppose.” you murmur, she smiles sadly, nodding to each of your plates then. 

“You two still need to eat, you know.”

“I know, my appetite isn’t here.” You sigh, poking your fork around, you’re too close to Caleb, yet so fucking far from him, the distance agonizing. This morning you both hadn’t said a fucking word.

After you embarrassed yourself last night damn near begging for him, even after his apology you just felt stupid. You get it, why he is afraid to cross the line further, but how were you just supposed to be okay with it? He’s infuriating, just acting like shit is normal, even now he gives you a small smile, as if you can return it.

You don’t want to waste the last couple days with him like this, but you also can’t bring yourself to act like everything is just fine. That he didn’t shatter your heart turning you down, that he didn’t completely destroy you for anyone when he devoured you on his knees. Like you could ever move on now.

Maybe before you could move on, you could make it work, but now?

Your cell phone starts going off, and you sigh, looking at it now. “Ah, there’s a get-together tonight with my classmates.”

“Where at?” Caleb asks casually, you resist the urge to tell him - why bother asking - knowing at this point you’re being petty.

His rejection stings so badly, and not just because he rejected you, but his reasoning just made no sense.

“The club out by the college.”

“Ah, isn’t that a pretty rowdy place?”

“And?” You raise a brow, and his violet eyes narrow, as the sunlight filters in the large kitchen windows, brightening them.

“And, are you sure you wanna go?”

“Well it’s all my friends, so yes.”

“Maybe Caleb should come along?” You both look at Josephine then, who is sipping on her coffee. “You two want to spend more time together before he has to leave, right?”

“Right… but Caleb would find the scene pretty boring.” He raises a brow now, looking at you. “And I’m fine by myself.”

Those words stab him, he wonders if it’s your intention, to fucking hurt him by pointing out that you’re fine by yourself - that you don’t need him. Whether it was straightening your hair, driving, or just sleeping alone during the storms, you did not need him anymore. And he should be happy, since he’ll be gone for so fucking long, that you’re self sufficient.

But a part of him wants you to still need him.

A part of him wants to take you up on your offer, selfless as it is, and bring you with him, make you a pretty stay at home wife that he consistently keeps pregnant. It��s a fucked up thought track but all he can think, when he sees you the possessive instincts are far worse. It’s why he pushes you away, it’s why he tries so hard to keep his control, his composure that’s been shattered.

Now he can tell you want a rise out of him, but it works far, far too fucking well. “You’re right Gran, we should spend some time together while we can.”

“Is it really important, spending time with me before you go? Maybe you can play Bingo with Gran tonight.”

“Bingo?” He demands, his voice low, brows raised, you sip on your orange juice, smiling a bit.

“I think Caleb should go with you,” Gran’s words make you pause, looking over at her. “I don’t think he’d enjoy Bingo, all the ladies will terrorize him.”

“They wouldn’t leave me alone last time,” he grimaces, running a hand over his face, you laugh a bit at the memory, the first time he’s seen you truly laugh today, brightening your face so prettily. His heart stops as you clear your throat then, staring back at your plate. “Think I’ll cramp your style, chase off your little boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and I don’t know if he’ll be there.”

You’re clear about it - he’s not - but would he be, when Caleb left?

He has so much to say, so much he’s just dying to speak - how much he loves you, has always loved you. How deeply his feelings run, and how they’ll never fade, how they’ve just grown every moment in your presence, and every one in your absence. But to make it worse, the hurt, the possibility it doesn’t even work out, and you all lose everything.

“You can come if you want,” your voice is a little softer now, that sweet caress to his ears that fills him with even more longing. “I want you to go, it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah?” You nod, feeling how awful you’re being, and you can’t, you don’t have enough time to act this way.

If Caleb wants to be your friend, you will be his friend.

“Yes.” He brushes your hair back with a soft smile. It's familiar, it's a ruffle of your hair like you're still kids, that smile that always makes you ache.

Maybe going back to how you were would be the best thing, to forget the feelings eating you alive. The way everything stopped when he had finally kissed you, maybe you can forget it happened. It's clearly what Caleb wants. Later when you’re getting ready, and he walks by the bathroom he falters, eyeing your skirt and top, his lips parting as you pin an earring in.

“You’re wearing that?” He asks gruffly, you step out and do a little spin, showing off far, far too much skin and smiling.

“I am! Do you like it?”

He scoffs, stepping closer, your back pressing against the old wooden wall of the hallway, when a palm comes right on the other side of your head, his other letting his fingers trail across your shoulder. “Do I like it? Ya asking me that?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t, don’t want you trying to be nice-”

“You look slutty.” You gasp, smacking him then, and he exhales, gripping your chin and almost moaning.

“Fuck you for that.”

“See what happened? Can’t even get along, can we?”

“You know I’m not slutty, but maybe that’ll all change, hmm? Since the person I keep waiting for doesn’t want me - ah!”

“Don’t want you!?” He grabs your face then, his cheek still stinging, you bite back a whine when he leans low, his voice a whisper. “You know that’s the biggest fucking lie there is. I didn’t want to ruin it, everything we have - and what’s happening now, that we kissed?”

“You’re causing this,” you push him off then, tugging at your top, showing even more of your pretty tits as his jaw locks. “There, that’s better, right?”

“I swear to god-”

“Let’s go.”

The car ride was brutally quiet, his fingers kept hovering, itching to touch you over your bare knee, but you just looked out the window at the lights flashing by, fucking saying nothing. The tension and divide keeps growing with every breath, until you feel like you can’t breathe, it’s all him, all Caleb, and for him it’s all you. But the two of you make no move to speak, not even feigning casual conversation.

Caleb knows many of the people there, the two of you were only a couple of years apart in age and were always so glued together it was just par for the course that you spent time together. At times, Caleb’s friends would complain he always brought you everywhere, sometimes they would convince him enough and you’d stay home, but he’d miss you so badly it was hard to even have fun.

The nights spent waiting to see you again will be worse - further away - but also the looming thoughts of what he’d come back to. Quickly separated, he’s having a drink with a couple of the guys from his college days, and you’re downing a shot with one of your girls. That boy who’d marked your neck has the audacity to come up to you again, and Caleb’s hand clutches his glass tightly.

He almost can’t breathe, the lights suddenly flashing too quickly, there’s too many people, too much noise, his pulse races while he watches him tug you to the dance floor, something he wishes he could do. But how could he, in front of everyone, what would they say? Not about him, he couldn’t care less, but about you?

He can’t help but wallow in his own self made misery, picturing spinning you in his arms instead, it’s hard for him to hear what anyone is saying over the blaring music and his pulse racing in his ears. The thoughts keep flashing through his mind, over and over - his, his, his. Thoughts he has never been able to stop, the ones that are unbearable.

Caleb watches you over his glass now, he isn't drinking alcohol just soda, he'd rather make sure you're safe and okay. He almost needs a fucking drink though when he sees you, rolling your hips, that boy's hands on your hips as you dance. You’re giggling, drink in your hand, and he would think how pretty you were if he wasn’t contemplating breaking his fingers.

Is this what it would be when he leaves between the two of you? You moving on to some loser who could never, ever deserve you. You being with someone - fuck losing your virginity to some little idiot, when you begged for him to take it. Is that what he has to get in his head, the natural way of things, what's ‘right’ to do?

Caleb is so fucking tired of it.

Your eyes catch him across the dance floor, glassy as you never could handle your drinks. He remembers many nights of saving your ass when you'd sneak out, coming back tipsy from two little drinks, and he'd have to cover for you with Gran. Those were the moments he'd hug you a little tighter, let his hands linger, hoping you'd never notice.

But you'd cling to him, kiss his neck, giggle in that maddening way. Torture, you torture him. There is no other explanation for it, for what you do, but torture, and tasting you was just the sweetest form of it, having you beg him to be inside you, yet he turned it down, like a fucking idiot. He finally has what he wants and he’s terrified, now left to watch you as the lights illuminate your skin.

Each sway of your hip is painful to Caleb, knowing how badly he wants to grab your hips, when finally he can’t fucking stand it anymore. He can see by your mean little smile you want him jealous, you want the reaction - and he’s right. You do want that reaction, you want him to crave you, need you, in every single fucking way. You want him to desire you like you do him.

You don’t care about this boy, you almost feel sorry, you feel petty doing this, but you want to show Caleb what he is missing, shoving aside. For what? To be whatever he deems as okay, safe, the ‘right thing’, when all you want is more of him, all of him. Every movement is for his gaze, every casual role of your hips is thoughts you’re craving to tell him.

But you’re so scared of his rejection.

He starts walking your way, for a moment you think you’re in some delusion, that you’re just actually in your room still, crying yourself to sleep. In some wet dream where Caleb will take control, where he’ll beat your ass with that firm hand, tell you how bad you’ve been, filthy things that almost make you cry out loud, until he’s standing right in front of you, tugging you from the boy’s grip.

“We're leaving,” Caleb's tone is dark as he grabs your wrist, the boy fucking runs off from one look from Caleb, his long fingers wrapping your wrist tightly. He leans low, so close he can taste the sweet liquor on your breath. “Now, pipsqueak.”

“You can go, I'm having fun, Caleb,” you're giggling and sipping down your fruity drink, earning his deeper scowl under the lights, and people start watching you two curiously. “Something wrong?”

He laughs without humor then, shaking his head and taking your drink out of your hand. “Everything's fucking wrong.”

“And whose fault is that?” You lean up then, on your tiptoes, your hand on his shoulders, burning his skin even under the layer of his jacket, he inhales sharply at the sensation, his hands resting on your bare waist. “What exactly is wrong?”

“You shouldn't be out looking like this,” his grip tightens, and you gasp. “Only I should see your pretty body, in your slutty little fucking dress.”

“You don't even want to. I'm tired of your games.” You turn and he tugs you back to him, bringing you right against his chest in front of everyone, many who murmur to themselves a bit at the sight.

Caleb sighs, looking around and hesitating, but then sets your glass down with a cling, and tugs you closer, scowling right down at you. Your heart pounds in your chest, thrumming against his while he towers over you, a huge hand spread across your skin. “I’m not the one playing games, you are.”

“Don’t you care that they can see?” You whisper, he tilts your chin up then, shaking his head. “Haven’t you always?”

“I only cared because I worried what you thought, that’s it, that’s all I’ve ever worried about. You. Only fucking you, do you understand!?” He’s too close, you smell the scent of him, overpowering all the other mixed scents in the room, it’s all just Caleb now, the heat spreads through your body at his words, at his touch.

“I’ve never cared what anyone thought, I’d tell them all what I really feel,” he shakes his head, leaning lower now. “We’ve wasted all this time pretending, do you want to keep on with it? Should I go back and dance with him, and we go home to our separate rooms? That’s the ‘safe’ idea, right?”

“You think I’m letting you fucking dance with him again, his hands all over you? Your ass, your waist, your hips…” He trails off, fingers working their way, across the thin little crop top, down your skirt, your nipples press against the material of your top, soft on your skin, you can’t hold back your whine.

“Then show me - stop holding back. God, just show me what you actually feel, even if it’s for tonight,” your little whisper ends him, Caleb pulls back however, and you feel the emotions burning your eyes, until he’s tugging you away. “Caleb… what’re you doing?”

He says nothing, it’s humid and sticky outside, after passing the sea of curious onlookers - some smiling curiously, others with raised brows. Caleb - who sees you as a ‘little sister’ they all say, grabbing at you, leaning so close he could kiss you, perhaps they’re all murmuring right now, just what are you both to each other?

Caleb never, ever wanted anyone to hurt you with a rumour, it’s another reason he’s held back so long, but as he drags you to his car now, he’s quick in his strides, his mind lost completely. He’s torn between fucking you right in the car and realizing it’d be the worst fucking place to take you the first time. He’s tugged in two directions, an angry desire and an aching tenderness.

You’re quiet when he puts you in the car, when he comes to the other side and revs it up, the soft music playing one of your favorite songs, the air starting to blow cooly on your skin. Before you can speak, he’s leaned over the seat, that insane look in his eyes barely visible in the darkness, the quietness of the car, just that gentle hum of music and his heavy breaths.

He cups your face, thumbs slipping across your cheeks, your own hands come to grip his wrists as he just looks at you, breaths heavier and heavier. It fans across your lips, your skin, burning you as he’s so close to kissing you, so close you can taste him, a hand entangling in your hair and tugging, making you cry out, your head falling back.

“Did you like making me jealous?” His voice is dark now, tugging harder. “Asked ya a question, pips.”

“Yes,” he scowls deeper, you shift your hips, cunt aching from the sweet pain, from the need. “It shows your real feelings, the one you fucking bury.”

“So you did it all to make me angry?” You nod, you’re past pretending, he chuckles then, just a scoff of a laugh, looking down at your lips. “Should I show you just how fucking mad I am?”

“Show me - mnh!” Caleb slams his lips on yours then, the kiss is hot, hungry, brutal, not a gentle peck or a seductive caress, he takes over everything you are in that moment.

“Acting slutty when you’re mine, showing off your body when it’s for me,” you’re whining out, trembling when he kisses you in between insults, ones that are just making you throb, making you ache, his teeth sinking into your lips now. “Mnh, why do you torture me?”

“Torture you?” Caleb’s kissing down your throat, a hand gripping your thigh and pressing them apart, earning a ragged gasp from your lips, your hand grips his jacket, the denim of it against your fingers. “Ah!”

“You’ve tortured me for so long, fuck…” he’s lost in you, in your taste while his tongue licks a stripe right under your jaw, feeling your heat when his fingers press against your thigh. “Since I met you, haunting me, fucking up my head just by existing, don’t you even know!?”

You shake your head, and he moans, nipping your ear, his lips against it, murmuring your name so softly as you shift in the leather of his seats, head falling to the side for more of his greedy kisses. “Caleb, please.”

“Just say it, and I’ll give it to you. I swear I will.” He pulls back, swallowing nervously, studying your beautiful face in the dark, the heat decorating your cheeks, the way your lashes cast shadows on them. He feels the heat burning his hand, he knows you want it, but he has to hear it.

“I want you to let me touch you,” he moans, shaking his head. “I want to suck you.”

“You’re talking like that!?” He glares now, and you bite your lower lip, already swollen from him. “I’ll make you cum.”

“You can, after I taste you, Caleb,” he sighs, pulling back, sitting back in his seat and making you glare. “Really, thought you’d give me anything?”

“I’ll give it to you, on the way back, because I’ll cum inside that pretty fucking cunt,” you blush then, and he smirks just a bit. “Now ya nervous? Take what you want, pips, think I’ll stop you?”

He starts driving when you precariously lean forward, he’s unzipped in moments, moaning as your hair falls to the side, and you touch him over his boxers. “Caleb… y-you’re huge…”

“Can you take it all?” His voice is a challenge, your cunt is leaking against your panties when you tug him out, and he’s driving, the car gently swaying, his free hand gripping your hair.

“I want it all,” your whisper brushes his blush tip as you free him, a dusky rose pink, leaking pearly precum. You bite back a gasp at just how big he is, thick and girthy, straight cock all veiny as you press a kiss to the tip. He jerks, gasping and gripping your hair.

“Fuck…” He can’t barely handle a fucking kiss, let alone your little tongue along the slit, tonguing out his salty liquid leaking. “Honey…”

“You’re yummy too,” your little whisper is met with you sucking his tip in your mouth now, never having done it before. He’s tugging your hair tightly, but not moving you, almost pulling you back. “I want you to feel good.”

“I want you cumming, god it’s all I want, you cumming till you fucking pass out - mnh,” you suck him then, as he struggles to keep his hands on the steering wheel, your mouth feeling so fucking good he can’t stand it. “Pips, fuck, don’t take too much.”

“Mnh,” is all your response is, as you suck him deeper, saliva dripping down his cock, bobbing up and down, pressing your thighs together. His fingers slip down your spine, to the curve of your ass, slipping up your slit now, feeling it sticky and drenched to the touch. “Ah!”

“You’re this wet from sucking me?” He taunts, only making you suck him harder, the suction causing you to drool, while your hand grips his jeans, trying to balance yourself while the car drives. “I can’t wait to be inside you, fuck every thought of anyone out of your head. It’ll be just me, won’t it?”

“Mmhmm!” You’re so wet you hear it in the car, when he’s running his fingers back and forth over your clit, over and over, wetness pouring as you drool down his length, feeding off his little whimpers, his breaths catching. You’re sucking more and more, until he comes to a stop, yanking you off. “Caleb!”

“No, I’m cumming inside you,” he whispers, you realize you’re in front of your home in a daze, as he kisses you, tasting his salty cum off your tongue, tugging you against him. “Let’s go.”

You’re following him around the back yard, to the little poolhouse you all haven’t been inside in ages, the quiet one that you used to spend time in together as kids, less and less as the years went. He’s quietly stepping inside of it, littered with memories of every encounter when he shuts the door, turning you and pressing you against it.

“You’re all mine, don’t you know?” His whisper is dark, he cups your chin, turning it now, your lips part as your ass arches back, feeling his hard length when he presses you closer against the door. “Say it.”

“All yours,” it’s what you’ve always wanted to be, he kisses you again, moaning into your lips, when you feel the skirt unzip, falling into a pool at your ankles. “Caleb, please.”

“Let me take my time,” he’s this mix of needy, whiny and sexy, fucking self sure, hands tremble for just a moment when he slips your straps off your shoulders. “Lift your arms.”

You do just that, letting him tug your top off, leaving you in ruined, soaked panties. He turns you now, eyes studying your tits, hands gripping them, covering them, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your head falls back, while he kisses up your collar bone, your throat, and your panties are just nothing, stuck fabric pressed up between your lips now, you’re shoving his jacket off, he pulls back.

Caleb lets it fall, then you eagerly unbutton his shirt, pressing a kiss on his chest, right next to where his dog tags and that little apple lie, he sucks in a breath, picking you up then like it’s nothing. Your thighs are around his hips, when he carries you, lips only leaving for a quick breath or two, his hands gripping your ass now, as you grind eagerly on him.

Caleb carries you to the little bed you two used to cuddle on, watch movies on your phones under the blankets, giggle as he’d tell you a story, the memories of every inch of this little house feel perfect. You never, ever want to let them go, just mixing with new ones while he leans over you, your hand comes to his chest, eyes locking, and he holds in against him, drinking in the sight of you.

“Stop me now,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “Pips, before we cross this line, before I fuck your insides up, fill you over and over.”

“I want it, I want all of you- ah!” He’s kissing you again, teeth clicking, your noses bumping as he tilts his head, drinking every cry, one arm braced against you, his hard body sweating just slightly, dripping a bit on your bare skin, when he rubs you again over those panties. “Please, in me. God please.”

“Fuck,” he should be begging you, but he instead desperately kisses lower, sucking a pretty nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around one. “Perfect, beautiful, look at you.”

“Caleb!” He’s still rubbing that sad little strap of material against your cunt, pulsing around nothing with need, his teeth scraping an areola, so sweet and painful the pleasure fucks your mind. “Take 'em off, ngh!”

“Impatient, you put me through that much tonight and think I’ll give you what you want that quick?” His lips quirk at the corner now, watching the flushed mess you are. “I think I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is another whine as he sucks your other nipple, harder, cheeks hollowing as his soft brown hair falls over his brow. “Ah!”

You’re so beautiful under him then, when he eyes you, mouth a slutty o, tits bouncing just so when your hips jerk, overstimulated from his teasing over the lace and cotton. “Are you gonna be a good girl, pips?”

“Promise,” he chuckles, kissing lower then, tip of his pink tongue trailing between two breasts, right between your ribcage. You’re arching for more, when his kisses move lower, hands gripping your hips tightly. “Oh my god!”

He’s nipping your hip now, leaning up and slipping his hand down your thigh, your calf, slipping off a heel and tossing it to the floor. The other follows, when he finally grips your waistband, tugging them down achingly slow. You’re a writhing mess under him, as he kisses lower, breath ghosting your cunt, he sees it’s soaking wet and glistening.

“Your cunt is so wet already, is it only for me? Huh pips, just me?” You’re nodding, when he smacks your cunt, making you gasp. “Answer me, use those words pretty girl.”

“Only you, Caleb, god just you. Always you.” He lets out what sounds like a soft growl, broad shoulders spreading your thighs as your hands entangle in his hair.

“What do you need, how can I make you feel good?” He kisses up your inner thigh, torturing you, teasing you. “How can I make you forget anything but me?”

“There’s nothing but you, n-nothing, oh!” He presses a hungry kiss right on your hood then, your eyes roll back.

“Tell me what you need, use your words honey,” he urges you on, slipping a long finger, calloused from the amount of training he’s done, rough on your gentle, slick cunt, feeling even more delicious. “How can I make you feel better, where do you need me?”

“Mouth on m-me, please,” he moans now, already dying to have you back on his tongue, slipping it up your slit ever so slowly. “Ngh!”

“Do you know how many times I tasted you over the years?” You blink rapidly, confused and fucked out from his teasing, brain trying to register as he parts your puffy lips, tongue slipping up from your hole to your clit.

“Huh? How?” He chuckles then, the tickling alone having you gripping the sheets underneath you, gasping out when his teeth are against your cunt.

“You really wanna know?” You nod desperately, brushing his hair back gently, his fingers slip inside your hole now, filling and stretching you out, curling right on your spot. “Aw, can’t talk?”

“Y-yes, tell me. I wanna know - f-fuck!” He’s curling his fingers inside your gummy, slick walls, which quiver around him as his mouth kisses messy and filthy over your clit.

“Well, pips,” he watches as your body jerks, feeling you tense while his fingers work you like they’ve learned so quickly, your juices pouring down his wrist. His tongue slips some of it up, groaning. “Took your panties.”

“You w-what… ah!”

“Licked you off them, mnh,” he’s rutting his cock against the mattress now, while you’re arching up for more, head falling back in ecstasy as the pressure builds. “Buried my face in them.”

“Caleb you d-didn’t even, you’re - ah!” He’s sucking your clit into his mouth, humming as his fingers move up and down, over and over, and you feel it all building, the heat in your core, the slickness of your cunt louder and louder. “Lying!”

“Not lying, god I use them to jerk off once I’ve sucked all your wetness off them, they’re just not enough, not as yummy as your pretty pussy is from the source. Soaking, dripping wet - there you go, feel good?”

“Y-you jerked off in them!?” He’s chuckling again, leaning up, his chin coated in your slick arousals, you’re so close, when his thumb rolls on your clit, right with his middle and ring finger rocking up and down over and over, making you scream out, hands locked in their death grip of the cotton.

“Sure did, every pair I could find,” he leans over you now, rocking his hand with so much pressure you can’t stand it, writhing and gasping out at it. “You sure you really can handle me? Can you handle what I’ll do, when I lose it, finally inside you?”

“Caleb, god just, yes I want it! I do, stop teasing me.” You’re done for when he rocks them over and over, pressure exploding until your orgasm rocks you in waves, a messy, sloppy cunt pouring, pulsating around his thick digits.

“That’s it, cum f’me, just me, only me,” he’s lost now, kissing your cries up, while you gush embarrassing amounts of wetness down him, dripping onto the sheets beneath you until it leaves a wet spot on the white. “That’s it, you’re so beautiful, god pips.”

He’s kissing you now, letting you taste yourself, while his fingers continue to glide, making you jerk now, while they’re between now puffy lips, messy and soppy with the juices spilling. He slides down his pants, his boxers then, cock slapping his bare stomach, precum dripping on his flat belly button, finally laying on top of you, and that’s when he pauses.

He brushes your cheek with his fingertips so tenderly it makes your throat close with emotion, swallowing nervously when you reach down, stroking his thick cock with your little hand, barely wrapping the girth of it. He sucks in a breath, still brushing your cheek softly, his other arm so tense you see the veins pressing up from his thin, pale skin, decorated with faint freckles.

“Honey, are you sure?” He asks then, thumb brushing your swollen lip, plump under the pad of it. “This is your first time.”

“I always wanted it to be you, Caleb,” you blink back tears now, sniffling just a bit, because for every bit of desire there, in equal parts was emotions. “I want this, I want you inside me.”

“Fuck,” he’s letting you put it there, before he takes his cock, running the pale pink tip up your slit, bumping your clit, making your eyes roll back, your thighs jerk now. “It’s… it’s my first time too.”

You pause, looking up at him in surprise now, your mouth opens just a bit, hand slipping up his bare chest, where you feel his heart hammer. “You’ve never?”

“No, never, you just thought so. And I… was…”

“Embarassed?” You finish, he pauses, leaning on an elbow now, pressing in just a bit, enough to make you cry out. “Caleb, don’t be. Please don’t be.”

“I’m not here with you. But I want this perfect, so perfect for you, and… what if I can’t…”

“Shh,” you cut him off now, hips arching up, his tip pressing inside, stretching you. “With you? It’ll be perfect.”

He moans and slams his lips down, cock pressing past that tight ring of muscles, so thick he’s stretching you out so much it burns, it hurts. The first prick of pain causes a little cry, and he pauses, worry filling his amethyst eyes, even as the desire to shove his entire cock inside your cunt fills him. He rests his head on yours, pausing there, not moving, hands on your hips now.

“Are you all right? I can eat you out more - I could do it all fucking night,” he says softly, pulling back now, you cry out in pain again, and he frowns, immediately worried. “Am I hurting you!?”

“No, n-no just give me a minute, you’re really big,” he flushes, thankful you can’t see in the dark, letting you adjust, pressing little kisses along your brow, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “I want it, I want you. I need you - ah!”

Caleb’s done then, slamming his cock half way, that alone is so many inches stuffed in your perfect cunt, and you take it so perfectly. “Made f’me, aren’t you? Say it, pips, say it.”

“M-made f’you,” you’re hardly able to talk, so sensitive that when Caleb bottoms out, you feel an orgasm hitting, you’re gushing, tight muscles contracting, as his big hands grip your hair, and his lips move over yours. “Mnh!” 

“That’s it, mmm she’s so wet, so fucking tight - ah fuck…” Caleb’s lost then, in the cries filling his ears, in your gummy walls just gripping him so tight he can’t take it, a hand entwines with yours as he sinks in fully, pressing your cervix. “So tight.”

“C-Caleb! You’re so deep!” You’re gripping his back, nails pressing in as his drooly tip hits your cervix, looking to see his eyes have gone black. 

“God I wanna fill you, breed you, fuck you so much you can’t walk,” he’s lost now, lifting your thigh and fucking you harder, delicious strokes that destroy you with every thrust of his hips. You’re shaking underneath him, lost in his words, filling your mind with filthy images. “Have you dripping my cum, next time you dance with someone - hah - it’ll be slipping down your little hole.”

He’s mean with his strokes, but his fingers are entwined with yours, your tits are jiggling as he shoves deeper, so deep. You’re so full, tummy tensing as you feel him everywhere, yet his kisses are gentle, for every brutal thrust there’s a caress of his rough fingers, a murmur of beautiful for every slutty little cunt. The duality of him, the love and caring, then the filthy desire is impossible to handle.

You’re so close again, and he sees it, he knows it, shoving your thighs up and fucking you harder and harder, the sounds filthy, while your nails sink in and leave marks he hopes last forever. His fingers leave bruises as he fucks you hard, skin slapping, heavy balls hitting your ass where your cum is dripping down it, making a mess of you both.

“So messy, god you love it, being filled by me, huh?” You helplessly nod, while Caleb pounds harder, your cunt is struggling to adjust, stretch and accommodate, and he’s lost again. “Need to cum, honey? Need me to play with your little clit?”

“Pl-ease Caleb, please,” you’re whimpering, the sound mixed with your fluttering eyes and flushed skin too perfect, Caleb shoves your thighs up high then, thumb finding your clit. “Ngh!”

“That’s it, only I know you, only I will ever know you like this, say it,” he’s running circles now, torturous ones with slower strokes, hard ones that make those filthy wet smacking sounds. “Say it, Pips.”

“Only you will, g-god there! Please!”

“I’ll give you anything beautiful, anything,” his cock shoves in so deep, you can’t breathe with the fullness, his finger working in tandem to push you right over that edge, letting out a shaky moan. “That’s it, cum for me, just me, only me.”

Your orgasm crashes hard, spreading throughout your body once that coil in your tummy releases. You’re shaking, body tensing and twitching, cunt spasming around the thick invasion in your cunt now. Caleb moans as he watches you, pausing for a moment, as you murmur his name, almost drunkenly. The pleasure is so intense - even more so than his mouth, than his fingers.

You feel tears fall from the sweet release as Caleb continues to fuck you, his thrusts slower, easier, whispering your name. Not pipsqueak, not honey, no he says your name like a love declaration, eyes never leaving yours, so full of everything you know he wants to say, the things you’re holding back even with him inside of you, making you feel like you’re falling apart.

It’s too much, so much pleasure you can’t even think, can’t do anything but feel him, as he keeps up those little circles now, watching you twitch and spasm underneath him. “C-Caleb, it’s too much, s-sensitive…”

Your cunt grips him like a vise, and he chuckles now, not sweet Caleb, no he’s insane. “You can cum again, can’t you pips? Waited forever for this, I need you cummin’ till you can’t think, can’t see, can’t form a word.”

He’s relentless, his thumb on your clit now faster again, more insistent as it twitches under him, making you scream as you come apart, muscles spasming around his cock, juices spurting out onto his stomach with the force of it. The sight is too much for him, you don’t even see it, you're squirting all over, your head is thrown back, your mouth wide open in a cry.

“That’s it, look how messy you are, you want it - me to fill you?” He asks softly, husky voice so deep, like a soft growl, leaning back to spread your thighs now, letting them fall and tremble to the side. “God, look.”

He’s enamored with the bulge, you’re too fucked out to answer, while he moves slowly, savoring every inch, your juices falling all over, making a squishy mess of your hole now. You’re taking him easier and easier, hips arching where they bucked back before, hands shaking when he takes one, kissing the back of it, so tender you almost cry.

How would you ever let him go now?

He brushes your hair back, kissing you again, exhaling as he feels the love declaration on the tip of his tongue, still so terrified to cross that line, but he knows it then, what he’s always known. You are his everything, you are the only thing in this world that means something, and now your fucked out, lidded gaze hits him, the beauty gripping his heart.

“You’re s-so perfect f’me, so beautiful,” you blink more tears, god even those make him thicken, make the head of his cock swell, while he feels your aftershocks. “You’re mine to breed, only mine, mine to fill with all this cum. I need you to say it, Pips, say you want it all.”

He’s insane, you know it then, his possessive eyes glinting. “Breed?”

“Yes, put so much cum inside you, fuck put babies in you,” he grips your chin, as the words terrify you as much as they make you wetter. “Hide you away from anyone, never let a man fucking touch you.”

“C-Caleb-”

“Say it, say it, you’re mine all mine,” he’s whining out, pleading, even as his cock wrecks you - how the fuck Caleb was a virgin you can’t even fathom. He cups your face tightly, eyes black with desire. “Say it.”

“Yours, yours too breed, yours to fill, y-yours,” you finally manage the words, and he moans, lips slamming down, when he shoves in one more time, flooding your cunt with so much cum, it’s ridiculous the amount of white, puffy ropes that shoot up and coat your walls then. “Caleb!”

“Wanna put babies inside you, so fucking many, you’ll never ever leave me, will you? Never,” you’re just nodding, crying hot fat tears as his cum pumps more and more, his cock pushing it deep, your thighs press into his narrow hips, heels against the dimples on his back as he rolls them again. “Never leave me. Never let anyone t-touch you, h-have you.”

“C-caleb,” you’re shushed with his kisses, as he says shit you don’t even understand, as you watch him fall off the edge with his possessiveness, he kisses up your jaw in the quiet poolhouse, the fan overhead swirling, cooling your sweat slicked skin. “Mnh!”

“Sore, honey?” You manage a nod, your cunt is sore, achy and throbbing, he pulls back, looking down at you with such affection and love your heart clenches. He sighs softly, kissing your forehead, exhaling, his breath blowing the baby hairs on your brow. “I got carried away, you felt so perfect.”

“N-no, no I loved it.” He sighs again, this time in relief, as he leans back, kissing your lips, cock slipping out and dripping with both of you down to the blankets.

“You need me to make you feel better, don’t you? I was too rough.”

“You weren’t, it was perfect,” you give him a tremulous smile, seeing his relief mix with concern when he eyes your abused hole, fingers slipping down it and making your hips jerk just a bit. “I just can’t… this can’t be just once.”

“You think I’d do it just once? I don’t want it just once tonight,” you’re blushing so pretty, he chuckles a bit, before focusing again. “I need to clean you up. Wait right here, okay?”

You nod, heart pounding, soon Caleb has you all cleaned up, the evidence of your first time apparent, tugging on his heart as he worries he was too rough, but you’re blissfully smiling when you sleep in his arms, wearing his dress shirt and nothing else. As Caleb holds you in his arms, everything starts crashing - reality, that you’re both in a pool house, that your relationship has changed forever.

Could everyone accept it?

He would never care, but again he thinks of you - always of you, smiling as you cuddle him, snuggle him. He brushes your hair back, wanting to figure out everything as much as he can, the logistics, what he should do, what wasn’t just ‘right’ for everyone, but right for you.

Another part of him is thrilled your cum is slipping out of your cunt, he hadn’t even asked you if you’re on anything, he hopes you’re not actually. The sick, twisted desire and possession fills him, he could eat his cum out while you sleep soundly, put more cum inside you, it takes everything to hold back, to just kiss your head, his eyes fluttering shut.

That’s when he hears it.

A murmur, a whisper, in your sleep.

‘I love you, Caleb’

Do you… feel the same for him?

yes they FINALLY made progress lol, their end next chap will be happy dw, thanks for everyone reading this one :') It's my first Caleb chapter fic and I def am enjoying it hehe

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

tags- @blitziwitch @mcdepressed290 @hyunjifilm @mentaltrouble2201 @aquarianbeat @tartartagliaboo @trishiepo0 @virtualityhome @slytherin-min99 @plzdonutpercieveme @taebvby @jlynns-posts @coralbae @thejujvtsupost @deathrye @tsumoorin @mynsan @lostfracturess @dummiebunny @ashirelle @ilovesugurugeto69 @ilovechanyeol16 @sylusqt @liluvtojineteyam @lunaryasha @maisiefrancesca @ravenbc @straows @callme-amaya @yandereaficionado @wordsgodeep @bandomonia @ellexamor @sukunasunflower @wooasecret @kithyyy @yizhouge @dreamingoftomorrow @sylvieisoffline @whiteghostt @szafficat @lhhlver @sanzy4 @chaoticbardlady99 @mistress-daddy-nyx @pinksaiyans @webshooterrr9 @mynsan @bluerskiees @keylimepiebby

[firingstars]

passion project

bucky barnes x reader

summary: based on this request — as bucky’s best friend, you had the honor of being subjected to his constant teasing and charms, none of which you thought were truthful. it all comes to a head when he starts distancing himself from you after a night out.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, piv, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, pull out game is very strong, praise, pet names (sweetheart, baby, doll, pretty girl, handsome), alcohol consumption, language, bucky big flirt in this fic, reader is a little dramatic, jealous bucky, you and bucky have an? argument?, no use of y/n

word count: 11.6k

a/n: YIPPPEEE my first request finished <3 (everyone disregard that it took me like two weeks to finish this i got stuck at the argument scene and didn't know how to progress bc i didnt wanna make bucky an asshole)

masterlist

Distance is not something that you know when it comes to Bucky. In fact, your first meeting with him was him pretending to be your boyfriend.

You had a particularly rough day at work. You weren’t with your friends or anyone else– you just wanted to spend a night alone at the bar near your apartment before going home for the night. However, men in New York just didn’t enjoy giving you a chance of peace.

You leaned away from the man that was giving you advances that you didn’t want, trying to deny drinks that you were sure he had tampered with. You gave dry responses to the man that you don’t even remember anymore, but you supposed you have to thank him.

A scent of cedarwood and clean soap filled your nostrils as a warm arm gently slipped over your shoulders. A body was beside yours, standing protectively. Someone that you didn’t know. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, giving you a small smile. His words were spoken loud, as if he was giving a performance. “Thanks for waiting for me. Who’s your friend?”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. Then, you saw the look in his eyes. He was giving you an out. In a matter of a few seconds, you weighed your options. It was either this man with dangerously striking blue eyes that smelled good, or the drunkard that smelled like throw up and shit. So, you leaned into this stranger’s embrace, gave him a pretty smile, and hummed.

“Didn’t wait for too long, baby,” you sighed. “Missed you.”

You didn’t even answer the question about your “friend,” and the two of you just ignored him until he took the hint, and walked away. Except the hint was your savior glaring at him with murderous intent in his eyes. You didn’t know it at the time, but Bucky was fully capable of committing those kinds of crimes for you. 

When the drunkard was far enough away, his arm slid off your shoulders, his hand moving down your back, but not low enough to make you uncomfortable.

“Can I buy you a drink?” you asked him, grateful. “You kinda saved me back there, handsome.”

He laughed at your words. “I was going to ask you if you wanted a drink since you just went through something traumatizing, pretty girl.” 

“I’ll pay for yours, you pay for mine?” you offered. 

“Deal,” he grinned. 

The two of you introduced yourselves to each other not too long afterwards, toasted, and found out that you were both alone that night. Bucky spent the rest of the night by your side at the bar, the two of you just chatting. 

It was the start of a friendship that you weren’t looking for, but welcomed easily with open arms. Bucky was easy to talk to, easy to get along with, and he was comfortable for you to be around. 

Around the beginning of your friendship, you noticed he would sometimes come to hang out with you with a busted lip or a cut on his face. You were sure there was another injury somewhere under the layers of clothes he was wearing, too. When you finally asked– when you finally felt ready to ask, he was honest with you when he told you what he did for work. At first, you thought he was shitting with you. Then, he told you to look up his name online. 

“You’re ancient,” you said, your eyes falling on the birthdate of the man titled as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry Unit in World War II. Then, the name of the Winter Soldier came next on the articles you were reading. 

“Yes, because every man wants a beautiful woman to call them old, sweetheart,” he said, rolling his eyes at you.

“You look good for being over a century old though, handsome,” you grinned.

“I’m like, ninety-something. Don’t age me up.”

Bucky showed you his metal arm that night. He took off the gloves he wore, and took off the jacket that seemed to be glued to his body. You inspected the dark metal in awe– asked if you could touch it.

He was patient with you. Answered all of your questions. You learned that he could feel sensations on the prosthetic– that his friends in Wakanda made sure of it. He told you it was made of vibranium, which was the same material made of Captain America’s shield– his best friend.

You learned a lot about Bucky that night. That night, you became more than just his friend. You became someone important to him. He didn’t know it, but he was already important to you before the confessions of his past. 

He asked you if you were scared of him. If you wanted him to leave. 

“Where would you go if you left?” you asked, frowning at him. “We’re supposed to watch those shitty reality shows tonight. Are you going to leave me to watch them by myself?”

You’ve never felt more relieved to see that smile come back to his face, to watch the tension leave his shoulders. Bucky shifted on the couch, assuming the same position that you two always did. 

Distance was not something that you two were familiar with from the start of your friendship together. Whenever you waited for him at your meeting spots, he would come up behind you like some sort of ghost. You started to get used to it– being randomly held by him.

“Sweetheart,” he would greet you, an arm slipping over your shoulders. “Missed me?”

“Take a lap, Sarge,” you’d tell him, shoving his arm off of you only to loop your arm through his. “Who would miss your face around here?”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, shaking his head at you. “And here I thought– I believed you when you said I was handsome.”

“Oh, you are,” you hummed, tugging him along to get in line for the aquarium– Bucky’s choice for your hangout that day. “I’m trying to keep you humble.”

Most of your time would be spent hanging out in your apartment. The two of you would talk about anything and everything. Well– you were talking. Bucky was listening to you. 

“Sounds a little stressful,” he said, patting his lap once you were finished with your long winded tirade about how your girl friends were horrible on night outs, and you weren’t looking forward to next Saturday night.

“Very,” you agreed, and dropped your head on his thigh, just as he was indicating for you to do.

You closed your eyes, sighing deeply as he started to card his hands through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. To comfort you, maybe. You were certain that he had no idea how to navigate the struggles of a friend group of five women– your four friends– that were trying to get laid, while you were desperately trying to make sure none of them ended up kidnapped or dead by the end of the night. 

“You gonna find someone to spend the night with on Saturday, too?” he murmured to you, and you opened your eyes. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, and smiled teasingly. “Why? You want me to include you in the same girl talk debrief that the other girls get on Sunday mornings?”

“Gross,” he scoffed, clasping his entire hand over your face, making your entire body jolt with surprise. 

“You’re the one that asked,” you huffed. You grabbed his wrist, pulling it away from your face and raising it up in the air. Bucky let you, his limb being pliant under your touch as he allowed you to flail it around like it was made of nothing at all. You watched as his fingers moved like noodles in the air, mildly amused for a few moments. “I’d tell you if you’re really interested, y’know.”

“I’m just asking so I know where you’ll be, doll. You’re stressin’ about your friends, so let me stress about you,” he said, his voice going softer for just a moment. 

You stopped thrashing his hand around the air, and looked at him. He was looking down at you, eyes never leaving your face. There was something unreadable in his gaze that made you pause. Your lips parted, closed, then you gave him a smile. 

“I’ll text you if I go home with someone, handsome. I don’t think I will, but I’ll let you know if I do,” you promised him, dropping his hand to your stomach. 

Bucky hummed, a little noncommittally as he patted your abdomen a few times before resting completely. His other hand continued to run through your hair, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I’m sure it won’t be difficult for you if you do decide for it,” Bucky said. “Guys flirt with you all the time.”

“That was one time, and I was alone at the worst bar on the street, Buck. It wasn’t even flirting. That was harassment,” you corrected him, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re a little oblivious when people flirt with you, pretty girl.”

The rest of the night was spent arguing over the fact that you were not oblivious towards men flirting with you. Bucky was very adamant that you were. You denied all accusations like a politician that had something to hide. 

Neither of you managed to find common ground, and you ended up falling asleep on his lap. Woke up the next morning to find that Bucky didn’t leave. In fact, he didn’t even move you off his lap. He fell asleep, sitting upright, and refused to move in fear of waking you up. He refused to accept any apology from you and swore your couch was comfortable. You disagreed, but quickly shut up when he said that it was better than the hard dirt grounds of World War II. 

You hated it when Bucky pulled that shit on you. Bucky loved doing it. He always had a smug grin on his face.

Other times would include quieter moments. Where you both ended up in your bed. By this point in your friendship, Bucky had a drawer in your dresser of spare, comfortable clothes. He would get changed in pajamas for the night, and you two would be laying in bed. Bucky would be reading one of your more raunchy fantasy novels with confusion all over his face as to why you read these books, but still continued to turn the page. He’d have his head against your shoulder, and you’d scroll through your phone watching videos before falling asleep.

Flirting and touching was his default, you believed. Your assumption was only strengthened when he told you stories about the forties, and how he used to try to get Steve to go out on dates with girls that he set him up with. You managed to get him to admit that he was quite the charmer back in the forties. 

The only time there wasn’t any flirting was when he opened up about himself– when the conversation went serious on both of your ends. Then, the banter would stop and you both would give each other your undivided attention.

The touching wouldn’t stop, though. Even if he was the one leading the conversation, exposing you to the depths of his mind, he would play with your fingers. Touch your hair. You figured it was to busy himself from the fact that he was being so vulnerable with you. You never brought attention to it, allowed him to do what he needed to get through the words that he was forcing out of his throat– to tell you the things that he wanted you to hear.

You generally assumed that Bucky was just a touch starved man once you learned about his past. Coupled with him returning to the world and coming back to his personality, you figured he was just returning to his roots as a charismatic guy. You never thought anything of it, if you were being honest. Until you did. 

You should’ve realized it when you started taking pictures of him during your outings together. Your camera that only shot still life or animals gravitated towards him without even noticing. Your very first photo of him was a candid shot.

Bucky wasn’t looking at you. He was smiling at the cat that you both had taken interest in, that was at the park that you two were strolling through. He had crouched down, holding a hand out for the cat to come to him if it wanted to. And it did. Came and sniffed his palm, then nuzzled the warmth of his hand. Bucky smiled. A soft, gentle smile that took your breath away– and you took the picture without thinking.

It started your collection of photos of Bucky.

Bucky, the only person you had ever taken pictures of. The only person you wanted to take pictures of. He became your subject matter overnight. Your phone camera roll was filled with photos of him from your apartment— pictures of him on your couch, in your kitchen cooking, asleep in your bed. 

Your favorite picture of him right now was when the two of you went out to a bookstore together. He was walking down the aisles in front of you, and you meant to take a picture of his back. Another candid photo, another photo where he was unknowing. Except, he turned around. He was going to point out something to you, but stopped when he saw you had your camera in hand. You were caught. 

“What are you doing, pretty girl?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Smile. You’re looking exceptionally handsome right now,” you said, lifting your camera to your eye, so you could see him through the viewfinder. 

Bucky let out a small laugh, shaking his head at your words. However, he didn’t argue. Didn’t fight back. His hands found their way naturally into his pockets. He tilted his head at you in a kind of boyish way that reminded you of the old photos you saw at the Smithsonian when the two of you went together. 

And just like you asked him to, he smiled. Not at your camera, but at you. Your heart stuttered for a few moments, your finger froze over the button, and you had to remind yourself to take the picture. 

You were forever glad that you did. 

You stared at the photo for a long time, smiling to yourself– smiling back at Bucky’s face caught in time. You had the picture printed out on a mini Polaroid printer, and attached it to the back of your phone, but turned around so only you would know what was there. That was enough for you. You simply wanted to carry his smile with you wherever you went.

“What does it mean when your closest guy friend is always touching you, but doesn’t seem to like… make a move?” you brought up one day during a Sunday brunch with the girls. 

Your friends looked up at you, raising an eyebrow. It was only the three out of the five of your group– you’d known the two of them since the beginning of high school. The three of you were generally closer since the other two had joined your little circle during the last couple years of university. 

“Is this about your mysterious best friend that you won’t tell us anything about?” Leah teased you, a fat grin on her face. “What was his name again? Jamie?”

“James,” you corrected, clearing your throat. “And there’s nothing to tell about him. Just answer the question.”

“Well,” Mel hummed, picking up her mimosa. “What kind of touches are we talking about? Like just accidental hand brushing or…?”

You were thankful that Mel was taking you seriously at least. 

“Like… Cuddling on the couch during movies. Head on each other’s lap when we talk. He has a drawer at my place because he sleeps over sometimes– not intentionally. It just gets late, and I tell him it’s fine and to just stay over. So I told him to just bring a change of clothes, and I just wash his stuff whenever he uses them.”

“He sleeps… on your couch?” Leah asked slowly.

“No, we sleep in my bed together. Like when you guys come over…” you trailed off, voice dying down, looking down at your breakfast. 

“Like when we— when all of us cuddle in your fucking bed? Like when we were in college cramped onto a twin bed?” Leah demanded, eyebrows shooting to her hairline.

You don’t answer her. You stab a fork into your pancakes, and poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue awkwardly. You can’t look at either of them in the eyes right now. They’re a little too judgmental for your taste.

“How does he talk to you? Like sweetly or?” Mel asked, frowning at you.

“I mean– he calls me all these pet names. All the time. Calls me pretty and beautiful.”

“So you sleep next to the guy in the same bed, he’s always touching you, calls you all these sweet and cute things– never popped a boner or anything? Never tried to get a little handsy with you?” Leah asked.

“Leah!” you hissed, looking around at the other patrons in the restaurant to see if anyone heard her. “We are in public. Can you keep your voice down?”

“No, but she’s right though,” Mel said quickly, placing a hand down on the table. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she leans in, “Is he gay?”

You’re taken aback for a moment. “Uh– I… I don’t know. It never came up. I don’t think so? He’s had girlfriends before.”

You’re suddenly brought back to memories of your conversations with Bucky where he talks about Steve and Sam very fondly. 

He has plenty of memories with Steve that he speaks of with nostalgia. There are times when he talks about not Captain America, but Steve Rogers with so much pride in his voice that you can’t help but smile. At this point, you were certain that you could meet Steve on the street at any time, and you would know him like he was your own childhood friend.

Then there’s Sam. Bucky swears he hates the man, but you can hear the smile trying to crack through his words. Like he’s trying to hide how he really feels for a long winded bit that he’s doing. Despite all his sharp words, Bucky still talks about Sam. That has to count for something. 

“He might swing both ways, maybe leaning towards men,” Leah hummed, leaning back in her seat like the code was just cracked. “I mean, has to be, right? You’ve known him for almost what, an entire year now and nothing’s happened? Men don’t just befriend women at this age just to be friends.”

“I disagree with that last statement, but I do think that you’re reading too much into him,” Mel quickly said, nodding. “Men and women can definitely be friends without expecting anything from each other.”

You drown out the rest of their talk– the debate of whether or not men and women can just be friends. You’re spiraling. The polaroid hidden in the back of your phone case is weighing your purse down exponentially as the realization hits you. 

You were in the perpetual friendzone. Bucky didn’t bat an eye at you. He flirted with you, touched you without flinching, and laid down next to you in your own bed without his gaze lingering.

This was a man that was raised in the forties, and if you were correct in the little that you knew about that time period, anything premarital was some sort of sin. People were shamed. Disowned. Stoned. Excommunicated from the church.

And here Bucky was– doing just that. Doing all that and much more.

Yeah.

You were fucked. 

A light buzz within your purse caught your attention. You reached for your phone, eyes falling onto the notification of the man you were just talking about. 

You read the message over and over again, unable to believe what you were seeing for a few moments. 

Handsome [11:32am]: Stark’s throwing a party next Friday night. Do you want to come meet everyone?

The jet landed down, and the sound of the decompressors of the jet doors opening signaled the end of a successful mission. 

While the others clambered off with ease, good moods, and joy, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a wave of irritation wash through his body. The mission wasn’t difficult by any means, but the load of missions was what pissed him off. 

It’d been two weeks since he last saw you.

Bucky was simply surviving off of stupid images that he learned were called ‘memes’ that you sent him every day. That, and your cute good morning! and sleep well :) text messages which never failed to truly make him have a great morning and a well rested sleep.

Sometimes, if he got lucky, you sent him a picture of yourself. The first time that you did, he had to Google how to save images to his camera roll. After that, it was over for you. It didn’t matter what kind of picture that you sent. Even if you weren’t the full subject, he saved it. 

There was a picture where you were only partially in it, and you were trying to show off the matcha lavender drink that you bought. Another photo where your face was cut off at the top because you were cuddling with Mel’s puppy at her house. Some more stupidly angled photos of just your eyes— Bucky learned those ones being sent to him meant you wanted his attention. 

He also had pictures that he took of you. None of which, you were aware that he took. It was easy to hide. You often walked ahead of him when you were together, or your attention was focused on something else. It wasn’t difficult for a trained assassin to steal a photo or two.

Besides that, you slept like the dead next to him. Slept on his shoulder, and his lap like you owned the space. Bucky had a collection of you sleeping, though he wouldn’t admit it. It sounds creepy, but he found it endearing. 

The first time he was in your bed, and you sleeping beside him— he couldn’t fucking close his eyes. 

Were you stupid? That oblivious?

Bucky knew that you were comfortable with him, but to invite him into your bed without assuming anything? Yes, he was your friend, yes he was respectful, but he’d also been flirting with you for months on end waiting for you to pick up on the hints. 

Obviously, he wasn’t going to do anything. With each repeated time, it got a little bit easier. He found himself being able to take a small nap beside you in your bed. 

It was a comforting feeling— the warmth radiating off of your body. He was surrounded by the smell of your clean sheets, the scent of the laundry detergent that you used mixing with the shampoo you washed your hair with, and the perfume that stuck to your skin.

You moved in your sleep. Towards him. He would wake up to find you curled up beside him, like you would be if the two of you were cuddling on the couch and watching something. Bucky never pushed you away during these moments, but he never pulled you closer. 

Part of him felt guilty, if he really thought about it. 

You were normal. Someone that trusted him outside of the heroics. You treated him like any other guy on the street. You didn’t expect him to be anything else other than your friend. 

And Bucky was. He was a damn good friend to you, and he considered you one of his closest friends, too.

Simply, somewhere along the way… it shifted. He couldn’t tell when. There was no epiphany. Just a quiet realization one day. When he looked at you… he saw peace. A possible future with him, as something more than just a weapon.

Beside you, he felt different. As if the years and the war hadn’t affected him, hadn’t altered his brain in some sort of way that made him headstrong and tough around the edges the way he acted with the rest of his friends. 

With you, he felt softer. As if the walls were broken down without any fanfare or gracious ending. There wasn’t anything special that you needed to do or say to him. You just existed, and made breathing easier for him. 

Bucky quietly decided that even if you never looked his way, that it was okay. He would stay by your side, simply as another friend of yours if that’s all you’d ever want from him. Your presence alone was all he needed. You, without even realizing it, gave him something that he didn’t know was possible anymore. 

You gave him hope.

“We’re gonna meet your so-called friend that you always bail on us tonight?” Sam asked as Bucky came out into the common areas. 

The mission was finally showered off of him, and Bucky felt a bit lighter now. He just needed to change into that semi-formal attire that Stark shoved into his hands— the same clothes that were tied with a threat if Bucky didn’t wear it. 

“She said she would,” Bucky replied.

“Are we sure she’s even real?” Natasha asked, walking by to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “Pretty sure Barnes is just strolling through New York getting fresh air by himself these days.”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged, ignoring the chuckles of laughter at Natasha’s half-hearted jab. 

Bucky fished his phone out of his pocket, turning it back on. There should be some texts from you, waiting for him after his mission. And he was right. 

Pretty Girl [12:03pm]: what do the other girls wear 

Pretty Girl [12:05pm]: i googled iron man parties and they look rly fucking fancy sarge WHAT DOES BLACK WIDOW WEAR 

Pretty Girl [12:27pm]: i think ur saving the world… save my outfit when ur free pls </3

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that came onto his face, trying to imagine the panicked look on yours as you floated through your closet. 

Bucky [6:42pm]: Natasha and Wanda wear dresses. 

Your reply comes instantaneously. Bucky still can’t understand how you text so quickly.

Pretty Girl [6:42pm]: like?? floor length??? 

Bucky [6:45pm]: No. I’m wearing just a button up and slacks, if that makes you feel better. 

Pretty Girl [6:45pm]: what color

Bucky [6:46pm]: Black

Pretty Girl [6:47pm]: mmm.. very nice. brings out your eyes

Pretty Girl [6:47pm]: i’ll see you in a couple hours :) 

Bucky hated Stark’s parties with a passion. Despised them. This time? He couldn’t wait for it to come any sooner. 

In fact, he turned straight back to his room and got ready like a teenager waiting for his very first date to come. And he sat there, on the edge of his bed, waiting for the time to come. 

When the sounds of the party started, he went outside. Slowly but surely, guests started filtering in. Tony put on his best facade, greeting everyone with much vigor. Bucky didn’t understand how he could do it every single time. 

“Why are you hanging by the door for?” Sam asked, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She’ll come when she comes— and she’ll find you when she does.”

“Just… making sure she gets in safe,” Bucky grunted.

“Ugh. Just drink, dude,” Sam groaned, pushing a glass of amber liquid into his hands as he guided him towards a group of them— Natasha, Clint, and Rhodey. All three of them were sitting together at the conversation pit, chatting together. 

Bucky supposed he could wait here. You would text him if you didn’t find him right away, too. He relaxed beside Sam, though he was still on edge. 

He couldn’t focus too much on the conversation in front of him. They were talking about Rhodey’s most recent date, if he was correct. A disaster, by the sounds of it. Bucky let out a chuckle when they all laughed, just to sound like he was absorbed into the conversation just like the rest of them. 

“Speaking of dating— looks like Cap’s found someone he’s finally interested in,” Natasha said, a smirk on her face. “She’s cute. Anyone know who she is?”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “No way. Steve?”

“Turn around,” Natasha said, pointing behind him. “They’ve been chatting for the past ten minutes.”

Both Bucky and Sam turned to look, only for a pit to form in Bucky’s stomach.

You were there. Absolutely beautiful— dressed so effortlessly stunningly in a way that made the breath get caught in his throat. Then again, you could be in pajamas and an old hoodie, and Bucky would be a fool for you. 

You sat at the bar counter, absolutely flushed. Not from drinking too much alcohol, no, the drink in your hand was completely full. The skin of your cheeks are tinted a shade of red from embarrassment and shyness in a way that Bucky had never been able to see before. Your eyelashes are fluttering against your cheeks as you struggle to maintain eye contact with Bucky’s oldest and longest friend. 

Steve stood beside you, so fucking close. He leaned onto the bar counter with an elbow, a small smile on his face as he talked to you. His eyes never left your face, even when you couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

The conversation between you two is never ending. You’re both responding in quick succession despite the fluttering party around you, ignoring the noise and the chatter. You two are completely absorbed in each other’s words. It’s like nothing else matters. 

You say something that makes Steve chuckle. His head hangs low just for a moment, and he shakes his head. You have a shy smile on your face as you trace the rim of your glass, speaking to him softly. You’re nervous. You’re shy. You look almost a little scared of what he’ll say next. 

When he does respond, you let out a soft laugh, pulling your lip between your teeth before shaking your head shyly. Your cheeks are getting redder by the second.

Then, Steve leans in— whispers something in your ear. 

You freeze for a second, your lips part, and you stare at Steve. You’re flustered. Steve’s grin goes even wider as he pulls back to look at you, and he finishes the rest of his drink. 

Steve looks quite satisfied with himself for your reaction, the pure flushed and embarrassed look on your face. You’re unable to react for a few moments before you’re turning away from him quickly, unable to look him in the eyes— and Steve is laughing at you while you’re fanning your face with your hands. 

“Since when has Steve had moves like that?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised. “She’s like butter for him.”

Bucky has never seen you like this before. There’s never been a moment where you have ever acted like this for him before. Not once, not ever. 

Despite the fact you’re so embarrassed at whatever he had to say to you, you’re still talking to him. You can’t even look him in the eyes, but you’re responding to each and every single thing he’s saying to you. Just like Sam said— you’re melting for his words. 

Bucky has a pit of despair in his gut. He has to look away. He can’t watch the scene in front of him anymore. A long breath enters and exits his chest as he slowly tries to think rationally. 

Rationality fully leaves when Sam’s voice breaks his meditation. 

“There he is!” Sam exclaimed, standing. “Introduce us to your friend, Steve!”

Steve’s walking over, with you. Steve’s hand is on your back, leading you over to the group of them. You look relaxed, the blush is mostly gone from your cheeks, but Bucky can’t focus on anything except for the fact you’re extremely close to Steve. 

Sam moves to greet Steve, and two hands clap together before chests hit in a brother hug, their other hands hitting each other’s back. 

“Well, I’m not the one who should introduce her,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

You give Sam a polite smile before sidestepping both men, going around them, dropping onto the couch beside Bucky. Immediately, he shifted over to give you space. You notice, and Bucky tries not to react to your gaze. 

As you settle, you give a nod to Natasha and Rhodey on the opposite couch. Natasha gives you a smile in return, but she looks a bit confused. 

You introduce yourself as Bucky’s friend— the one that Bucky goes to see all the time. 

“The one that’s not real?” Sam asked, surprised. 

“You tell them I’m not real?” you asked, looking at Bucky as you lean back into the cushions.

“They say it on their own,” Bucky muttered. You stared at him for a few moments. You heard the edge to his voice, and he cursed in his head for being so blatant with his irritation. 

“Are you okay?” you whispered, your voice softer, only for him to hear. He wanted to scream. Not at you, but at himself. 

Bucky doesn’t look at you. Instead, he gets up, handing you his drink before walking away without another word. He can feel your eyes on him, feel the way you straightened on the couch in panic as he left without warning. 

He fucking hates this. 

Only two tells. He only needed to do one thing, say one thing, and you immediately could tell something was off about him. He hates even more that he just walked away from you without even saying a word, but he needs a second to collect his thoughts. 

For the rest of the party, Bucky avoided you like the plague. He felt your eyes on him. He refused to look at you. Even when the crowd thinned out, and the party dwindled down to just the team and you, Bucky avoided you. 

Eventually, you took your leave. 

It was Steve who saw you to the door. Steve offered to give you a ride home. You rejected, giving him a smile and saying you’ll just call an Uber or something, and wait in the lobby. Steve wasn’t having it. Something about it being too late at night, and he was right. 

Bucky could see, out of the corner of his eye, you looking at him. He didn’t look back. 

So, you left with Steve, Steve’s jacket on your shoulders to keep you warm for when the night air hit you. 

Shortly after, Bucky excused himself to his room, and his phone went off in his pocket. He re-read your text, feeling more and more like a fucking asshole with each read. 

He tossed his phone to the side, dragging a hand down his face. Bucky couldn’t answer you. Not tonight. 

Pretty Girl [1:32am]: is everything okay?

Just like you thought, you and Steve became extremely good friends right away. You practically knew him and everything about him right away from the very beginning, thanks to Bucky. 

You didn’t even mean to approach him first, but your eyes found him when you were looking in the crowd when you arrived. He was attempting to get a drink when you dropped in on the bar, and opened up with—

“Is Bucky gay and not telling me?”

Steve choked on the water he originally had in his hands before looking at you. You belatedly introduced yourself to him, telling him who exactly you were to Bucky before repeating yourself, asking him if he and Bucky were dating or if Bucky and Sam were dating or if all three of them were in some… throuple… situation. 

Thankfully, Steve took it like a champ. He laughed so loud it made you grin before he shook his head and confirmed that Bucky is indeed single, and has been since the forties. 

Then, he asked you why you even assumed. 

Your next question—

“How the hell do I get your dumbass friend to like me then?”

Steve looked intrigued at that point. Leaned against the bar, hooked on your every word. You told him about your situation with him— how touchy Bucky was with you. The cute names he called you. How he was always at your place.

You told him how your friends thought he must not like girls, which is why you even had to ask Steve in the first place. 

Then he whispers to you, in your ear for only you to hear—

“I’m certain he’s already in love with you if he’s doing all of that.”

Steve had such a big grin on his face after saying it— and he couldn’t stop telling you how happy he was to meet you. How he’d noticed how Bucky was just a generally brighter guy these days, but wouldn’t say much about you, as if he wanted to keep you to himself. 

Steve said he understood why Bucky fell for you, from how you were talking about him.

“My words don’t mean much,” Steve said, smiling at you, “but thank you for looking at Bucky like this. Like he’s a man.”

That first half of the party was almost like a blur for you. You had practically reached enlightenment just by speaking to Captain America. All of your world’s issues had been solved by your conversation with the man, and you could only remember bits and pieces from how scrambled your brain was.

You were so embarrassed from admitting all of it to Bucky’s friend. Your feelings about having to ask for advice on how to get Bucky to look your way to Steve telling you that you already had Bucky wrapped around your finger. All of it had you on a euphoric level that you had never experienced before.

Yet, if Steve’s so fucking certain, then why is Bucky ignoring you? 

You remembered the second half of the party better than the first. Bucky moving away from you on the couch. At first, you thought it was because his friends were around. You tried not to let it bother you– the way that he created distance between the both of you. 

Despite the fact your heart was racing because you received verbal confirmation from Bucky’s best friend that Bucky had feelings for you, you tried acting normal. The same way that you always acted with him. Touchy. Casual. The same flirting routine that you two always use.

Yet, you don’t think he looked your way once the entire night. You tried. You desperately tried to corner him, to talk to him. You should’ve known better to try to get the former Winter Soldier alone.

Bucky doesn’t know this because you’ve never told him, but he has read receipts on. You know he’s seen every single one of your text messages. You know he’s read every single one of them the second you’ve sent them, which means there’s no mission.

You’ve gone over a week without contact with him. You’ve gone longer without seeing him, but never without any form of communication. There was always some sort of text or call, something to connect the two of you together. 

You didn’t have the clearance to go in and out of the Avengers compound. You couldn’t just waltz in there. All you could do was text and attempt to call him, and wait for him to text you back. 

But you don’t want to bother him if he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re better than that— you’re not going to chase attention from someone who clearly didn’t want yours. You’re still not sure what you did to offend him, but you’d try one last time. 

Feelings aside, you valued him deeply as your friend. You thought he felt the same way. You weren’t sure if you were hurt from feeling a friend breakup, or having to get over your crush over him. Either option fucking sucked.

You call him one more time during your lunch break, only for the phone to go immediately to voicemail. You let out a deep sigh, and wait for the prompt to allow you to record your message. 

“I’ll stop calling and texting you now,” you said, your heart beating so wildly in your chest you’re certain that your phone’s microphone can pick it up. “I don’t know what I did, but… Yeah. I’ll leave you alone now. I wish you the best, I guess. Stay safe, handsome.”

You hang up, sending the message. You turn your phone off next. You don’t want to know if he’s texted you or called you back, and you don’t trust yourself by just simply turning on the do not disturb feature on your phone. You’re the type to still look at notifications to see if you were disturbed. 

You try to power through the rest of your day on autopilot. 

Your plan is to complete your menial work tasks. Tasks that should have been so easy to complete without a single bat of an eye, but no. The universe wanted to make your life harder. As if to just laugh at you, add onto your plate, and make you feel even more miserable.

The emails you received from your team were full of dumpster fires that you needed to put out for your clients. You were pulled into emergency meetings that you didn’t have time for. Those same clients were calling you, frantic and fucking pissed that your company wasn’t delivering what you had promised them. 

All at the same time, your upper management was cracking down on your boss, who was then taking it out on all of you— and you had no time to deal with his tantrum. You were one fucking person, dealing with your own meltdown in your own personal life, but expected to deal with everyone else’s. 

You didn’t get out of work on time. You couldn’t. It was impossible. You had a mountain of tasks that had no end in sight. You didn’t take your final break at the end of the day. Honestly, your head was pounding. 

Still, you didn’t go home right away. Didn’t turn your phone back on. You went to the grocery store instead. You couldn’t handle the thought of sitting in your lonely home, by yourself with your own thoughts. 

You should’ve just gone home. 

You roamed up and down aisles that you didn’t need to go down, only for a rambunctious child to slam into you with an open container of fruit juice in his hands, spilling all over your clothes before falling backwards. The kid’s parent had the audacity to yell at you.

You barely had half the mind to walk away before breaking down in tears yourself because why is your kid drinking unbought juice in the store and running around unsupervised? while the kid’s mom screamed at you to pay for the juice. 

You didn’t even buy anything at the store. Just dropped your basket off at the register and left before you ended up exploding. Apologized to the cashier for the inconvenience before making the walk home. 

A soft curse fell from your lips as you shoved your key into the door— it was fucking jammed again. You shook the door, tears prickling in your eyes. You were sticky, uncomfortable, angry, overstimulated, and so fucking sad. You’re about to slam your fist into the door in utter rage and frustration when it opens.

“You really need to tell your landlord to fix your door, doll,” Bucky murmured to you, “Even I had trouble getting in earlier.”

You’re staring at him, like a deer caught in headlights. He looks sheepish, eyes trained on the ground at your feet. For a moment, you wonder how the fuck he’s in your apartment. Then you remember you gave him a key a long time ago for emergencies.

Your silence must’ve alerted him. His eyes finally drag upwards, and widen when he sees the state you’re in. His eyebrows furrowed. He’s quiet, for just a moment. Then, his inner thoughts come forth.

“You look like shit.”

“Yeah. Because that’s exactly what I want to fucking hear from you after uncalled for radio silence,” you said dryly, coming to your senses. You watch him cringe at your tone before you push past him, walking into your apartment. 

Your work bag is unceremoniously dropped onto the nearest chair, and you shrug off your cardigan next. You can hear Bucky shuffling behind you as you make your way to your bedroom for another change of clothes before you drown yourself in hot water. 

By the time you come out of the bathroom, no longer sticky, muscles slightly relaxed from the spray of the water, you find that Bucky had made dinner for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy or extreme– just some pasta and chicken that you definitely didn’t have in your fridge before. You vaguely wondered if he had gone shopping before he even came over. 

You want to press him. Tell him to get the fuck out of your house. But God, the food smells good, he looks good in his stupid fucking sweatshirt and jeans that screams boyfriend material, and you’re so tired. 

You can feel his eyes on you, cautious. The tension in the air is thick. You could probably eat it for dessert, if you wanted to. For now, you take your time stabbing into the pasta in front of you and bringing it to your lips. You fill your stomach, ignore his stare, and ignore the way that he doesn’t eat his own share of food. 

“I got your message,” Bucky finally spoke.

“Great. Why are you here then?” you replied, dropping your fork onto the plate. It clattered loudly against the ceramic, and you finally sat back in your seat. Your arms crossed over your chest as you finally looked at him.

Bucky was still looking at you. His lips were parted, as if he was trying to come up with the words to speak. His fists were clenched on either side of his plate, and then his mouth shut. He took in a deep breath from his nostrils, and shook his head, lowering it as he did.

“Are you here to return my apartment key? Didn’t have to make me dinner to do that. You could’ve slipped it through the mail slot, but whatever. Hand it over,” you said, holding out your hand to him.

His head immediately snapped up, and a crease formed between his eyebrows. He looked hurt– but not in a kicked puppy kind of way. Almost scandalized, like he was offended that you even suggested that to begin with. 

“I’m not returning your fuckin’ key,” he responded, voice a little tight. 

You frowned, raising your eyebrows at him. You lowered your hand back down, and tilted your head at him as you observed him for a few moments. You were both in a quiet standoff, one that you didn’t fully get. 

 “I’m sorry, did I misunderstand something between us?” you finally asked, tone clipped. “I’ve texted you. Called you– like an obsessive fucking girlfriend for nearly two weeks now. I can’t even say that you ghosted me because ghosting is a term that you use for people in relationships or people in talking stages, and we clearly aren’t in either of those–”

“What the fuck is ghosting?” he cut you off, exasperated. 

“I just fucking told you!” you shouted back, throwing your hands into the air. 

Then, you looked at him. Really looked at him. Despite his tone, he was genuine. Confused. He wanted to know, and you were going off on a tangent on him. It wouldn’t be fair to him or you to keep going if he had no clue what you were saying. So, you took in a slow breath of air before you explained. 

“It means you ignored me. Fell off the face of the Earth without any explanation– no rhyme or reason. I had no clue what happened to you, or if I did something to hurt you. There was no closure, no understanding. I don’t know what I did to piss you off, so now I’m pissed off at you,” you said, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “And now, you come into my fucking apartment, make me dinner, and try to act like everything is okay? That’s just a load of bullshit, James. I have to get texts from Steve to make sure that you’re alive, and not dead in some random country!”

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched, and he sat back in his own seat. You watched as he sucked on his teeth, and slowly exhaled. 

“You and Steve text? How often does that happen?” he asked, his voice low.

“Are you for real?” you asked, a laugh escaping your lips. You couldn’t even try to mask the confusion that was on your face now. You stared at him, blinking. “Out of everything I just said– that’s what you’re going to take away from that? Not that I’m mad– you’re not even going to apologize?”

“Just answer the question, please,” he murmured, his shoulders rising as he took in another, small breath.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at him. You couldn’t read his face. There was something distant in his eyes. He was guarded, far away, and not the Bucky that you knew. 

“I’ve texted him more than you’ve texted me these past couple weeks,” you answered, clenching your jaw. “Which, by the way– you texted me absolutely nothing. So you can guess how often me and Steve text.”

“So you two really hit it off then, huh?” Bucky said, though it sounds more to himself than to you. He’s looking down at this full plate of food now, avoiding your gaze as his tongue is poking at his cheek. He almost looks pissed off. 

“What the hell are you even talking about?” 

His eyes flickered up. “You and Steve. At the party. That’s where you met, right? He brought you home, didn’t he?”

“He did, since the person that I assumed was going to be my ride home avoided me all night,” you shot back. You could feel your already thinning patience dissolving into nothing at all. “How is this relevant to the conversation that we’re having?”

Silence settled like a stone wall as you stared at each other. The two of you met another dead end to your conversation, with nowhere to go. This was the first time you had ever argued with Bucky like this, and you could feel your relationship with him slipping through your fingertips. You don’t know this side of Bucky. Your agitation was already through the roof, and Bucky was mad about something that you didn’t even understand, but you could see it in his eyes. 

Then, you watch his anger dissipate. It cracks, like he’s conceding. Like he doesn’t want to be mad. He’s fighting an internal battle, struggling with himself in his mind. You don’t know which part of him is winning yet.

Bucky scrubs a hand down his face as he slouches in his seat, and rests his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands for a few moments. He takes two, slow, deep breaths as he tries to compose himself. 

“Steve’s a good guy,” he finally spoke through a clenched jaw. “A great guy even. I’m glad you two seem to be getting along.”

Your temper freezes in its place as you stare at him. What?

Bucky lifts his head, lacing his fingers together in front of his mouth. He’s still not looking at you, eyes trained somewhere behind your head. 

“I– I haven’t seen someone make him laugh like that in so damn long, and I know you really well, so I don’t doubt that you’ll make him happy either. And I’ve never seen you act so fucking shy in front of guy before, and I’m glad it’s Steve that made you act like that–”

The words are spilling out of Bucky’s mouth faster than you can comprehend. Your mind is trying to keep up with the clusterfuck of information that you’re suddenly receiving from him. You’re doing your best to decipher what he’s saying to you, while sitting in front of you, looking like a sad, lonely, kicked fucking puppy. He looks like you’ve just abandoned him. 

“–and God I just wish that it was me that you looked at like that because I’ve been with you this entire time for over a year now, and I’ve been flirting with you every single fucking day that I’m with you and you never seem to notice–”

“You’re jealous?” you finally cut him off, your mind finally catching up with his words. “You’ve been ignoring me because you’re jealous that I was talking to Steve at the party?”

You watch as Bucky’s lips part, and he slowly falls backwards into his seat. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he attempts to catch his breath from the long winded, incoherent rant. He clenches his jaw like he’s about to break his teeth into pieces. Then, he nods once, swallows thickly, and looks you in the eyes. Nervously.

You can't believe what you're hearing. He's jealous. The guy you've been ripping your hair out over, the one you've embarrassed yourself in front of Captain America over is jealous.

You got up from your chair, and went over to your bookshelf. You could feel him watching you as you pulled out one of your photo albums– a black binder. Sleek, inconspicuous, unassuming. You brought it back to the table, dropping it down in front of him before sitting back in your seat, taking a slow breath. 

Silently, you gestured for him to open it, looking down at it before looking back at him. You watched as he slowly reached for it, moving his plate away to make more space. 

Then, he saw it. 

Your possession of candid photos, spanning over the last five months. Just Bucky, and Bucky alone. In nearly all of them, Bucky wasn’t looking at you. You thought that he would have been aware that you were taking the photos, with his assassin senses, but Steve told you otherwise– he trusts you, he said. 

You watched as Bucky continued flipping through the photo album, page by page, confusion riddling his features with each turn, each new photo that he saw. There were photos from your excursions together.

The photos taken on your DSLR camera were the ones where he wasn’t facing you. Where he had no clue that you were even pointing the camera at him. These photos were taken outdoors, when you were outside doing something else in the world. At an aquarium. At the park. At a nice cafe that you saw online that you dragged him to. You had made sure the flash was turned off on your camera, made sure that he wouldn’t be able to see you sneaking photos. You always tried to be sure there was something near him that you could pretend to be taking a photo of instead, too. 

In some of the recent photos, his face was clearly shown. At some point throughout your process of sneaking photos of him, you realized that he thought you were just tapping away at your screen. It was one of the many benefits that you had from the fact that Bucky didn’t use his phone often, other than to contact you. 

These were photos of him in your kitchen when he made dinner or of him on your couch, your legs on his lap. Some photos were of him sleeping on the other side of your bed, completely unaware that you had put your camera to his face

“You don’t take pictures of people,” he murmured, fingers brushing over the photos. “You told me you think people become the fakest version of themselves on camera.”

“You’re right. I don’t. I fucking hate it,” you answered with a shrug. “And they do.”

“Then what’s all this?”

“Photos of you through my eyes– exactly how I see you. An entire collection of it, actually. I hoard those photos. I have more of them that I need to go get developed, and add to that album, actually,” you admitted. 

“Why?” 

You could only stare at him for a few moments, your heart thumping wildly in your chest, threatening to crawl up your esophagus and show itself to Bucky. He looked like he was putting together the pieces, just as you had done yourself. But he needed the confirmation.  

“I asked Steve if you two were dating. That’s what we were talking about at the party.”

You watched as Bucky’s head snapped up towards you, eyebrows raised up to his hairline. You’re certain that if he had water, he would’ve choked like Steve did. 

“Sweetheart, what the fuck–”

“And then we kept talking about you,” you cut him off, looking away from him, clearing your throat. “And I asked Steve how I could get you to like me– to notice me– and stop just flirting with me like a friend. He told me that if you were flirting with me at all, there’s a pretty good chance that you already like me. Which is why I got shy.”

You can feel heat crawling up your neck, blossoming under your cheeks, and on either side of your head to your ears. It was your turn to avoid his gaze. You kept your eyes down on your hands, which were folded onto your lap. You could hear your heart in your ears. Your stomach flipped over in your body in unnatural ways, and you wish you didn’t eat any of the food Bucky made. 

Then, you saw Bucky’s metal hand on top of yours. You didn’t even hear him stand or get out of his chair. It was moments like this that you forgot how quiet he could be– how he made himself loud for you, how he made his presence known for your own comfort. It was one of the many things that he did for you without you even realizing it. 

Your breath hitched as you turned, finding him on one knee beside your chair, looking up at you. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, gently, comfortingly, sweetly, in a way that made your heart stutter in your chest. 

You met his eyes. They were soft. Just like how he had looked at you that day in the bookstore, when you told him to smile for you. A small smile was on his lips as he looked up at you, unguarded and raw. 

“I’m really sorry, doll,” he whispered, and you released a soft breath. “I didn’t– I should’ve just talked to you instead of running from you. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I… didn’t want to be rejected by you.”

“So you thought pushing me away completely would be better?” you shot back with a frown, but there was no real anger to your words, and Bucky could tell.

“Can I make it up to you?” he asked. “Take you on a date? An actual date– maybe one where we can take a photo together instead of you taking ones of me like a creep hiding something.”

A laugh fell from your lips as Bucky squeezed your hands. His smile only grows at the sound of your laughter, and you can’t find it in you to be a brat to him. Not when he’s kneeling beside you, holding your hands, and asking so nicely. Then again, you were always soft for him. 

Then, you reached for him. You grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him up as you leaned down, meeting him somewhere in the middle. His lips are on yours within seconds, and they’re as soft as you had imagined– as you know they are because you’ve put your lip masks on his lips with your fingers more times than you can count. But God, feeling them directly on yours is a different sense of euphoria that you never would’ve known until now. 

You slowly slink out of your chair for comfort, until you’re on the floor with Bucky, body pressed against his. Your hands are on his shoulders, his wrapped around your back to hold you tight against him. You’re breathless against his lips, slotted against him perfectly like he was made for you. You could probably stay like this forever. Kissing him slowly in the dining area of your apartment. 

When you finally parted, his forehead pressed against yours. Your breaths mingle, fanning against each other’s faces as you look at each other. The tension is back, but different. You both react at the same time.

Bucky dives back in for another kiss, a hand coming to cradle the back of your neck to support you. You can feel his tongue swipe the seam of your lips, requesting entry that you would never deny him. He immediately takes the chance to explore, while your hands explore underneath his clothes, searching for skin.  

A low, guttural groan escapes his throat. “This is backwards, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “We should be going on dates first before all of this.”

“Are you complaining?” you asked, hands moving up his abdomen, and resting on his sides. 

“No, but I wanna be a gentleman for you, make it up to you for the bullshit I put you through–”

“Technically, we have been going on dates this entire time,” you reassured, peppering a series of kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Bucky lets out a soft sigh, moving his head to the side to allow you space to keep pressing your lips to his skin. “Since we both liked each other, we just never said it out loud.”

You can feel his resolve of being a gentleman breaking with each kiss. His hands tighten around you, and you can feel his pulse quicken under your lips. Gently, you nip onto a soft spot, listening to him let out another groan before you placate the ache with your tongue. 

Then, you’re being hoisted off the floor with a shriek falling from your lips. You grab onto Bucky’s shoulders quickly, and you look at his face– there’s determination all over his features as he makes his way down the hall to your bedroom. The resolve has shattered. You’ve broken him. 

Bucky’s been in your bedroom before. He’s been in your bed before, been under your sheets, slept comfortably through the night with him on the other side of the bed– but God, this is so much better.

Clothes are thrown off, damn near ripped at the seams, littered all over your floor, and Bucky’s hands are all over you. He’s laid you down onto your pillows, and his head is between your legs before you can come to your senses– and you feel the warmth of his tongue flattening against your aching core.

You both moan into the room at the same time, almost in harmony. You weakly push yourself onto your elbows to look at him, to watch him, and he’s hooking your thighs over his shoulders, pulling you deeper into him to lock you in place. Then, you meet his eyes as he takes another pass. 

Bucky doesn’t need to say a single word for you to understand that he’s been waiting to taste you on his tongue for months. He eats like a man that’s been starved, like a man that had spent years in the desert, and you were the first drop of water that he’s had. 

You can only fall back against the pillows, reaching for him, grabbing onto his hair– which makes him groan against you. The vibrations alone make your body tremble against him. He’s enjoying every single moment, eyes falling shut. His hand shifts, thumb moving to press against your clit, and your body reacts instantly, thighs clenching around him. 

“Bucky– fuck–” you gasped out, and you fall apart instantly. He groans into you, almost in approval as he licks up all of your arousal and juices until there’s nothing left. You’re twitching, sensitive, and pushing on his head– damn near sobbing for him to give you a break. 

Reluctantly, he does get up. And he looks like he’s the one who just came. He’s breathless, chest rising and falling, expression fucked out and beautiful. Bucky licks his lips, then wipes the area surrounding his mouth before he slots himself between your legs, lowering himself down to you.

“So good for me, baby,” he praised softly, kissing your forehead as his elbows rested on either side of your head. His kisses moved further down your face until his lips met yours again in a slow, gentle kiss. “So, so good for me. Can you keep going?”

“God, if you don’t fuck me I might kill you.”

You could feel him grin against you as he slowly shifted, and you felt him slowly drag the length of his cock against your folds, coating himself in your slick. A soft gasp fell from your lips as he moaned out your name. He dropped his head into your shoulder, trying to ground himself as he lined himself up with your aching hole, and pushed in.

You can feel him deep– every ridge and vein, pulsing inside of you. He’s thick and girthy, long, stretching you out more than you’d ever been before, and it’s too much, and not enough at the same time. You need him painting the inside of you, staining you, claiming you– you can’t tell him that right now. Not yet. You just got the man. 

You know that you’re not much better. You’re wet around him, walls twitching and crying at the feel of him. Your legs are trembling around his hips, fingernails clawing at his shoulders and digging deep as you try to catch your breath. You’re impossibly full, but you need him to move.

And he does.

The first pull back has you seeing the gates of heaven. When he sinks all the way back in, you’re sent straight to hell. 

Bucky fucks you into the bed like a man on a mission, full of sin and no regrets. His hands are all over you, grabbing at your waist to hold you in place while his lips are busy marking your chest in places where only you and he will know. When your back arches off the bed, his lips close around a stiff nipple, tongue lapping around the hardened peak and sucking. 

You’re sensitive, breaths erratic, and he’s too good. 

“I can’t– I can’t–” you whimpered, fingers digging into his chest. 

“Oh, but you’re doing so well, baby,” Bucky praised softly. 

You can barely open your eyes to look at him, but when you do? There’s a light sheen of sweat that’s coating his skin, and his eyes are on you, watching every single part of you, burning you into his memory– the way you look under him as he fucks you– how your breasts move in correspondence with each thrust of his hips, how fucked out and cock drunk you look, how your body spasms and twitches under his ministrations. He’s compartmentalizing every single detail of you. 

“Bucky, please,” you moaned out, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

“Gimme one more, doll– Can you do that for me?” he groaned, his hips picking up speed, “Need you to cum on my cock, pretty thing.”

There’s a neediness in his voice that makes your walls flutter around him, that shoves you off the edge a second time that night– just like he wanted you to. A curse falls from his lips as his hips stutter against you, and he rides out your orgasm as long as possible before he’s pulling out of you, his own release spilling all over your stomach and chest. Bucky catches himself on his elbows before he collapses on top of you, breathing heavily.

Part of you wants to tell him what a waste. You keep it to yourself for now. 

“Kiss, Bucky,” you muttered instead, reaching for his face.

He chuckles, almost breathy, and leans back down to you. He’s careful to avoid the hot, sticky mess that he’s left behind on your body, but he kisses you regardless. A sigh escapes your throat as he meets your lips.

Before long, he’s completely leaving you, muttering something about needing to clean you up. You stay there, boneless and sated, drifting off to sleep. You don’t even realize he’d come back until you feel a warm washcloth on your skin, wiping away the remnants of misdeed that you two had committed just moments prior. 

Then, you’re being hoisted into his arms again, and the sheets are pulled over your bodies. His lips press against your forehead as his arms wrap around you, tugging you closer to his chest. Once again, Bucky is in your bed. Like he’s been countless times before, but this is different. It’s changed. You like it better this way.

You’re listening to the steady beat of his heart, allowing it to be your lullaby for the night when he breaks the silence. 

“Is this a yes to the date?” Bucky whispered.

A grin breaks out on your face, and you press a kiss to his bare chest. “Yes, handsome. You can take me out on a date.”

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet @the-salty-asian

[deansbeer]

‎ ݁ ໒꒰ྀི っ ⸝⸝ ˂ ꒱ྀིა when clark comes home exhausted, you know exactly what he needs ‹𝟹

♡ ⋮ minors or blank blogs dni.

[this does contain a teensy tiny spoiler! ]

smut | oral sex (m!receiving) | soft blowjob (?) | praise kink | pet names (mama, baby, sweet girl) | light hair pulling | living room sex | size kink | fatigue | comfort sex | clark being a whimpering mess (bc lets be so fr he would).

the door clicks shut softly, but you hear it anyway. you’ve gotten good at listening for him. the particular weight of his footsteps when he’s tired, the way he sighs when he thinks no one’s paying attention. tonight, both sounds are heavier than usual.

you peek around the corner to find him collapsed in the living room chair, still in the suit but looking nothing like the symbol of hope metropolis sees. his sleek jet black hair’s sticking up at odd angles, probably from flying too fast, and there’s a weariness in his shoulders that makes your heart ache. his head is tipped back, eyes closed, legs spread wide like he doesn’t have the energy to sit properly.

“oh, baby,” you murmur, and his eyes flutter open at your voice. those impossibly blue eyes that can see through walls look grateful just to see you standing there in your new nightgown — the powder blue one you’d bought to replace the casualties of last week’s... yeah.

you pad over on bare feet, silk swishing around your thighs, and his gaze tracks every movement. “rough day?” you ask softly, settling yourself across his lap with practiced ease. his hands immediately find your hips, thumbs rubbing circles through the thin silk fabric.

“mm, you could say that,” clark mumbles, voice rough. “bank robbery turned into a hostage situation. then there was a fire downtown. and somehow lex managed to unleash another one of his experiments in the harbor.” his hands slide lower, palming your ass with a gentle squeeze that betrays how much he’s holding back. “just wanted to come home to you, mama.”

the pet name makes warmth pool in your belly. it’s something he only calls you when he’s like this — exhausted and needing comfort, needing to let someone else take care of him for once. you run your fingers through his messy hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he practically melts under your touch.

“let me help,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw before sliding off his lap. his protest dies on his lips when you sink to your knees between his spread legs, hands running up his thighs.

“you don’t have to—“ he starts, but you’re already working at the hidden clasps of his suit, fingers finding the familiar catches. you’ve gotten good at this too, undressing a god who could bend steel with his bare hands but turns to putty under your touch.

“shh,” you soothe, finally freeing him from the confines of the suit. he’s already hard, thick and leaking, and the sight makes your mouth water. “let me take care of you, my love.”

you start slow, just lips and tongue at first, teasing the head while your hand works the base. clark’s breathing goes ragged immediately, one large hand resting at the back of your head; not pushing, just holding. like he needs to touch you to ground himself.

“fuck, that’s... oh god,” he gasps when you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust, always so careful with his strength. but you know what he needs, so you tap his thigh — your “it’s okay” signal — and feel his fingers tighten in your hair.

“please,” he whimpers, and that’s all the encouragement you need to relax your throat and let him guide you deeper. the sounds he makes — desperate, needy little noises that would shock anyone who’s seen superman — have you clenching your thighs together.

“can’t... mama, i need..." he’s babbling now, that careful control finally cracking. you pull off with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him through your lashes.

“need what, baby?” you ask innocently, but you’re already climbing back into his lap, nightgown riding up around your hips. his hands are there immediately, sliding under the silk to find bare skin.

“need t’be inside you,” he groans, fingers hooking into your panties to pull them aside. “need to feel you, please, i’ve been thinking about this all day, just wanted to come home and—“

you cut him off by sinking down onto him in one smooth motion, and the sound that tears from his throat is almost wounded. your mouth falls open at the stretch — no matter how many times you do this, he always feels impossibly big, filling you completely.

“there you go,” you breathe, giving yourself a moment to adjust before starting to move. “just relax, baby. let me ride you. you saved the city today, now let me save you.”.

clark’s head falls back against the chair as you find your rhythm, bouncing on his lap like your life depends on it. his hands grip your hips hard enough that there’re be bruises tomorrow — little marks that you’ll wear proudly under your clothes, secret reminders that superman loses control for you.

“jesus christ,” he breathes, voice cracking as his eyes lock onto where your bodies meet. “look at you... bouncing on me like that, so goddamn beautiful. my sweet girl, always know exactly what i need.”

the chair creaks dangerously beneath you both but neither of you care. you’re close, chasing your release as you grind down on him, and he must feel it because suddenly he’s sitting up, wrapping his arms around you and taking over the pace.

“yeah, uh-huh,” he rasps, words tumbling out desperate and raw. “go ahead and let go for me, mama. need to feel you squeeze me, wanna feel you fall apart. come on, i’ve got you.”

when you shatter apart, he follows immediately, burying his face in your neck as he spills inside you with a broken moan of your name. you hold each other through the aftershocks, his cape pooled on the floor beside the chair, just two lovers finding comfort in each other after a long day of being strong for everyone else.

[date-em-all]

saw a couple of people saying they wouldn't be able to realistically get volt and eddie's good ending irl, because they would respect eddie's boundaries LOL i wrote a little something based around that <3

==

eddie told you, rather clearly, might you add, that he wanted nothing to do with you after the first time you approached him! you have absolutely no interest in pushing boundaries there. after years spent alone in your home, your bad at socialising with just about anyone, let alone someone who essentially tells you to fuck off.

but you do like to help. you enjoy making yourself useful! and now that your job is well… cancelled, for the time being, you have nothing to do except talk to objects and laze around the house. sometimes, you're just itching for an activity that has you doing something tangibly, visibly useful.

maybe the first time you do it, you're just waiting to tell volt how much you enjoyed the show as the club is emptying out. there's empty and half-full glasses left behind on a bunch of the tables, ringed, wet stains left behind everywhere coasters weren't used. eddie's washing some used glasses behind the bar and, before he even has the chance to make a comment or send you a look, you've already put them down and going back for another round.

"do you have, uh, some kind of cloth i could use?" you ask. you imagine he should have a better response to your presence, this time. you aren't pushing or prodding at him for answers, just genuinely doing something that will make his life easier!

but eddie just looks at you. "to… wipe the tables down…" you continue slowly, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"why are you doing this?" he asks, eyes narrowed. "volt won't mind if you sit around waiting."

you shrug your shoulders, avert your eyes and sigh. "i haven't… i'd like to feel useful, for a little bit. are you going to let me?" as a response, all you get is a rag tossed in your general direction. it might've once been colourful, but it's been dulled and stained as a testament to its uses. you mutter a 'thanks' underneath your breath, before continuing what you were doing.

you and eddie still don't converse much, but do settle into a routine. you'll stick around to help him clean up after the night is finished and, as the days pass, your lists of responsibilities grows. besides what you'd already been doing, you now sweep and mop the floors after having moved all the tables and stools to the side, neatly stacking them up in rows. it's menial, mind-numbing work… but it's also simple, predictable and, in a sense, relaxing. you can just turn your brain off for a little while.

"you know i'm just giving you the tasks i don't want to do myself, right?" eddie breaks your shared silence after a couple of nights spent just like this. there's some amusement in his voice and, when you look up, there's a small smile playing around his lips.

"like i said, it's just nice to have something to do that… feels like it's making a difference. just a bit."

eddie rubs the back of his neck. "well. if you want to do something that'll truly make you feel useful, i could walk you through some of it."

[fiendsgf]

Soulbound

II. Familiar Stranger

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: You wake up in Onychinus. Alive, somehow. Sylus is real, and he has questions. Faced with suspicion and a loaded gun, you do the only thing you can: tell the truth. About the game. About him. About her.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(ish) coming! shady raf (soon)

pt 1. here!

Black fades to grey as your senses begin to trickle back in. You’re no longer lying on concrete, there’s something soft beneath you now. Your limbs are heavy. Your breath shallow. Overhead, an unfamiliar ceiling stares back.

Two things settle like lead in your chest:

This isn’t a dream.

And you didn’t arrive as the girl you’ve been playing as.

You lift your head, slow and aching. Across the room, Sylus sits in a leather chair, methodically polishing the same gun he’d aimed at your skull not long ago.

“Where am I?” Your voice is scratchy but stronger, though anyone could still hear the shake beneath it.

Sylus hardly spares a glance at you as his signature smirk graces his lips.

“Don't you already know?’ There’s a taunt in his tone. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. But it does. The man you’ve held so dear, spent so much time trying to understand, is ready to assume the worst of you.

“What?” You sound dazed, unsure. Your thoughts are still a tangle of disbelief and panic. Processing the situation has you slow on your feet, leaving much to be desired with the responses you’re able to spit out. You’d be embarrassed if you had the capacity.

“You know who I am. You knew about the Aether Core in my eye. So tell me—where do you think you are?”

“We’re in Onychinus’s base, right?”

“Correct.” 

He places the gun down with care, finally looking at you, his eyes hard.

“Would you like to share how you managed to enter now? Surely you didn’t come for a tour of my garden.” There’s a glint of amusement under the steel in his voice. You might’ve laughed, if you weren’t still expecting to be shot.

“I told you already. I don’t know how I got here.” Your voice steadies, even as your stomach turns. You sound annoyed, agitated. You’re scared, the grip on your emotions slipping through your fingers like sand.

Cautiously, you murmur “Didn’t your eye… confirm that?”

“My eye found that you are very familiar with me, yet I know nothing of you. You appear out of nowhere, claiming a name that does not belong to you, bearing a striking resemblance to someone important to me.”

He leans in, quiet and deliberate.

“What exactly am I supposed to make of that?”

Well. He’s got you there. 

What is he supposed to make of that? Sure, you could explain. Tell him you’re so familiar with him because he’s your favorite love interest in a video game. Who would believe that? Every idea feels like a shovel that will only aid in digging your grave deeper.

“I… listen. I could explain why I’m familiar with you, but I need you to take me seriously.” The dread is clawing at your throat like thornes at this point. Even if he does believe you, what then?

“Bold,” he murmurs. “Making requests as an intruder.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just– I know I’m going to sound crazy and you probably won’t believe me, but if you do it might be… tough to digest?” You want to crawl out of your own skin, rambling like this.

His eyes narrow, dark and stormy. His gaze is challenging.

“Try me.”

You take a deep breath. Where do you even start? 

“I know you from… a video game. It’s called Love and Deepspace. There are five love interests including you. I share a name and resemblance to the girl I assume you’re referring to because I created her. She’s the character we play as and experience the story through.” You put on your best PR voice and pray he’s feeling open minded.

Silence. Heavy and absolute.

Sylus doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His expression is impassive, but something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Whatever he was expecting, that was outside the realm of possibilities. Frustrating, for a man like him. 

“I know how insane that sounds. But it’s true. You can use your eye again!” Your words are dripping with desperation.

Sylus stares at you a while longer before finally breaking the silence.

“A video game.” A huff.

“So, I’m supposed to believe I’m just a character? In a game?” The disbelief in his tone sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

“Well not necessarily… I– You seem real to me. The world, it feels real. Maybe in my world, it's just a game? But still real?” You can’t help but scramble to find some explanation that might satisfy him. You can only imagine the spiral or potential consequences of a video game character becoming self aware. Your efforts feel pointless though, you don’t even know what’s going on yourself.

“Right. And what is this world exactly?” 

“Well it’s still earth. The game… it’s futuristic. In my world it’s only 2025, and there’s no… deepspace stuff.”

“I see.”

The urge to explain, to ask if he believes you, bites at your throat. Before you can open your mouth, a sudden buzz cuts through the air.

Sylus pulls his phone from his pocket and you catch a glimpse of the name on his screen.

Kitten.

Fuck.

Panic sets in for the millionth time that night, as you pray her sudden call doesn’t indicate her arrival at the base. What if she sees you? Telling Sylus has already left you unbearably guilty, how the hell are you supposed to tell this poor girl you created her? What kind of mental break would that cause? You do not want to find out.

Sylus' voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

“Sorry sweetie, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy tonight. I can send Mephisto your way however.”

His words are a balm to your nerves, at least you can assume he’s on the same page of keeping her away for now.

His call ends, and he looks at you again.

“Tell me more about your world.”

You do. Earth in 2025. Cities. Screens. No deepspace tunnels, no wanderers, no evols.

He asks a few questions about you and your own life, trying to surmise what kind of person has stumbled into his hands. Eventually, a silence falls between you two.

“Your explanations are… vivid. Your fear seems genuine. Maybe there was a spatial anomaly in the deepspace tunnel.” A pause. “For now, you’ll stay here.”

Sylus appears done with the conversation as he begins to stand.

“Wait! Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Sylus stills.

“What? You don’t want to?”

“I just… I don’t want to run into her. The girl I–” you falter, “—created. I can’t imagine what seeing me would do to her. And… I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do here.”

Sylus pauses. Something shifts – not pity, but recognition. Like he hadn’t expected you to care about that.

“I’ll make sure you don’t cross paths.” He reassures. “You’ll lie low. Until we find a way to send you back.”

Your breath catches. “You think that’s possible?”

He turns to glance over his shoulder. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

“Yes! Of course I do.”

That earns a small, dry sound from him, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.

“Then follow me.”

Sylus leads you into an elevator. It ascends smoothly, quietly, until it reaches the highest floor of the base. When the doors part, you step into a world that once existed only in flat images and dialogue boxes.

Now it breathes around you.

Familiar decor lines the halls. Black walls, withered flowers, golden fixtures. You find yourself staring, overwhelmed, watching the world you once knew as pixels come to life with depth and gravity.

The two of you walk in silence until Sylus stops before an ornate black door.

“You’ll stay in here,” he says. “Luke and Kieran will bring you a change of clothes soon. Rest. You look like you need it.”

You would be offended, if your body didn’t feel like it was made of wet cement. The adrenaline crash has hit you full force. Your chest is heavy. Your eyes sting. You don’t even have the energy to argue. You nod wordlessly and step through the door.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Sylus watches you disappear into the guest room.

Only when the door clicks shut does he turn and make his way to his study.

The space is quiet, too quiet. He settles into the chair behind his desk, rests his elbows on the wood, and presses his fingers together.

The reality of it finally settles in.

A video game character?

He thinks back to when he first used his Aether Core on you. You hadn’t seen his reaction, he didn’t let it show, but what he saw…

It unsettled him deeply.

He saw his own life through your eyes. Moments he’d never shared. Moments no one had witnessed. Except her.

But what disturbed him wasn’t just the now.

It was the past.

The datura field. Taurus City. Fleeting images that no stranger should know. And yet… they were seen through you. Remembered by you.

Had all that suffering really been nothing more than someone else’s entertainment? Lines of code? A narrative?

No. It felt too real. All of it. Too vivid. Too painful. If anything, your so-called game must be a window, not fiction. 

But the memories weren’t what shook him the most.

It was the feeling.

There had been warmth. Fluttering affection. The kind that blooms in the chest, soft but undeniable. You’d felt something for him. Something kind. Familiar.

Something that, couldn’t possibly form from behind a screen.

He remembers his reunion with her. The only time he’d let himself feel guilt. He had been cold. Harsh. Desperate for clarity. He swore to never face her that way again.

So why does it feel like he just relived that moment?

You didn’t mention what he was. You didn’t even realize he believed you weren’t a threat before you’d woken up. Your scrambled explanations had almost… amused him.

No, not amused. Endeared.

There’s a quiet fire in you. Determined. Honest in your fear, but unflinching. He doesn’t know what you are, or how you got here – but he knows what you’re not.

You’re not a threat.

He leans back in his chair and exhales slowly, eyes narrowing as he reaches for his datapad. If the deepspace tunnel is responsible, there may be traces of disruption in the last recorded cycle.

He begins his search. But a thought lingers.

Why did she end up here… with me?

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that echoes in your chest. You lean against it for a second, taking in the silence. The room is dimly lit, spare but elegant. The kind of decor you’ve only ever seen in screenshots, background renders, where the world felt more like a set than a space.

But this room is tangible.

You move slowly, heart still pounding as you cross the floor. There’s a plush armchair near the wall, a small vanity, and a bed you desperately want to collapse into. Instead, you stand still. Your thoughts won’t let you rest.

The conversation replays in your mind. His tone. The way he looked at you. That call from her. Her name in his phone. Kitten. You, once upon a time.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair. You need to think. You need to calm down.

You need a shower.

The attached bathroom is minimal and sleek, like something out of a luxury hotel. The kind of detail you never noticed during gameplay because the story didn’t linger here. You step in and twist the faucet on, steam rising like mist as the water heats. It fogs the mirror in front of you almost immediately.

And maybe that’s why you don’t notice it at first.

You’re already stripping off your clothes, your mind a blur of disbelief and denial, when you glance up.

Then freeze.

The mirror’s fog clears in a slow sweep. Just enough to show your face.

And it’s you.

But not you, exactly.

There’s no screen-glow softening the edges. No model slider tweaking jawlines and eye shapes. You’re not her. Not the MC you customized, but you’re close. Too close. A high-resolution, tangible version of what you were never quite able to recreate.

Same eyes. Different slant. Same hair color. Styled how you like. Same mouth. But fuller, real.

It’s your face. But it’s hers too. And it makes your blood run cold.

Your hands grip the sink, knuckles white.

If you look like this to you, how do you look to them?

The thought hits hard – Rafayel. Zayne. Xavier. Caleb.

If they saw you...

No. No, no, no.

You can’t let that happen.

A sick wave of guilt rolls through your gut. She doesn’t know about you. She can’t. And the others? What would they think? Would they mistake you for her? Would they sense something was off? Or worse, would they believe something isn’t?

You stare into the mirror, water still running behind you. This was supposed to be a fantasy. A story. You were never meant to be in it.

You swallow hard and pull away from the glass, blinking quickly to push the sting behind your eyes back down.

This is temporary. It has to be temporary.

Sylus said he’d find a way to send you back. You’ll lie low, keep your head down, and avoid the others. That’s the best way to protect her. To protect you.

You’re not here to rewrite a story.

You’re just passing through.

Right?

a/n: decided to combine chap 2&3 since chap 1 was so short. what dewww we think is going on here? also, i want to say MC will not be a villain in this, thats my girl (but she is still kinda getting done dirty, sorry diva everyone will suffer here) raf debut probably coming chap 4? 5 at the latest?

lmk if you want to join the taglist!

🏷️: @paper--angel @leftpoetrymoon @istolepeanuts @rjreins @freeprincesslove @3fg7 @mariahuchiha90 @beaconsxd

[epiicaricacy-arts]

hold your head high, stand proud / keep your head down, power through

hiii i finally had the motivation to draw something non-project related and i got into date everything :3C i love these boys so much their story really gets to me. i wanted to do a cool poster for them that i can hopefully put onto my wall

alternate versions + individual parts down below as well as the process discussion as always!

volt

eddie

figuring out how i was gonna execute this idea was interesting. i’m also a photographer, so i knew how to execute this with pictures but not with an illustration. what i ended up doing was just doing the base layers in black and white values and adding colour on top, then bringing the file into photopea (an online free version of photoshop!!!) so i could separate the RBG values. it took a lot of messing around to get the look that i wanted — you can see in eddie’s separate layers that there’s a section of volt’s drawing within it. that’s how i made sure the red part would stay where i wanted while the rest of volt’s silhouette would be blue (the select pixels tool is a huge favourite of mine ✌️)

the textures are from studio AAA! the ones i used are all free, but i downloaded them a bit ago before they did some store cleanup or whatever so idk if they’re still up. the ones i used are the VHS and printer trash textures but if anyone wants i can just dm them the jpgs!

more into the story of this piece - i thought a duo tone overlay portrait artwork would connect to this idea i’ve been seeing that “volt can live without eddie, but eddie can’t live without volt.“ i wanted to show that through the way their layers are overlayed on each other. eddie is nearly entirely encapsulated by volts silhouette, but volt extends beyond eddie’s silhouette. he’s the face of the breaker box while eddie works away, at the back. they’re inseparable and complete each other. i always thought that part of their story was so beautiful and i really love how it’s portrayed. eddie does need volt but it’s not shown in a way that makes eddie seem weak or entirely dependant on volt…. i’d write more about them but it’s late and i have plans tomorrow whoopsiesss

all in all making this was pretty fun. i knew i just wanted to do portraits of them as my first actual illustration after so many projects so i did just that!! the first few times ive drawn them as warmup ive always had the hardest time with volt and not eddie, but this time that changed and drawing volt was so easy and i couldn’t draw eddie for the life of me 😭 idk if any other artists have this problem with them where one is hard to draw and the other is easy…. i just can’t figure out eddie’s hair for the life of me </3 but oh well!!! if you made it this far, thank you so much!! i hope you like my work!!

[sweetonsin]

PUNCHLINE

pairings: dbf! joel miller x innocent! reader.

SUMMARY: Always the quiet one. The virgin. Too sweet. Too soft. The kind of girl who couldn’t even say “sex” without blushing. Her so-called friends never let her forget it. So when they joked one too many times, when the laughter stuck in her throat and burned hot in her cheeks, she made a decision. She went to him. Joel Miller.

warnings: nsfw,  18+.  au! no outbreak. implied large age gap (19 and 40s), porn  w/  little  to  no  plot, unprotected  pinv, finger fucking, orgasms, creampies, kinda pervy, teasing, swearing, virgin!reader, female and male anatomy descriptions, no y/n

WC: 3.9K

The girls were on their second bottle of wine, sprawled across mismatched couches and the floor, half-tipsy and mean in the way girls get when they’re bored and comfortable enough to prod at each other’s soft spots.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, clutching a red solo cup full of something too sweet. You didn’t drink. Didn’t party, didn’t flirt. You came tonight because they’d begged, and you were tired of always saying no.

“Aight,” Casey said, holding up her phone like a mic. “Time for the lightning round. Most guys you’ve hooked up with—go.”

Laughter. A few bold answers. One exaggerated moan.

“Does second base count?” Tasha giggled, already halfway through her third pour.

Someone nudged you. “Your turn, sweet thing.”

You looked up, startled. “What?”

“How many guys have you been with?”

The room quieted—not entirely, but just enough to feel heavy. Casey’s smirk widened like she already knew the answer. “Like… done anything yet?”

Your stomach twisted. “No,” you said softly.

A beat.

Then they all laughed.

Not cruel, not exactly. But loud enough. One of them clutched her chest dramatically, “Oh my god. You’re still—?”

"No way," another giggled. "Like—not even once? Nothing?"

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out small and tight.

"You’ve never had someone go down on you?"

"Or touched a dick at all?"

"Oh my god, you're like a virgin-virgin.”

“Damn, we gotta find you a man, girl.”

You laughed a little, again. Your throat felt tight, palms damp around your cup. You looked down into it like it held the exit.

They moved on quickly—talking about hookups and exes and who they’d do if they had to pick someone older—but you didn’t hear any of it. Your mind was elsewhere.

On the burn in your cheeks. On the lump in your throat.

The heat in your chest didn’t fade.

It stayed with you the rest of the night.

All the way home.

Even as you crawled into bed, still hearing their laughter echo behind your eyes.

——

There was a knock at the door just after 9 a.m.

You were still in the oversized sleep shirt you’d thrown on the night before—no bra, legs bare, hair messy. You hadn’t planned on being seen by anyone.

When you opened the door, Joel Miller stood on your porch, one hand braced on the frame, the other curled loosely around a travel mug.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and scratchy like he hadn’t been up long either. “Your dad around?”

You blinked at him, heart skipping a beat. “Uh—no. He left early this morning. Something at the shop, I think.”

Joel nodded, squinting slightly in the morning sun. He didn’t move to leave.

You felt his gaze flicker—just for a second. Barely there. A split-second glance down. Not lingering, but not accidental either.

You looked down and realized why.

Your nipples pressed clearly through the thin, pale fabric of your shirt. Chilled from the A/C and utterly visible. You crossed your arms quickly, heat rushing to your cheeks.

His eyes were back on your face, unreadable now.

“It’s—uh—it’s cold in here,” you mumbled stupidly.

He nodded again, awkward silence settling between you.

The girls' laughter echoed back in your mind, cruel and sharp.

You’ve never had someone go down on you?

Or touched a dick at all?

You swallowed.

“Do you… want coffee?” you offered, stepping back, pretending like nothing just happened. “I can make some.”

He hesitated, then gave a slow shrug. “Sure.”

The coffee pot sputtered and hissed in the corner. Joel sat at the table with his arms crossed while you busied yourself with mugs and sugar, hyper-aware of every movement. You could feel him watching you—quiet, curious.

Your hands shook slightly as you reached for the milk. You were still braless. Still flushed. Still full of something restless and reckless, your chest tight with leftover shame from last night.

You thought about his eyes. That flicker. The way they’d dropped without meaning to.

He was a man. He noticed.

You didn’t let yourself think. You just turned.

“Joel,” you said, too fast.

Your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself.

“I—I want to ask you something.”

He raised an eyebrow, cautious. “What’s goin’ on?”

You looked down at him, jaw clenched, lips parting like you had something important to say—but instead, you just moved.

You stepped between his legs where he sat in the old wooden chair. Awkwardly. Bold and shaking all at once. Your hands landed on his chest, tentative, unsure.

And then—like you’d seen in a movie or read in a book—you started to climb into his lap.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, voice low. Rough.

“I just—I want—” you stammered, and then you tried to kiss him.

Tried.

It was clumsy. Off-kilter. Your lips missed his at first, nose bumping his, and one of your hands clutched his shirt too tight like you were afraid of falling.

Joel pulled back immediately, hands firm but not rough as he gripped your waist and eased you back.

“Hey—” His voice was gentle but serious. “What’s this about?”

You were frozen. Embarrassment crashed over you in a wave. You scrambled off his lap, stepping back like you’d touched a stove.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean—..”

“Sweetheart,” he said softly. “Don’t be sorry. Just… talk to me.”

You couldn’t look at him. You crossed your arms again, staring at the floor, shame bubbling up your throat.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. “They were laughing at me.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“My friends,” you whispered. “Last night. They all found out I’ve never done anything. Like—anything. And they just… kept laughing. Like I was a kid or something.”

He was quiet.

You dared to glance up.

“They made me feel so stupid,” you said. “Like I’m broken or behind or—or less. And I just wanted—” Your eyes welled with tears, and you blinked them away fast. “I wanted to not feel that way anymore.”

Joel exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

“I thought maybe if I just…” you gestured vaguely toward him, face flushing darker, “then maybe it’d go away.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Not with pity. Not with judgment.

Just quiet understanding.

“I ain’t mad,” he said finally. “But this ain’t the way to fix that kind of hurt.”

You nodded, lips pressed together, throat tight.

Joel stood, stepping forward. Reaching out, careful, like you were glass.

“Look at me.”

You did.

“I’m not gonna laugh at you,” he said. “And if you really want this—if you really want me to be the one—then I’m gonna show you right. Not like this. Not all twisted up with shame and hurt

You swallowed. “Then how?”

His hand brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers rough and warm.

“I’ll take you upstairs,” he said softly. “And I’ll show you slow. Real slow. You say stop, I stop. You say wait, I wait.”

You nodded—small, trembling.

Your bedroom looked suddenly different with Joel standing in it.

Smaller. Warmer. Too intimate.

You watched him cross the threshold slowly, his broad frame filling the doorway, calloused hands still at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them yet. You could barely breathe.

He shut the door gently behind him.

You stood awkwardly near the bed, fingers twisting together, skin flushed with heat and nerves.

He looked at you for a long moment—his eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. Not just lustful, but careful. Curious. Patient.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low. “Ain’t too late to change your mind.”

You nodded.

“Need to hear it, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure,” you whispered.

Joel moved toward you slowly, like approaching something fragile.

His hand came up, warm and solid, fingertips brushing along your jaw. You leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted.

“That’s alright.” He tilted your chin gently, guiding your eyes to his. “You don’t have to.”

His lips brushed yours, barely there—just a test, a promise, not a demand. You exhaled shakily. He kissed you again, a little deeper this time, his hand steady at your jaw, the other moving to your waist.

You clung to his shirt again, just like you had downstairs, but this time he didn’t pull away. He let you hold on.

“Lay back for me,” he said quietly.

You climbed onto the bed, heart thundering, laying down against the pillows, legs stretched out and trembling.

Joel followed, kneeling beside you on the mattress, looking down like he didn’t want to rush a single second of this.

“Pretty thing,” he murmured. His hand rested on your knee, and even that felt electric. “You ever been touched at all?”

You shook your head.

He gave a slow, grounding nod. “Alright. I’m gonna go real slow. Just keep lookin’ at me, yeah?”

You nodded.

He leaned down again, kissing you soft and patient. His hand moved up your thigh, under the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing skin.

Your breath hitched as his hand brushed the edge of your underwear.

“Let me take these off?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He slipped them down, slow and careful, watching your face the whole time. When he saw you tremble, his hand found yours and squeezed.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered.

He kissed your inner thigh, your hip, your stomach—worshipping every inch of you without rushing.

By the time his fingers slid between your legs, you were already aching—more from the attention, the tenderness, the feeling of being seen than anything else.

“God,” Joel muttered, voice thick and low. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.”

Your face burned, but you didn’t look away.

He touched you with patience. With reverence. One thick finger sliding through your folds, circling your clit just enough to make you arch.

“Tell me if anything don’t feel good, alright?”

“It does,” you whispered, already breathless.

His lips kissed your temple, then your cheek, his finger slipping inside slowly—just one, stretching you gently while his thumb worked soft circles.

It was overwhelming. Not the touch, but the kindness. The way he whispered praise against your skin.

Joel’s touch was reverent—his hands patient, rough in all the ways that made your skin burn. He eased a single finger into you, watching your face the whole time.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, voice gravel-soft. “You’re tight, baby. Real tight.”

You let out a shaky breath, thighs instinctively tensing around his hand. He stilled immediately, his thumb brushing soothing circles into your hip.

“Breathe for me,” he said softly. “You’re okay. You’re doin’ so good.”

Your eyes fluttered open. He kissed your knee, gentle and slow, like you had all the time in the world.

“Gonna have to get you used to me,” Joel said. “Stretch you a little. Just with my fingers for now, alright?”

You nodded, lips parted, every nerve in your body already alight.

He moved again, just slightly—his finger curling inside you, searching, testing.

You gasped when he brushed something deep and unfamiliar.

“There she is,” Joel whispered, lips curving into a grin. “Right there’s what I’m lookin’ for.”

He added a second finger.

It was more, thicker, and you winced—not from pain exactly, but pressure, fullness.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

He worked slowly—fingers moving in and out with a careful rhythm, his other hand stroking your thigh, calming you with soft murmurs.

“You feel that?”

“So fuckin’ wet for me. You didn’t even know you could get this messy, did you?”

“Gonna make you feel good, baby. Gonna show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You whimpered, hips rocking instinctively against his hand, chasing friction.

Joel leaned over you, voice rough at your ear. “You’re takin’ my fingers so sweet, sugar. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock—gonna split you open so slow, you’ll be beggin’ me for more.”

You clenched around him at the words, moaning softly. His pace didn’t change. He was unshakable, grounded, like he was never in a rush.

Your thighs were trembling. That tight, unbearable pressure was building in your belly, high and hot and close—

And then he pulled his fingers out.

You whined in protest, hips lifting, chasing him.

Joel just smirked, sliding down the bed with a low, approving sound.

“Not done with you yet, baby,”

He pressed your thighs apart, kissing the inside of your knee again. Then lower. Then lower.

You couldn’t look. You couldn’t breathe.

When his mouth finally met you, you cried out—quiet and broken and raw. His tongue slid through your folds, slow and deliberate, lips sealing around your clit with just enough suction to make your whole body tense.

He groaned low in his throat, like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You fisted the sheets.

He licked you like he had nowhere else to be—long, slow strokes of his tongue, teasing circles over your clit, and then dipping lower again to fuck you with his mouth.

When his fingers joined in—pressing deep inside while his tongue kept working you—you lost all sense of time.

“Let go for me,” Joel murmured against you, voice muffled and thick with heat. “Wanna feel you come, baby. Just for me.”

That was all it took.

You shattered with a cry, back arching off the bed, legs clamping around his head as the orgasm hit you like a wave. It rolled through you in long, stuttering pulses, every inch of your body flushed and twitching under his touch.

He didn’t stop until you begged. Didn’t stop kissing you, licking you, whispering softly against your skin as you trembled in his hands.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was there, hovering above you, lips glistening, pupils dark and wide.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, dazed and flushed. “I—yeah. That was…”

Joel smiled. “Yeah. It was.”

Your breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling in little shudders as Joel moved back up your body.

He kissed your stomach on the way—soft, slow presses of his lips to damp skin. Then your ribs. The curve of your breast, just under the fabric of your sleep shirt.

When his face hovered over yours again, his lips were wet, beard damp with you, and his eyes—God—his eyes looked like they could ruin you all over again.

“Didn’t know you could make sounds like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than lust. “That pretty little mouth, always so quiet—‘til now.”

You flushed, instinctively trying to cover your face, but Joel caught your wrist, grinning as he pinned it gently to the mattress.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, low and warm. “You don’t get to hide from me now.”

You whimpered softly, still reeling, still trembling under him.

“Didn’t even touch my cock yet and you’re already fallin’ apart for me,” he said, tone teasing but fond. “That sweet little pussy just sucked my fingers right in—like she missed me.”

Your thighs squeezed together. Joel chuckled, amused and smug, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“You don’t even know how pretty you look like this, do you?” he said, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “All wrecked and shy, all soaked for me.”

You could hardly answer—too overwhelmed, too dizzy with the softness and the burn.

“I should make you come again,” he murmured, kissing down your throat slowly. “Just ‘cause I can. Bet I could keep you in this bed all day, make you forget your name before I even fuck you.”

"Joel—” you gasped, barely holding it together.

He smiled against your skin. “There’s my girl. Say my name again.”

You did. Breathless. Shaking.

Joel kissed your jaw, your temple, then leaned his forehead gently against yours.

“You still want more?” he asked. “Want me to take it further?”

You nodded. “Please.”

He ran a hand slowly down your side, over the curve of your hip, then between your legs again—touching you lightly, just enough to make you whimper.

“Still drippin’ for me,” he said. “You ready to be filled up, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Joel’s body hovered over yours, solid and warm, his hand cradling your cheek while the other smoothed down your side. You watched him through heavy eyes, heart beating so fast it was hard to breathe.

"You sure, baby?" he asked again, voice soft as cotton but low with need. "I need you to tell me."

"I’m sure," you whispered, fingers curled in his shirt like you needed to hold onto something. "I want it. I want you."

He kissed you—slow and sweet—then murmured against your mouth, "Gonna make you mine, sweetheart. Real slow. Gonna take my time with you."

You felt him reach down between your bodies, shifting just enough to line himself up. His tip brushed your entrance, and even that light contact made your body jolt, hips twitching up without meaning to.

Joel groaned softly. "Fuck. You feel that, baby? You’re already squeezin’ me and I haven’t even pushed in yet."

You bit your lip, trembling. "Will it hurt?"

"A little," he said honestly. "But not for long. I’ll go slow, let you adjust. You tell me if you need to stop, okay?"

You nodded.

He kissed you again—calming, grounding—then started to press in.

Slow.

So, so slow.

You gasped. Not in pain, but in pressure—stretching, fullness, heat. He was thick, bigger than you'd expected. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, eyes wide as your breath caught in your throat.

Joel’s voice was right at your ear, warm and steady. "That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re takin’ me so good. So fuckin’ tight around me—Jesus."

Your eyes fluttered. "I—I feel full."

He smiled softly. "You are full. That sweet little pussy’s never had anything like this, has she?"

You shook your head, breath stuttering.

He pressed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was only halfway, then stilled.

"Doing okay?" he asked, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

You nodded quickly. "It’s… a lot."

"I know, baby. You’re doin’ perfect." He kissed you again. "You’re so good for me. So fuckin’ good."

His hips rolled just a little, enough to make your breath hitch again.

"That okay?"

"Y-yeah," you whispered.

"Feels good bein’ stretched by me, huh?"

You hid your face in his neck, flushed and overwhelmed. "It’s… weird. But not— mmph..bad."

Joel chuckled softly, rocking his hips again—slow, careful. "That’s your body getting used to mine. She’s learnin’. Givin’ it all up to me.”

He slid in deeper.

You moaned, body twitching, overwhelmed in every way.

He paused, voice gentle. "That hurt?"

"No," you gasped. "Just… full. It’s so much."

Joel’s hand slid under your thigh, lifting it slightly, opening you just a little more. "Gonna help you take it all, sweetheart. Let me guide you, yeah?"

You nodded, dizzy.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, “Open up f’me.”

He rolled his hips again, and this time he bottomed out—slow and steady, until you felt every inch of him buried inside you. Your mouth fell open in a soft cry.

Joel groaned, head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck. You feel like heaven, baby. So warm. So tight."

He stayed still, letting you adjust, kissing your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then he moved.

Just a little.

A slow pull, then a roll of his hips that made your legs tighten around him, your voice catch again in your throat.

“That’s it,” he said, pace still slow and tender. “Let me show you how good this can feel. Let me show you what you’ve been missin’.”

His hand trailed down between your bodies again, thumb circling your clit in soft, steady strokes as he began to move in earnest—deep, slow thrusts that filled you completely each time.

You cried out—quiet, breathy.

"That feel good, baby?"

"Y-yeah," you whimpered. "So good…Joel..."

Joel kissed your forehead, your lips, moving just a little faster now, just enough to make the sounds of skin and slick heat fill the room.

"You’re doin’ so good for me," he growled. "Takin’ it like a good girl. My good girl."

You couldn’t speak—you were floating.

You felt your climax creeping up again, faster this time, deeper.

"Joel—"

"I got you," he whispered. "Come for me, baby. Let it happen. You’re safe. I’m right here."

You shattered again—softer this time, but no less intense. You clung to him as your body locked up, pulsing around him, mouth falling open on a helpless moan.

Joel grunted, hips stuttering as he chased his own release—but he didn’t stop praising you.

"That’s it. God, you’re perfect. Fuckin’ perfect."

He groaned loud into your neck as he spilled into you, slow and deep, his whole body shaking above yours.

He stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard against your skin.

Then he kissed you.

Soft, slow, worshipful.

"That’s how it’s supposed to feel, sweetheart," he murmured. "Not shame. Not guilt. Just this."

You nodded, still dazed, still wrapped around him.

Your legs were tangled with his, bare skin still warm and slick from where your bodies had met. The room was quiet now, lit only by the soft glow of morning leaking through your curtains.

Joel was holding you against his chest, one hand rubbing slow circles on your lower back while the other stroked through your hair.

You felt like a puddle. A mess.

And you never wanted to move again.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, your jaw—slow, lingering presses of his mouth that made your insides melt all over again.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice rough from sex and sleepiness.

You nodded into his shoulder. “Yeah.”

His lips curved into a faint smile against your skin.

"You were so good, baby. Real good for me," he murmured. “Took it so sweet, like your body was made for it.”

You flushed again, even now.

Joel leaned back just far enough to look at you, fingers still lazily tracing down your spine.

“You know what I think?” he asked, eyes gleaming just a little.

“What?” you whispered.

“I think next time those little smartass friends of yours try to tease you,” he drawled, “you oughta tell ’em you ain’t a virgin anymore.”

Your face burned.

Joel smirked, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“In fact,” he added, “you should tell ’em you got fucked. And fucked good.”

You covered your face with both hands, groaning softly.

“Joel,” you whined, half-laughing, half-embarrassed.

“What?” he said, amused. “Ain’t a lie, is it?”

You peeked up at him through your fingers.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s not.”

“Damn right it’s not.”

He kissed you again—slow and deep and full of something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Sorry to detract from any discussions, but I wanted to bring up something I feel is important and ask for anyone who experienced similar to speak out.

So I used to be in the Epic the Musical fandom. Left because of the anti-Black racism (especially towards the actors for Eurylochus, Calypso, and Ares).

Recently, one of the artists who worked on one of the official animatics for Epic (Liam, AKA Eldelta) had come out explaining how Jay had strung him along with the promise of a contract to develop a video game based on the IP, causing him to miss out on potential jobs and leave him unemployed for a year.

Currently, the fandom is writing him off and sweeping it under the rug. Ignoring it and hyping up Jay's next musical.

Which Jay posted a joke video/small update that he's only named the first song. Not even a genuine update on how far he is in the process. Just as Liam's video was starting to gain traction and spread in the fandom.

Which beings me to the reason I'm here in the inbox.

If there's any Black artists who worked with Jorge Rivera-Herrans and had a similar experience to Eldelta's, I want to ask if they'd be willing to speak out about their experiences. Because knowing how this fandom is and how Jay talks on social media, I sadly know there's a high chance that there is probably quite a few. And I don't want their voices to get buried in the excitement of a new project while the creator continues to exploit others.

Ah yes, The Iliad musical. I gotta hurry and finish my tenure in the Patrochilles fandom so I don't shoot myself from sheer boredom with White™ character design and "quirky" or "academic" racism. It's already bad enough on the Outskirts of the Greek Mythology fandom as it is 🙄

Here's the thing. You're asking Black creators to speak out if they've been mistreated by a popular creator, risking their own status and job opportunities in the field.... but you weren't even willing to send this off of anon. You are asking them to speak from a target of fear and threat and retaliation, that you yourself weren't willing to do for less 😅 And I'm not even saying that to hurt your feelings, but honestly to make you (and ALL of you reading) reflect- where are you going to be, if/when they make this statement? Will your voice be heard? Will theirs? Because Jorge knows that his fan base will accept anything, be damned the antiblackness in his content. They already did!

Who's going to support these Black creators and platform them when they speak? Who's going to take the brunt of the hatred and cruelty and racism and shield them from it, other than other Black people? I do believe speaking up is important (and they should, if they feel safe), but I also think we need to recognize that sending Black people into the mouth of the beast in order to "save themselves" is not the strategy we continue to think it is. Hell, I just dealt with that racist bitch last week, and for all of the people who she and her friends bully for creating Black characters, there were crickets when she was called out by an actual Black person. 😐 We can't all want someone else to speak (and everybody isn't me)!

If I see anything I'll absolutely platform it. I think that space is far too comfortable and I for one think you shouldn't get to be antiblack and comfortable! But secretly agreeing in backrooms that someone is racist has NEVER gotten them removed from a position of power or influence. Y'all are gonna have to respond with your chests, so your Black peers can hear you supporting them- otherwise, we need not ask them to speak up.

[dragonageartsandcrafts]

Dragon Age Fandom Crafts/Traditional Art Booklet -- Information & FAQ Post

This post will be updated with information, questions & answers, deadlines, and other relevant items as they come up. Click the post link back to this original post to make sure you're viewing the most updated version--I will list update & post edit dates at the top so you can be sure you're referencing the correct version and what info may have changed.

Original post date: July 10 2025

Other links:

[this section is reserved to include links to other posts relating to this project as they are created, for organizational ease]

Basic Information

What is this project?

This will be a collaborative artbook where people can submit photos of any kind of 3d or traditional art piece they've made relating to the Dragon Age universe.

The "physical art" content requirement encompasses things like fiber arts (embroidery/cross stitch/crochet/knitting/yarn making), sculpture, cosplay/prop making, accessory making, papercraft (paper making/origami/papercutting), calligraphy, pottery, recipes/cooking, jewelry making, stained glass, engraving, the numerous traditional art methods (watercolor/charcoal/pencils/acrylic paint/oil paint/crayons/etc), or any other handmade, physical art style.

Aka, almost anything not purely digital art or writing. Digital art and text are the standards of almost every other fandom artbook/chapbook/zine. This would be an opportunity for the crafts/art forms that don't fit into those spaces already.

What would the final product look like?

A digital PDF file--exact dimensions to be determined--mimicking a physical booklet, in that it is structured as 2 side by side vertical pages around a center spine.

Each artist will have 1-4 pages (exact number tbd) per item to showcase their work. If you just have one photo/creation to showcase, that's plenty! If you'd like to show off multiple angles for a 3d art piece, we'll determine how many images to include and how best to organize their layout. Multiple art pieces per person are also fine, but will probably be capped at 8-10 pages per artist just to ensure a variety of creators/submissions. Each artist can include how they would like to be credited, as well as optionally submit a short text bio or description of their craft/art format of choice to be included in their page spreads as well.

Submissions will consist of photographs of the artworks, to highlight that they exist in physical space, rather than scans. Examples of ways to prop up, frame, or otherwise stage art examples can be provided.

For the "booklet" format, photos/art can therefore be uploaded as side by side vertical images, or one larger landscape oriented piece, for each page spread. As this is a digital product only, the 'spine' area would not actually fold/distort the image. I will encourage artists to leave room along the edges of their photos as "bleed" however.

Who can participate?

Anyone. This will be an open project, not juried or application based. There will be no approval process for what is "good enough" beyond meeting the content requirement of a physical art piece. You can just submit your art! This is an open house showcase, not a finely curated museum.

However the photos themselves meet minimum quality standards for a digital booklet, as much as possible. This means they should be visually decipherable at at least... idk.. 8x12 inches and 72dpi? Exact dimensions/resolution TBD. Smartphone camera quality is fine. Flip phone camera from the early 2000s probably not. If you can borrow a smartphone or digital camera to take an in focus and well lit photo, you're good.

What would this cost?

The collaborative artbook would be freely uploaded and sent to all participants, and hosted online for anyone who wants to look at it. Since there would be no physical version, there are no production, shipping, or other costs to compensate for. Only the time and effort of those involved, freely donated.

Do I have to make something new?

Nope! If you've already made something and you're proud and want to show the world, that's perfect! Even if you made it a decade ago.

If you're feeling inspired and would LIKE to create something new to showcase, go for it!

There will not be any restrictions on sharing your creation elsewhere in the meanwhile.

Are there any restrictions on art content?

It must understandably relate to the Dragon Age frachise in some way. For some types of art/craft, this can include items "inspired by" the aesthetic or colors of a character or setting, even if they are not direct fanart. Example: carding wool into yarn with fibers and colors thoughtfully reflecting a specific companion's outfit/personality; or making a piece of jewelry you think represents that character in some way.

No racism or whitewashing of canon characters of color. No criticizing/demeaning characters or creators on the basis of gender, sexuality, or other aspects of identity. No hate speech or bullying in general.

I would like to keep this out of the "explicit content" zone, but that does not mean it has to be entirely "safe for work." Aka, implied or tasteful figure nudity in a traditional art piece--sure. Porn/explicit sexual content--no. Nudity of a real human in a photograph--no. This is because the idea here is to create an end product that can be shared in multiple spaces and groups--I would like it to be something that no one will feel awkward sending to friends and family to say "look at what me and these other people made!"

Are there any restrictions on art form?

The majority percentage of the art piece has to be created by you personally. You do not need to have made every component of the piece, but through compilation or transformation it should be a creation that can be distinctively called your own.

Things that are acceptable: crochet or knitwear of a pattern you designed or fair-use purchased made with commercial yarn; a cosplay you assembled through combination of sewing, modifying existing garments, and purchasing some elements like shoes/accessories; a piece of jewelry created from purchased lose beads and chain; a painting representing a scene or characters from the franchise in which the artist used references for poses or features.

Things that are not transformative enough to count as original: a commercial lineart coloring page you filled in; a cosplay you entirely purchased online with no handmade elements; tracing a screenshot onto paper.

Artwork from other artists outside the artbook may not be used without their permission, even if transformative. Example: printing out another artist's fanart and cutting them out to make a collage.

If partial elements of your piece come from something made by another artist but it falls within their own permissions for fair use, we will include text space for you to credit your resources. Example: your cosplay is mostly handmade garments but features a prop or accessory you purchased from another artist; or a diorama scene that includes a small 3d print structure from an outside artist like GizmoForge on etsy as one component, while other decor, details, and painting are all original.

If you are unsure on if your piece does not qualify for either of the above--message me and we'll discuss.

How do I sign up and when is the deadline?

TBD. Right now this is in the "gathering interested participants" stage. You can leave a comment here on this post on tumblr, send me a message on bsky (@/threadwolf), or email me at jadestone42@gmail.com if you would like to be included and notified of how to submit your art pieces (which will probably via be a google form or email).

As for deadline--depends how many people are interested, and how long it takes to assemble the submissions into a layout. If an unexpectedly large number of people want to sign up, we will do multiple volumes in waves to keep things from getting too overwhelming. But my estimate is it would no the finished earlier than the end of August just based on my own existing commitments.

Once more details have been ironed out, I will post and send out further information to participants.

FAQ

As questions arise, I will add more answers here. I'm placing it below a cut to avoid spamming the dash too much.

Why are you doing this?

I like having tangible downloads of stuff I think is cool, both for personal enjoyment and as an archival method. I often find that artists I admire online have deleted old work, and get sad I can't look at it anymore. This artbook would be a nice thing to have so any of us can come back and look at some of the cool stuff people in this fandom have put time and effort into creating, and enjoy seeing our own creations among them.

I feel like a lot of fandom “products” are juried or application based currently, and thought it’d be fun to do an open, opt-in one for people; as well as being inclusive of less-represented crafts/hobbies

Why me, specifically? I was going to make a little booklet of just my own Dragon Age themed embroideries, but they take a really long time to finish, so I don't have that many pieces done yet. So I thought it would be more fun to open the idea to others into a bigger collaborative project, instead of my measly 9 pictures.

What can I submit?

Ask yourself: Is it inspired by or related to Dragon Age?

And then ask: Was this created with my hands in some way?

Then yes!

What if my art isn't good enough to be included?

The idea is that this is an inclusive project, not exclusive. As long as your art fits the content guidelines regarding originality and theme, it's good enough! This is a celebration of different forms of creation rather than a product to be judged or sold.

What if my photos of my art piece aren't good/don't look nice?

If you are worried about taking nice photos, I have photography experience and am happy to talk you through both 1. settings/setup to make sure the image comes out sharp, clear, and color-accurate; and 2. ways to spruce up a photo background or surroundings to best show off your finished piece of art.

What if I want to submit something that's not visual, but also isn't digital art/writing, such as music?

Probably there are art forms that a digital booklet simply is not equipped to showcase. But if you have creative ways of visualizing it let's give it a shot! For instance a musical piece could be represented by a photographed page of sheet music, and we could include a link to a stable online audio file, because that concept would be rad as hell.

Basically message me and we'll brainstorm.

What if I really really want a physical copy?

While I will not be handling any printing outsourcing myself, my goal would be that the resolution, quality, and dimensions of the booklet still meet the most common quality requirements for small-size printing. If participants then desire to pay themselves to get it printed through the service of their choice, they will be able to. HOWEVER, this is not guaranteed, and some photo submissions may be of lower resolution than others.

While I will encourage people to take photos with enough surrounding space to act as bleed for physical printing, things like center spine distortion would depend on the kind of print service you choose.

There's always the good ol fallback of stealing time on your work/school printer, and stapling it together yourself if you really want.

If I want to support this, even though it's free, can I donate money in some way?

No. I do not want that hassle of on my taxes, or to have to figure out fair distribution among participants. If you're in the spirit of giving, please donate to a charity of your choice, or buy a piece of art from an artist you admire.

Why does the blog icon look like that?

I wanted a representation of the medium level of effort and maximum level of casualness I visualize for this project. a half-assed photoshop version of the Dragon Age: Origins cover seemed like a good way to convey that spirit. Presumably at some point I will upload an equally silly banner image to accompany it.

I have another question not already here

Comment it on this post, or send a message/tumblr ask if you'd prefer it stay anonymous. You can also reach me at @/threadwolf o n bluesky or by email at jadestone42@gmail.com.

Why aren't you calling this a zine?

simply put i personally just disagree with the term "zine" to represent this style of collaborative content. I am aware that in fandom spaces this term has eclipsed its former meaning of small, homemade, noncommercial products (which is how they are still referenced as in comics, punk, or alternative spaces). As soon as something is intensively formatted, perfect bound, or requires outside production companies to manufacture--I frankly think it's left "zine" territory and entered the definition of an artbook or chapbook.

While this end product would not be a physical item, if it gets more than 3 people involved in submitting works, I just think it's big enough to count as a fandom artbook showcase, instead of a zine.

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | smoke & tears

masterlist | send abby requests pls

words: 2.3k warnings: 18+. violence, trauma, injury, hints towards physical & sexual abuse, post santa barbara!abby x firefly!reader, guilt, whump, hurt/comfort, so much angst synopsis: In which Abby has a nightmare & accidentally hurts you. 

Abby sleeping is a rarity. You’ve known her for just over a year now, since she arrived at your Firefly base with a barely alive Lev. Injured. Broken. You can think of only a handful of times where you’ve actually seen her eyes close, despite having partnered up on days’ long supply runs before now. You always try to take first watch. She never lets you, claiming she won’t sleep either way. But clearly, fatigue has won out tonight, because, with the campfire flickering across her weary features, the impossible has happened. 

There’s a strand of hair over her nose that you so badly want to brush away, but you know better. Whatever happened to Abby before you met has carved her into a woman whose instinct is violence. It took months for her to even be signed onto duty, incidents piling up like dirty laundry whenever other Fireflies didn’t respect her boundaries, keep their distance. Especially if Lev was involved. For him, she would bare her teeth like a wolf, a detached, frenzied look in her eyes. Upon seeing it for the first time, you'd wondered, for a second, if anyone was safe around her. 

Yet you’ve never felt otherwise. Maybe because you know what causes flinches to become punches. Why armour becomes necessary long after the threat has passed. You can’t blame her for protecting herself, her family. You just wish you could help her to realise that she doesn’t need to anymore.

Sometimes, you think you’re getting through to her. You’ll make her laugh, or find her favourite snack while picking over food stashes, and it feels like you’ve unlocked her. Sometimes, she touches you like you’re hers, pulling your hair from beneath the straps of your backpack before they get trapped or helping you work out first thing in a morning, keeping your punching bag steady with words of encouragement. 

You’ve shown her patience, understanding, and she’s rewarded you with pieces of her she hasn’t given to anybody else. Sometimes, her touch lingers long after it needs to, leaving you shivery and wanting, but you refuse to give into that. Know that what she needs is a friend, even if you sometimes catch her looking at your lips when you speak, as though she’s thinking it, too.

With your back pressed to the crumbling shed you’ve made your makeshift camp at, you stoke the fire and try not to look at her. It’s impossible not to, perhaps the only opportunity you’ll ever get to see her without that fierce frown on her features. Even in sleep, her hands are balled into fists against her chest, tension an ever-present companion. But the rest of her is smooth as marble: forehead lines ironed out, freckled nose twitching at that little hair, breaths falling from softly parted lips. 

And then it changes. Brows knit together, mouth pouting, body coiling like a spring in her bed roll. You look away. It isn’t your place to witness whatever she’s dreaming of, and god knows she’s been violated enough. She never told you, but you know. Recognise the signs like you would a friend after so long of trying to heal your own scars. 

Somewhere in the surrounding trees, a bird titters into the night, and Abby twists, blanket tangling around her. “No!” she shouts.

Your heart drops. Nightmare. Of course it’s a nightmare. There is no other way of dreaming anymore, not in a world of monsters. 

“Abby,” you whisper gently, rising from your seat to her side of the fire. 

She doesn’t hear you, fist punching against the ground as she yells out again. It tears through you, makes you grieve for her and hate whoever has caused it. 

“Abby, wake up, love,” you say, kneeling by her flailing body. “You’re safe.”

You only give her shoulder the lightest of touches, but something snaps. The wind is knocked from you as she sends you careening to the floor, inches from the fire. Your skull cracks against one of the rocks, her knee pressed into your sternum as she pins you by the neck. Her hands are so big, so heavy, muscles rippling — and there, in her eyes, is that wild look you know, the one that tells you she isn’t here, isn’t seeing things as they really are. 

You can barely choke out her name: “Ab… Abby!”

It doesn’t touch her.

“Abby, it’s… me!” You’re clawing at her hands, trying to loosen them so you can breathe again, but she’s immovable. You used to envy her strength, but now you fear it. 

It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t have touched her. You just… wanted to pull her out before it hurt enough to haunt.

“Please, Abby!” Tears stream down your face as your sternum begins to cave. “Abby, you’re okay. You’re safe. Abby!” 

It’s on your last wheeze that clarity returns to her blackened gaze. Fingers unfurl as she leans back, breathing heavy, sweat beading in her hairline. 

She says your name in a voice that’s fractured, throwing herself off you with a new urgency as she realises the damage she’s done. 

You blink the tears from your eyes, head tilting limply to the canopy of leaves and stars overhead as oxygen finally returns to your body. 

“I… I…” Abby stutters, which is new. 

Digging your fingers into warm soil, you try to haul yourself up, but your body refuses to obey your orders. 

“Oh my god. What did I do?” She looks down at her hands like she doesn’t recognise them.

“S’okay. You didn’t… You didn’t know.” Your fingers sift through your hair, wincing when you find the tender spot at the back of your skull. No blood. That’s good. 

“I… I could have killed you!”

You swallow the metallic taste from your mouth, dragging yourself away from the fire when it gets too warm. Your head spins, ribs ache, but it’s nothing that won’t mend within a couple of days. It’s the shock that’s driving you now, like your nervous system had been rendered it an afterthought until you’d assessed the damage. 

The agony in Abby’s expression as she watches is what drives you to lie: “I’m fine. It was my fault. I shouldn't have woken you.”

“I don’t know what happened. I… I…”

“It was a nightmare, that’s all. You’re okay, now. We both are.” You school your voice into one that you hope will soothe, but it only seems to inflame her more as she shuffles further away.

Self-loathing curls across her lips, toned stomach rising and falling with jagged breaths. “I’m so… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.” But when it comes out hoarse, your hand rises to your throat, just to make sure. It feels raw, like you’ve been battered as much on the inside as the outside. 

“Let me…” She moves forward, then pauses, tears glistening in her eyes. “Can I see?”

It’s instinct to want to say no, to push away. She hurt you, and you’re afraid, and you have been in a million situations where it wasn’t an accident, where they meant to ruin you.

But this is Abby, you remind yourself. It isn’t her fault. She didn’t know.

So you nod meekly.

She crawls on her knees to you, short braid falling over one shoulder as she shakily tilts your head to inspect your neck, using the torch when the light of the fire flickers too harshly. 

“It’s going to bruise,” she whispers thickly. 

“I can deal with bruises.”

“Where else does it hurt?”

“Nowhere.” A lie, one that she sees through when her eyes lower to the hand curled around your ribcage. 

“Did I… Did I break anything?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Let me see, please.”

“Abby—”

She lifts the hem of your shirt, and you don’t stop her as she exposes the red welt where her knee crunched into your flesh, right beneath the edge of your sports bra. Goosebumps rise on you skin as she traces the large mark, and god, you wish this isn’t the way it happens. You wish she’d touch you so delicately because she wants to, not because she feels guilty. 

Not because she hurt you. 

She shudders, throat bobbing. And because the worst has already happened, and because the disgust on her face is cracking you open more than her strength ever could, you cup her jaw, a desperate plea for her to just stop. Be with you. Forgive herself, because you’ve already forgiven her, even if you’re rattled. 

“I get nightmares too. I wake up with my nails digging into my skin so hard that I’m bleeding,” you say. 

“But I hurt you,” she replies, like you’re the centre of it. The part that breaks her heart. “I never… I never want to hurt you.”

You don’t know what to say. You know that if the roles were reversed, you’d never be able to forgive yourself, let alone sit here and weigh up the damage. You push her hand away to cover your stomach again, and she reacts like you’re pushing her away, shifting back on her haunches. 

“I know,” is all you can give. “I know that.” 

Abby opens her pack to offer you water. When you take it, she switches off her torch and rises to her feet, pacing a few feet away with her back turned. The water helps to soothe your throat, but not the raw churning in your stomach. Not the bits beyond. For minutes, there’s nothing but silence as you both catch your breath, her with her shoulders hunched as she leans against a tree for support. 

“In your dream,” you say finally, quietly, “was someone hurting you?”

An almost unnoticeable tip of her head. 

“I’m not going to ask who, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“It could have been Lev.” She’s not listening, still stuck in her guilt. You don't want to imagine that: the person she loves most in the world getting crushed in heavy hands. You're glad it's you. Would let it be you every night as long as she never has to feel the pain that harming him would cause.

“It wasn’t.”

“It could have been!” she yells. 

“Abby, you can’t do this to yourself. Lev knows he’s safe with you.”

“No. No, he isn’t. And neither are you.”

You get up, grabbing her, but she yanks away — and you flinch. You can’t help it, too aware now of what those fists are capable of. 

When she sees it, she blanches, stumbling back a few more paces. 

“Abby, please… Please, love.”

At that word, she falters — like nobody’s ever called her it before. 

“I trust you,” you whisper. “I trust you, and so does Lev, because we know you. We know you keep people safe, yeah? We know you fought like hell to get here, because you’re good.”

Her lower lip wobbles, knee jerking like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Like she’s so, so lost. 

A tear trickles down your cheek. “Is this why you don’t sleep?”

She nods; it’s devastating. 

“Can I hold you?” you plead. 

Another nod, this one that ends in her face crumpling. You don’t waste a second, falling into her, arms looping around her neck as her fingers bunch your jacket. Like you’re all she has to cling onto. A sob falls into your tender neck, racking through you. She smells like the smoke of the fire, and the soap you brought home for her on she last supply run.

She smells like Abby. Not a monster, not someone you’ll ever fear. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers again and again. “I never want to hurt you. I’m so fucking sorry. ”

“I know. It’s okay. We’ll take care of each other, okay?”

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not true. You deserve more than this world has given you.”

She says your name again, a croaked, delicate thing in her mouth. You can’t remember her ever saying it before, suddenly. Can’t remember her ever letting you this close. 

You guide her back to the fire with caution, sitting on her bedroll. She follows, eyes still caught on your neck, on the bruise. 

“How bad is the the pain? I can go back to that pharmacy we raided—”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Another lie, because like hell are you going back now. You're supposed to be on your way home. You want to go home. “I swear. Please, Abby. I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this.”

The corners of Abby’s lips tug down as she finally tears her eyes off you, into the fire. “I just don’t know how to take care of you when I'm the one who hurt you.”

“You don’t need to take care of me.”

“I do. I need it. And I… I want to.” She leans in to brush her knuckle over your neck again, leaving the hair there to stand on end. There is so much sadness swimming in her eyes, so much regret. And the only way you can think of to make it better, with your breaths mingling in the space between you and the smell of campfire smoke curled around you, is to hold her so tightly that she feels safe again. To kiss her until she knows it’s okay.

She must sense it, too, because her lids lower halfway, the point of her nose brushing against your cheek. “You should be telling me to get away from you. You shouldn’t want me anywhere near you.”

“You’re all I want near me,” you admit.

It isn't enough. She shutters, pulls away, bending her knees to rest her elbows over them. “Sleep, okay? You need it.”

It hurts more than her hands around your neck, more than stone against skull, more than knee against ribs. But you understand. Know you have no right to expect anything from her. And asking her to go back to sleep herself would be futile.

Still, when you lie down again, your pillow beside her thigh, she lets out a rough sigh and lightly — so lightly you almost don’t feel it; so lightly it’s hard to believe she could ever do harm — traces the lines of your forehead. 

“All the ways you’ve tried with me… I keep waiting for you to see that I’m not worth it.” Her voice scrapes the wounds inside you like salt. 

“I keep waiting for you to see that you are,” you reply. 

She blinks down at you through smoke and tears. There isn’t anything left to be said, but you’re glad when she keeps stroking the frayed edges of you. Glad when she’s just a little less guilt-addled by morning.

[horny-marbles]

can you tell us, what are the creeps ideal types? personality, body type, fashion, etc! 🖤❤️

yes i can 🙂‍↕️ i'll try to keep this as short as i can because i always get carried away lmfao

jack:

personality wise, he'd gravitate towards someone that resembles him in the ways that matter — someone that doesn't start shit but finishes it, quiet and self aware, a critical thinker, collected, stuff like that. but he'd appreciate gentle patience (even if he'd never expect anyone to wait for him to come out of his shell, it would be his undoing) and a positive view on life, opening his eyes (haha) to the details that make a shitty situation not so shitty

he doesn't have a preferred body type, flesh is flesh and if you put your trust in him to handle you despite his nature, that's all that matters. he does love some meat to grab and feel and he loves softness that contradicts his sharp edges, but he definitely won't be picky lol

fashion wise... jack is blind, he really doesn't care — not to say that if he could see it would matter. I KNOW I'M NOT GIVING YOU MUCH TO WORK WITH HERE but i really genuinely think this is entirely trivial to him

jeff:

he will never admit it if it was pulled out of him with pliers, but he will get palpitations if you match his bullying. instant ticket to boner town if you go off on him like it's just an afterthought, rapid fire insults that come easy like you don't even have to think about it. it hurts his ego and hits something real nasty in his groin at the same time 🙂‍↕️ other than that, sarcasm and shock value humor will get him furiously in love, and if you're the sort of person that takes crazy risks but almost never loses anything to it, you will NEVER escape him lmfao

i've said it before, this man loves tits like no one's business, even considers himself a rack connoisseur despite folding at the sight of anything above an a cup under a low neckline. he's mostly into short + thin or athletic, but again, tits are the main attraction to him so

to no one's surprise, "need me a goth bitch" truther, but unlike most users of this phrase, he actually fucks with any kind of goth style, from trad to mall. maybe not pastel goth. also, biker clothes = hard smash

toby:

his "type" differs wildly from what he needs. he thinks he wants someone that matches how unpredictable he is and how erratic he can get, but the moment he experiences gentleness and lack of judgement it's like his whole idea of attraction gets flipped on its head. the moment he gets a taste of soft and understanding, he starts chasing it like crazy. bonus points if you're funny!

as for body type, he's not one to turn down an opportunity based on your physique, but he does have a soft spot (or should i say a hard spot lol) for thick and tall. thick thighs, wide hips, meat to grab everywhere. 100% in your comments on social media talking some "mommy? sorry. mommy?? sorry uhh mommy?"

a slut for sluts. the less clothes you wear the better, that's all that matters. you can be goth, emo, preppy, gyaru, y2k, basic, it doesn't matter. take your top off.

ben

you need to meet 3 criteria to appeal to him: be loyal, be open minded and be a freak. everything else is semantics to him. you're hyper and have the energy of 10 toddlers on sugar? cool babe, i'll cheer you on from my bed. you're aggressive? hot, bite me. you're mellow and grounded? awesome, let's kick back and let me eyp. you're shy and awkward? cute, take your time, i'm patient.

half of his heart belongs to soft bodies, round edges, curves to smother him, the other belongs to The BBL Body™. he's chronically online guys, it should be no surprise. but, he's at least aware it's something not easily achievable, so he doesn't have expectations like that from anybody—mostly made peace with admiring from afar (aka jerking off to megan thee stallion 3 times a week)

as for fashion style, he might as well be blood related to toby. as long as you have at least 70% of your skin showing it's a hard smash.

tim

he wants someone severe and steady, with patience to anchor him back to reality and slice through the fog when the lines start getting blurry. just like jack, he wouldn't ever put this pressure on someone, he's fully aware of how one sided and toxic this shit could get, but nothing is more attractive to him than reliability and staying through it all when he knows he doesn't even deserve it.

a mom/dad bod lover. something about the strength under softness that doesn't give it away man... the "i carry my life in my skin" look, the realness of curves that aren't polished, just mm mm mmm

really into kinda cottagecore-rustic-americana??? very specific, but basically this

brian

he has two types: aggressive freak bitch that's just mean enough to get him itchy, or soft spoken mellow sweetheart, no in between. if you can be both consider yourself married without papers and without the commitment. bonus points if you want him more than he wants you!! that's equally hot and crushing to him because he knows how you'll end up, but the high OHHHH the high of it

he loves curves. the less his hands cover on your ass the better. loves love handles, loves tits that sag with weight and plumpness, loves soft tummies, loves creases and folds and movement, it's just so (howls) you know?

a slut for the "femme fatale" style. all black tight dresses and leather and killer heels and garters, textbook definition of "sexy" in the form of fabric

with all that said and done tho, these are men after all so the fashion preferences are a reach, but this was so fun to think of hehehe

[kirisjournal]

Hii, could you do Angst for John Price? I have this idea like, you keep pursuing him, youre like very infatuated for him, but one day,after getting rejected again, you give up finally, and he regrets it, its ok if not,just wanted to like share

awh of course! thank you ever so kindly for your request, lovely ♡ i went with a gender-neutral reader this time—just to keep the story open, wide as the sky, for anyone who might need to slip into it quietly. i hope it wraps around you gently, like something soft and familiar. ♡

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🕰️ not yours to keep

| call of duty masterlist | tf141 masterlist | main masterlist | navigation |

call of duty: john price x gn!reader

summary: you hadn’t meant to fall for him. not really. not out loud. it started quiet—between early drills and shared silences, buried beneath routine and rank. you were just steady. kind. someone who stayed. and maybe that was the problem. you cared too much and said too little, until one day you asked.

setting: base corridors and debriefing rooms. the hum of fluorescent lights. quiet nights outside john’s quarters. the sharp scent of gun oil and missed chances.

warnings: lowercase prose, gender-neutral!reader, reader is military, unspoken pining, repeated rejection, emotional ache, soft confession, mutual care but missed timing, reader stops trying, quiet regret, no y/n used,

word count: 2.08k

note: this one aches. for anyone who’s ever reached out with soft hands only to be met with silence. for the ones who stayed kind, even when it hurt. and for the people who realized too late what they’d pushed away. thank you for being here ♡

my inbox is always open ♡♡

part one | part two | part three

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you hadn’t meant to fall for him.

it started like everything else did, in the hush between orders and the grit of early morning drills—one moment bleeding into the next, too blurred to name. there were rules. structure. a chain of command. and at the top of yours stood captain john price, solid as a stone wall, voice like the edge of gravel, eyes that held entire wars.

he was your superior. and you respected him—deeply, fully, enough to make your palms go still when he passed by, enough to know the way he carried his stress like weight in his shoulders. but somewhere along the line, something shifted. not loudly. not all at once. just… a quiet tilt. the way gravity sometimes pulls without you realizing until you're already falling.

it started small.

a glance held a little too long. a question asked just to hear his voice. a joke softened by affection you didn’t name out loud.

he didn’t notice at first—not really. not in the way you meant for him to. john price was used to attention, after all. to looks and interest and the weight of someone else's want brushing against his skin like static. but yours was different. slower. quieter. not a spotlight, but a lantern left glowing on the porch—just in case he ever wanted to come home to something warm.

you weren’t careless with it.

you didn’t throw yourself at him. didn’t flirt the way other people did.

but god, you cared.

you stayed late when you didn’t have to. cleaned up after briefings even when it wasn’t your mess. your gaze lingered longer than it should’ve when he wasn’t looking. a presence he could always count on, even if he never asked for it. a tether in the dark.

and sometimes—just sometimes—you let your voice soften when you spoke to him, as if he might hear all the things you couldn’t say yet.

he called you by name in that low, rough voice like gravel under soft rain. sometimes with a chuckle. sometimes with a sigh. but always—always with a gentleness he didn’t use for everyone.

and still, when you asked—quietly, carefully, maybe we could grab dinner sometime?—he said no.

not cruelly. not sharply. just… no.

it wasn’t rejection, not outright. just careful avoidance. silence that filled the gaps where something else might’ve bloomed. he never treated you harshly. never snapped or pulled rank in anger. but you could feel the line—barbed and invisible—wrapped tight around your ribs every time you got too close.

you thought maybe, just maybe, if you were patient—he’d step over it.

but the third time you tried… it broke you.

it was late. deployment had been rough. days without proper sleep. the kind of exhaustion that sat behind your eyes and made your heart feel too full.

it wasn’t planned. nothing that soft ever was. it had been a rough op—mud thick in your boots, lungs still tight from the sprint to exfil, adrenaline cooling in your bloodstream like ash. and there he was. captain john price. solid and familiar in the aftermath, standing just outside the hangar with his hands braced on his hips, sweat drying at his temples. he looked tired. so did you.

but you’d seen something, back there. the way he barked your name over comms when the building collapsed. the way he’d grabbed your vest with both hands once you got out, like he needed to be sure you were still here. it echoed behind your ribs long after the dust settled.

so, stupidly, softly—you let it slip.

“you ever think,” you said, barely louder than the wind, “what it might be like? if this was… something else?”

there was a pause. brief, but heavy.

and then he turned.

his gaze landed on you with a sharpness that knocked the air from your lungs. not cruel, not even surprised—just… alert. eyes narrowed slightly, brow creasing in a way that felt like it cracked something deep inside you. something you’d been keeping held together with silence and hope.

“what are you askin’?” he said—quiet, low. unreadable in the way only someone who’s had to bury everything soft can be.

you swallowed hard.

the words caught on the edge of your throat like barbed wire. you couldn’t quite meet his eyes, couldn’t bear to see the rejection already beginning to form there.

“i mean…” your voice faltered, barely holding its shape. “if i wasn’t under your command. if we met somewhere else—normal. quieter. would you… would you even think about it? about us?”

for a second, it felt like the whole world held its breath.

but he didn’t.

he exhaled slowly. steady. then shook his head, just once.

“don’t,” he said, and the word was soft—almost tender. not sharp. not angry. just… final.

“you don’t want to walk that road.”

and he meant it.

not because he didn’t care. but because maybe he did—and that made it worse. because that road, the one you were trying to follow him down, only led to pain. to impossible choices. to all the things soldiers aren’t allowed to keep.

you tried to laugh. tried to let it pass like a stray gust of wind, like rain on armor.

but it didn’t slide off. it sank in. settled in your chest like a bruise just beneath the skin—deep enough to ache, too quiet to scream.

you didn’t bring it up again.

not for a long time.

not until months had passed. until the silence between you stopped feeling safe and started feeling suffocating. until every empty hallway felt colder without his presence, and every glance he spared you felt like a lifeline you couldn’t keep holding onto.

you started seeing him everywhere—in the echo of boots on metal grates, in the way your name sounded when he said it like it mattered.

and eventually… it just became too much.

you couldn’t hold it anymore. you’d spent so long trying to be quiet, respectful, restrained—trying to be what he needed, even if it meant burying what you felt.

but now? now, the distance was no longer protection. it was punishment. and some part of you still hoped… maybe he just needed a sign. maybe he was afraid. maybe if you met him halfway, he’d finally take a step forward.

so you gathered what little courage you had left.

and you tried… one more time.

it was late again—always late, always quiet in the way only a base could be after the sun went down and the boots stopped echoing. there was a particular stillness to the place at night, the kind that seemed to pull all the noise inward, leaving the air too heavy, too expectant. like the walls themselves were waiting for something to be said that hadn’t yet been spoken.

you stood outside his quarters, the corridor around you dim and silent except for the low hum of distant machinery and the occasional creak of the structure settling into itself. your arms were crossed tight over your chest—not because you were cold, but because your hands didn’t quite know where else to go.

there was a tremor beneath your skin. not nervousness, exactly. something quieter. heavier. the kind of ache that came from carrying something alone for too long.

your boots felt rooted to the floor. your tongue thick in your mouth. but still—you raised your hand. knocked. waited.

when the door opened, the warm glow of a desk lamp spilled out into the hallway, brushing your face with light. and there he was. john. standing behind the threshold, surprised to see you—not because you were there, but because you’d said his name without the rank. without the armor.

“john.”

his name left your lips like something you weren’t supposed to say. not because it was forbidden—but because it was real. and maybe that made it harder.

his eyes—those steady, sharp, sea-colored eyes—found yours immediately. he was caught off guard —not just by the suddenness of your voice, but by the way you said his name, stripped of formality. no captain. no sir.

just… john.

and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the silence stretched long and uncertain, but not uncomfortable. not yet.

you stepped inside at his small nod, and the door clicked softly shut behind you. he looked at you like he always did—measured, quiet, that edge of wariness he never quite let go of, even in the safest places. you stood across from him, arms still folded, heart knocking hard against your ribs.

“i keep telling myself to stop,” you said, your voice soft. raw. you weren’t sure if it was from the mission you’d just returned from or from the weeks and months leading up to this moment. “but i can’t seem to stop caring. about you.”

your confession didn’t fill the room. it settled into it. like dust on polished steel.

his jaw tensed, that familiar twitch of restraint rippling beneath his expression. his hands—always steady, always sure—folded together in front of him like he was trying to keep them from betraying something.

he didn’t look away. didn’t retreat. but the weight in his gaze shifted.

“you’re a good soldier,” he said after a long pause. the words landed with more force than they should have. “smart. steady. dependable.”

you blinked once. felt your chest tighten, but you didn’t flinch.

“but not enough?” you asked, even though you knew the answer before he could give it. you just needed to hear it anyway. maybe to prove to yourself that your instincts had been right all along.

he shook his head slowly, stepping toward the desk but not sitting. he couldn’t seem to stay still. something about your presence made the room feel too small.

“it’s not that,” he said. and his voice��normally so even, so command-sharp—sounded a little unsteady. like it cost him something to say what came next. “it’s because i’m your captain. and this—” he gestured between the two of you with a tired hand, as if that might capture the mess of everything unspoken, “it wouldn’t be right. not for you. not for me.”

you stared at him for a moment. took in the lines of his face, the crease in his brow, the stubborn set of his mouth that you’d once thought you could soften.

“so you’d rather pretend it’s not there?” your voice wasn’t angry. it was quieter than that. hollowed out by exhaustion and quiet ache.

he exhaled, the sound low and weighted.

“i’d rather protect you.”

and there it was. the real reason. not cruelty. not fear. just the unbearable need to keep you safe—even if that meant hurting you now, to avoid hurting you worse later.

your arms dropped to your sides. your fingers curled once, then stilled. you looked at him like maybe, if you stared long enough, he’d change his mind. say he regretted it. that it wasn’t true. that he wanted you, too. but he didn’t.

your voice was barely a breath. “maybe i don’t want protecting.”

he didn’t answer right away. just watched you, his expression unreadable.

“i know,” he murmured at last. softer than you’d ever heard him. “but i do.”

and that was it. the end of the line.

you didn’t try again.

after that, you did what soldiers do—you buried it. packed it up like an old injury. you kept showing up. kept your uniform crisp, your reports clean. you spoke when spoken to. you stood when he entered the room. but that softness? that shimmer of something beneath the words?

gone.

you were still loyal. still sharp. but colder. quieter. not out of spite—just survival. you weren’t built to keep chasing something that would never reach back.

and he—

he felt the difference. every damn day.

in the way you stopped looking at him like he was more than a uniform. in how you smiled at others but never him. in the hollow space you used to fill with small kindnesses, with warmth, with hope.

he’d told himself it was the right thing. the honorable thing. drawing a line before either of you got hurt.

but now, with nothing left between you but distance and rank—he wasn’t so sure.

because no one else looked at him the way you did.

and now no one did at all.

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[brokenbough]

Hear me outtttt 141 x reader who always moves around silently and keeps scaring (not like scaring scaring but like a flinch whenever they notice her) the guys in the barracks and they makes her wear small bells around the barracks earning her the call sign bell lol

Awwww this is so freaking cute 🥺

But I have to make it a trauma response now☺️

When you were first recruited, the 141 besides Price, didn't even know you were on base. You were silent when you went to the kitchen late at night for a drink when you couldn't sleep, showering at midnight, reading in the dark of the base's library with a small flashlight. You were silent when you entered the chow hall in the morning, head down and blending in with the masses so as not to get caught.

By who, you weren't sure.

It was safe to say you made it a point not to be seen, heard, or remembered. You were silent when it came to everything you did. It was one of the main reasons Price brought you onto the team, the main reason you were recommended to him.

But, on the off chance that someone was in your quiet spots when you were there, you usually ignored their presence, going about your business quietly. Too quietly for the 141.

This often led to a series of:

"Holy shit! How long have you been there?!"

"Fuckin' hell, don't sneak up on me like that."

"AHH, I didn't see you!"

Or even, "Fuck! You gotta warn me when you come in. Gotta put some fucking bells on you or something.."

You often got hit for waiting behind someone for a chance to the cabinets. It also led to you being constantly stepped on or getting knocked into. It was something you had grown used to and never blamed anyone for it. It wasn't their fault you couldn't walk like a normal person.

You tried to walk a little heavier, but the mere sound of your footsteps made you cringe.

And one day, after sneaking up on Gaz, Ghost, Price, and lastly Soap, they all agreed they needed to do something about this.

Yes, it was useful on the field, but not when they held a burning cup of coffee in their hand. So, they sat you down and had a serious conversation.

"Alright lass," Soap started, elbows on his knees as he looked at you earnestly. "We.. we gotta do something about your uh... lack of sound while walkin'. You're scaring half the platoon and they're all on edge thinking you might be there."

You nod solemnly, about to apologize when Gaz cuts in.

"A-and we know it's not your fault, so no need to apologize. We just gotta come up with some solutions, yeah?"

You nod again though still feeling bad.

Attempt 1:

"Some heavy boots. Makes a bunch of noise when you walk." Gaz suggested, smiling like he solved the problem.

Except, you really didn't like the sound of your footsteps and walked even quieter as to not hear them. Plus, they hurt your feet and thighs when walking, so... 2/10.

"I don't like them. They hurt." You tell Gaz a few days later, dodging a punch when he whipped around.

"Shit. Sorry lass. Alright, let's get something different." He said, heart still racing from being snuck up on.

Attempt 2:

"Maybe just hum a little tune when you come out of your room. Then we'll know where you are." Price suggested with an earnest smile.

You nodded, agreeing to sing or hum when you were out. The only problem with this was that, unless you were eating breakfast, you didn't really come out until later. At night, type of later.

So yeah, you would sing a song in the kitchen at night while making a cup of tea or getting water. It would creep out all the soldiers when the song traveled, and anyone up later would hear you and think they're being haunted, leading to Price checking it out himself at all hours of the night only to be creeped out by your choice of song.

"I'll.. be right behind you~ No~ matter where you goooo. I'll.. be there to surprise you. And I~ just want you to know~

"I'm the monster underneath your bed. I'm every thought inside your head. You can run, but you can't hide. I am already inside--"

"Hey." He cuts off, stepping into the dark kitchen.

You halt all movement, facing away from him.

"Uh.." He says, coming closer.

"Yes?" You prompt, finally moving again as you continue to make your tea.

"What're you doing up?" He asks, coming to your side to see what you're working on.

"Making tea. Would you like some?" You ask softly.

"Uh no. I'm gonna go back to sleep, but.... you're kind of creeping out the soldiers now." He says apprehensively, hoping to not hurt your feelings.

"I understand." Is all you say, taking your tea back to your room.

Attempt 3:

It's Soap's turn now to come up with something so that the soldiers stop being on edge, wondering if you're around the corner or the next.

"Well. On ma family's farm, we got a couple o' cows and put bells on them so we know when they're up and moving." Soap says, getting a few thoughtful hums around the kitchenette's small table.

It's a little dehumanizing to say the least, but you don't want to scare anyone anymore, or be stepped on, or dodge a hit when someone turns around. So yeah, you decide to get some small bells to put on your belt loops.

Every time you enter a room anyone there can hear the small jingle and not be startled when you're suddenly at their side. And it works. No more terrified yelps or being screamed at (by accident) for popping up out of nowhere.

Though still, some soldiers still have PTSD from your late night singing, or just being wary in general in case you forgot to put your bells on.

Anyway, the base starts to see you, hear you, and remember your cute little golden bells that rest against the side of your thighs, swaying with each step.

"Hey, Bells. Heard you this time." They all commend with a smile, thankful as to not be scared by you anymore. Some start to ask why you're wearing bells, others asking for pointers on how to walk silently for when they get deployed.

Sometimes, the recognization gets a little too much and you take off the bells so that you can go about your day without being recognized. It's easier that way more often than not, but you still try to wear them for the sake of everyone else

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

Bro, I walk like this cause of my misophonia 😢 sorry it took so long to complete, I didn’t know how to write this out 😭

[ghostytoad]

Hi there!

Can I get the Rise Turtles crushing on a fem!reader who is EXTREMELY tall? (Think 5’11-6’1 for a range since this is possible :D) I was thinking that based off of typical human media, the boys might feel that they would be too short for her and think their feelings are a waste of time, but reader says something that makes them either have a glimmer of hope or makes them (accidentally) outright confess? (I was thinking a jab at her own height in the dating world, but whatever you’d like to have works perfectly fine)

Thank you!

P.S; Stay safe, hydrated, well-fed and energized!!

Tall Order

ROTTMNT Boys x Tall Fem! Reader

Summary: The Hamato brothers are down bad for the one person they look up to (in a literal sense)!

Headcanons for: Mikey, Leo, Donnie, and Raph

GN! Reader; Romantic; Fluff || Words:

Mikey:

Isn't at all intimidated by Y/N's size! He might even like her all the more for it. It's kinda rare for people to not be taller than him, so it's really just a matter of how climable Y/N is.

Hell, after years of using his own brothers as his personal jungle gym, Mikey's really had a lot of practice in this kind of thing. He's all over Y/N, perching on her shoulder like a parrot, clinging to her leg, swinging from her arm like a monkey bar. You name it, he's probably gonna do it.

"Aw, c'mon! You're the perfect height and huggability for acrobatics! Pluuus, I'll let you drive the Turtle Tank if you do~" "MICHELANGELO RENEE HAMATO, DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THE TANK."

Will absolutely demand piggy back rides like the goofball he is. He might get a bit pouty if Y/N tells him no, but he understands! That doesn't mean he's not going to try and jump her like a cowboy trying to ride a wild mustang.

Literally, all doe-eyes and goofy grins every time he sees Y/N trying on heels. Like how can one person possibly get any taller?? Feels his heart stutter and his cheeks burn the moment she strides in with the clack-clack-clacking of a woman on a mission.

If Y/N is somehow insecure about her height? BOOM! Out come the stilts. He might even bring her along on a tour of the Hidden City just to show off all the different body types out there so Y/N doesn't feel quite as bad. There's no doubt in his mind that Y/N is perfect the way she is and he's determined to make her see it one way or another!

SHOPPING! A huge must for the duo. He won't even ask, he'll just show up at Y/N's house one day with a silly disguise and drag her out to the nearest shopping mall for a new wardrobe. After all, she's gotta show off them tall, luscious legs and that glam attitude with some pizzazz

He's the one that ends up getting teased about his height more than Y/N does, especially by his brothers. He's just so short compared to Y/N. "Aw, look at widdle Mikey tryna give his girlfriend a hug!" "It's like you're trying ask for uppies or something."

Romantically, Y/N's height is absolutely no problem for him. He's like peak gentleman energy, opening doors for her, pulling out her chair for her, taking the lead in dancing (look, he's a huge romantic, just let him have his ballroom fairytale).

Boy is UNBOTHERED when it comes to dating and height differences. He won't let anyone talk his Amazonian goddess down. He will literally show Y/N off to everyone Will Smith style everywhere they go, like:

Leo:

As everyone knows, Leo is the king of overcompensation and the same will absolutely apply to height. He's not insecure about his height by any stretch of the imagination, but he's definitely gotta keep up the 'knight in shining armor' look if he wants to woo Y/N and sweep her off her feet (metaphorically speaking ofc).

So what if Y/N is taller? Leo's still packing in the skillz department. If he wasn't a showoff before, he's definitely insufferable now. But not in his usual competitive way. He doesn't do it to one-up her, he does it to impress her. Really, he's just peacocking to prove to Y/N that he's total boyfriend material.

Doesn't climb on Y/N to the same extent that Mikey does, but will absolutely use her to dramatically faint or for some other over-the-top theatrics. He might just drop a really cheesy pickup line to really sell it. He's also a huge fan of height checks with Y/N and will insist every time that he's definitely grown an inch every time.

Leo treats Y/N like a true partner-in-crime, not just a teammate or a human companion. He definitely plays into her towering height as an intimidation tactic and defaults to her when he wants backup. If someone dares to even question him and his clearly flawless logic, he gestures to her like, “Tall Lady says it’s legit, and I trust Tall Lady. So can it, shortstuff.”

Is definitely rocking heels alongside Y/N just to make her feel less insecure. Sure, a tall person wearing heels might be a bit overkill, but a fruity mutant turtle wearing heels? Now that's something worth gawking at. He doesn't mind the attention (he was built for the spotlight after all), but he really only does it to build up Y/N's confidence. Anything to show her just how incredible she is.

Has a thing with legs though he'll never admit it. Tall, tones calves, sumptuous thighs, and miles of leg to run his hand over? It isn't even sexual in nature, he's just admiring Y/N the same way an art aficionado studies a work of art. Will definitely encourage Y/N to wear clothes that show off them stunning legs. Definitely feels that Y/N has modeling potential and will keep saying it until his dying breath. Might be a tad jealous, but nothing is more tragic than beauty that goes unappreciated.

Which is how he goes about convincing Y/N to join a few small time fashion shows. And you bet he's on the front row cheering the loudest. You'd think she was an American Top Model with how much Leo's gushing over her. He'll even tote himself as her 'agent' if she expresses interest in pursuing modeling. Somehow always has connections to make it happen (he totally didn't portal into some higher up's office and add her name to the roster)

Donnie:

Thinks Y/N's height is “genetically elite” and absolutely has scanned her multiple times to understand her “bone density to altitude ratio.” Whatever that means. Will totally run a litany of tests on Y/N. Donnie's primary love language *is* observation after all (next to gift giving obviously).

Donnie stares. A lot. Not in a creepy, gawking sort of way though, he's just genuinely intrigued by Y/N's unique traits and the clear advantage she has over everyone else. And not to get primitive, but in his brilliant mind taller = more authority. (It's totally not a height preference, why would you even say that?)

Often asks Y/N to help with lab setups that require higher reach—less out of need, more because he likes working with her. Plus, he can't trust Raph to be careful enough with his tech to ask for his help. And sure, he could technically use his battle shell, but why do that when Y/N is right there?

Constantly upgrades things to fit Y/N's tall frame. Her favorite chair? Now optimized for lumbar support at her height. His lab stool? Now taller so he can kiss talk to her without climbing something. He even has the Turtle Tank modified to give Y/N extra leg room. After all, anything to keep her around is a huge bonus.

"After days of nonstop extensive research, many failed prototypes, and 15 liters of liquid caffeine, I present to you, dear Y/N, my magnum opus! BEHOLD!" "... It's a chair." "Fitted to your exact measurements for the ideal gaming experience, ergonomically designed, and with DUAL cupholders!"

Doesn't admit it out loud, but overthinks their first kiss often. Deep down, he's a huge sucker for romance, so his ideal first kiss with Y/N would have to be perfect. But how is he supposed to sweep her off her feet without toppling them both over? It should be spontaneous but it should also be somewhere with a raised platform for him to look down at her when they're about to kiss. And it needs to be-

He isn't too good at communication or picking up on social cues, but he is *very* adept at understanding Y/N's height related insecurities. Doesn't mean he'll get all mushy and offer gentle reassurances, no no. Being the pragmatic genius that he is, he figures that the best solution is building himself a taller mech suit so when the two of them walk side by side, all the attention is drawn to him and not her.

Secretly loves watching Y/N intimidate people with her superior height. If someone’s rude to him and she steps forward, casting a tall, looming shadow, Donnie will immediately be smug about it. Y/N is that much closer to unlocking her true menacing potential and accepting that her height is a blessing and not a detriment!

“Hm. Yes. Deploying personal kaiju. Excellent.” "What did you just call me-?" "Oh, nothing. By all means, continue." [is totally recording on his phone for posterity]

Raph:

SMITTEN. LOVESTRUCK. IN ABSOLUTE HEAVEN AND Y/N IS THE ANGEL THAT GREETS HIM AT THE GOLDEN GATES.

That is to say, Raph isn't picky about things like height, but it's nice to not feel like a bear in a glass factory. Everyone and everything is just so small compared to him and he's trained himself to be so, so careful. Being around Y/N just gives him a chance to relax. He'll still treat her like the fragile dove she is, but he's no longer as reserved with his physical affection.

Huge bonus if Y/N is also chubbier, he will absolutely melt for his big, soft cuddle buddy. And yes, platonic or not, cuddles are a huge must for him. Raphael might be big and bad, but all of that is really just so he doesn't accidentally crush someone with his bear hugs.

"Heh, you, ah— you just let Raph know when I'm squeezin' too hard, yeah? Think I'm startin' to forget my own strength around ya." "This okay? Yeah? You sure? I— What? Scared? Pfft, I ain't scared of a few hugs!"

If she ever rests her chin on his head, it's over for him. Especially if he's sitting in her lap. Anything that makes Raph feel smaller will immediately have him wrapped around Y/N's finger. He's like those large dogs that don't realize they're not a puppy anymore. (He totally doesn't purr, nuh uh)

Even if Y/N is taller, he will still give her piggyback rides at will. After all, he's built like a war machine so carrying Y/N is like a walk in the park. Just don't expect to give him piggyback rides in return. He's built like a war machine and will absolutely wreck your spine.

He has a disgusting number of cutesy nicknames he calls Y/N. They all usually range from "champ", "big mama (/platonic)", "pipsqueak" to "angel face" or "big mama (/spiceee)". Expect a lot of ironic shortie names sprinkled in there too.

He's not bothered by the height difference if Y/N is a little taller than him... mostly. But he does tend to get a bit insecure at times when it feels like he's not as useful to Y/N as he usually is with his brothers. He's spent so long being the biggest, the tallest, the oldest that to him it feels like that's all there really is to him. But a few reassuring words and lots of TLC will definitely pick his confidence right back up.

Overall though, he's ecstatic. If his brothers are getting out of line, Raph can always count on Y/N to help him put them in air jail. Sure, they might be able to take Raph on by himself, but they're no match for two giants. And they hate it.

"Now... What. Did. We. Learn?" "Sugar is the root of all evil?" "That you're a greedy candy hoarder?" "Not to trust Leo with lookout duty ever again?" "And that right there is why you three are getting another 10 minutes added on." [collective groan]

[myomie]

L. KINGSCHOLAR ┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐ " Leona Kingscholar (SFW) Alphabet Headcanons! " GN! Reader Warnings (∩>؂•)⊃⦆=͟͟͞͞➵ None!! , Not proofread ────────────────────────────────────────────

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

My opinion on this kind of varies, especially based on how long the two of you have known each other. In general, he’s not very much a “words of affirmation” kind of guy, unless he knows you need it. He mostly expresses his affection through private displays of physical touch. Through napping together in the botanical garden, to in his room, all that matters to him is that it’s you. Outside of quality time (if napping counts), I think he'd enjoy rubbing against you, much like lions do in the wild. On instinct, he does get the urge to lick or gently bite at your skin occasionally, but he tries to avoid that, both out of mild embarrassment for his instincts and not wanting to hurt you. As mentioned earlier, he is primarily a man who values quality time and acts of service. However, if he knows you need it, he’ll sit by you. He’s never been good at comforting people, but he can’t help the words that fall from his mouth.

“I’m here.”

And although it’s such a small statement, it makes your heart race, and you either smile.. or start crying like a baby.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Honestly… I don’t think there would ever really be a best-friend stage. You guys would be mutuals, but you never really hung out as you did with the other freshmen. Over time, however, he would just learn that he felt happiest with you, whatever that meant. Your friendship would likely start sometime after his overblot, perhaps through your nagging to ensure he was okay… by the time you needed his assistance when Azul took over your home, he wasn’t that upset at the prospect of bringing you in, although he acted like it.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Yes!.. I feel like that’s one of his key components. He doesn’t have a set way to cuddle, but he does enjoy turning you into his pillow.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I feel that Leona certainly can cook and clean, but why do that when he can have Ruggie do it? However, unlike lions in the wild, he is not a man who is willing to share. He expects to be together forever, so yes, he would want to settle down. He likely goes on to get a job provided by his status, but if you were a house-partner, and needed help, he would lend a hand (grumbling the whole time.. although, he doesn’t mind.)

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I feel like you would have had to do something genuinely bad to get him to go to that point. He feels safe and secure with you, so in this situation, you probably broke his trust in some shape or form. He wouldn’t be the kind of person to do a long sappy monologue of how sorry he was, he would say it simply, in person. He wouldn’t think it through too much, the moment he finds out what you did, it’s too late. So pls don’t go and hurt him :(( AHH

After the break up though, he’d be a silent mess. He didn’t cry about it but just got quiet. He finally became vulnerable with someone, and now he feels kind of lost. He probably wouldn’t get with anyone for a while after, but he also wouldn’t spare you a second glance.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

I don’t think he cares all too much for terms. Married, engaged, dating.. even friends (to an extent.) He doesn’t mind what you call him, as long as your his. He’s committed to the relationship, and if you want to get married, he’s on board… But it’s not like things need to be rushed in his mind.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Surprisingly, pretty gentle. He’s smart enough to pick up on what his partner can handle. Male or female, if they’re tough, he might engage in more rough playful activity. Although he won’t pounce on you per se, he’s more than willing to indulge in any energy bursts that consist of you attacking him. However, if you’re on the weaker side, he’d be more cautious. He might tease you for it, but he’d never be upset at the fact you can’t wrestle him. If you’re still energetic, he’s still willing to let you attack him, but don’t expect him to use his full strength against him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He loves hugs! But only from you. His hugs entirely depend on the situation, but most of the time, he’s not a fan of short side hugs. The first time you tried to give him a quick hug to say goodbye, you ended up with a lion clinging to you for a good thirty seconds, until you grumbled, tugging his hair. He will only really initiate hugs in private, which soon turns to him falling asleep in the crook of your neck. However, if he’s feeling a wee bit uncomfortable or jealous, especially around someone like Malleus, he might pull you in just a bit closer.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

I don’t think it’s a big thing for him. One day either you mumble it or he does as one of you falls asleep, and that’s that. It’s just another way to express his affection, similar to him rubbing against you. I don’t think it’s commonly used in beastmen relationships either way since they have so many other ways of expressing their devotion. (EX: their courting rituals instead of just confessing like most humans.)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Despite how he acts, it’s pretty obvious he has some childhood insecurities which never got fixed. Seeing you devote your time to others may slightly annoy him, especially if he’s tired, but he won’t stop you. However, if you’re gushing about how cool someone is (especially if it’s someone he doesn’t completely like.. cough.. a certain.. lizard..) he probably will get jealous. He knows better than to control your relationships, but anytime you’re around certain people, he will have it known you're taken, his scent rubbed off on you. Why was his jacket around your shoulders? He didn’t usually do such things randomly… Maybe he was feeling hot?

He wouldn’t outwardly admit he was jealous until you confronted him about his odd behavior. To which he would just grumble, and say something along the lines of, “That lizard doesn’t deserve your praise.”

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Cute small kisses :3 Mostly on your face, shoulders, and neck. At times, he can’t help it, and his rough tongue rubs against your skin.. if you yelp, he will never recover. He’s not very used to receiving affection, but he likes whenever you kiss him goodbye on his cheek. Or when he’s sleeping in your lap and you kiss his forehead. Honestly kiss him anywhere and he’d fold.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Well.. he’s not.. super fond. Despite his annoyed attitude, he does adore Cheka, in his own way. If he didn’t want him around, he could have easily scared him a while ago, and the fact that he just sits there grumbling as he gets crawled over makes you slightly giggle. He’s made it a point to never treat a child poorly, after all, he knows firsthand the effects of what that can do. The constant rumors and murmurs circled through the castle. However, you won’t see him actively seek out being around kids.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Nonexistent he’s in a coma </3

The time you spend your first morning with him would be when your dorm is stolen. He finds the way you whine at being woken up early to be slightly endearing and then continues to grab your cat by the scruff as he also complains. I think the way mornings go could vary greatly, if there’s training that day, he’d want you there- Even if it’s just to doze off while his classmates practice. But when there’s no training, he will be keeping you in bed for as long as possible.

Morning classes..? Professor Trein would surely understand if you were a little late.. maybe…

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Since the Savanna can get rather cold as night falls, he uses that as an excuse to have you as close as possible. His blankets are more than enough to keep the two of you warm, but he isn’t complaining at the convenient excuse. He doesn’t do much to get ready, just gets changed and brushes his teeth, falling in bed.. if you have a long routine, his gaze would just be trained on your back until you finish.. or until he gets fed up and drags you to bed himself.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You learned the biggest piece of his life during his overblot, so there’s not all that much to share. But as time goes on, he doesn’t say anything per se. He might talk about his childhood memories, but he won’t straight out say he was insecure. However, once you two have been together for a while, you notice more… vulnerable moments. When he lets his ears droop, when he wants to be quiet, and when he just needs a hug. He doesn’t hide it anymore, he doesn’t have to it when it comes to you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He gets annoyed fairly easily, but it takes quite a force to get him fully angry. You’ve only experienced it firsthand during his blot. You later found out from Jack that Leona had gotten angry during training once… when his members were being too reckless and hurt each other. You teased him for a week about how he was soft for them.

He was going to kill Jack.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers.. everything. He won’t outright say it, but now and then he’ll do something that shows he remembers. Getting your favorite drink, or snack, pointing out whenever he sees something he knows you like. But somehow he knows things you didn’t tell him… that mole that’s hidden beneath all your clothes..?

You certainly didn’t tell him that.

But you were pretty sure you knew who did.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

I don’t think he has a very specific favorite.. but a fond memory would probably be the first time he held you while you slept. He would never admit it, but his heart was racing as he dropped his arm over your body, pulling you towards him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He trusts you to handle yourself, especially when he was raised around strong women and men. However, he is attentive, always keeping an eye out for you… especially if unsavory people get a bit too close. If he needed to protect you, he honestly could just walk behind you, lay his chin on your head, and whoever was bothering you would skedaddle. Physically, he doesn’t need protection. But whenever you tell people to leave him alone when he’s in a bad mood, he really just wants to bite you (romantically…?)

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He likes to keep things lowkey. He wouldn’t throw an extraordinary party, but he will never forget dates that are important to you. He (or Ruggie with Leona’s card) is pretty good at gift-giving, after all, he knows what you like. If it is him actually getting the gift, expect it to be something you were genuinely eyeing. You weren’t even sure how he noticed that. For everyday tasks, he can be a bit lazy. But if it’s something that matters to you, he’ll get up and do it.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His tongue. You don’t mind when he licks you, but when he does it over and over in the same spot.. it hurts. At times, his natural instinct takes over when you get hurt, and he goes to lick a scratch, but the moment you pull back from his rough tongue, the atmosphere grows incredibly awkward as he pretends he didn’t just do that.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He does not care. He keeps up with fitness, but that’s more to keep himself strong. He doesn’t really care for anything else.. and honestly, sometimes he wears atrocious outfits just to get a reaction out of Vil.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

For a while, yes. If you two were to separate, or something were to happen, he’d struggle for quite a while. Sleeping alone isn’t the same once you’ve had a warm body next to you for the past while. He would find new places to sleep. Places that didn’t reek of you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

His ears and tail are expressive. He is usually pretty good at keeping them under control, but with you, he’s feeling all sorts of new things.. and he can’t hold back the way his ears twitch. When you first tackled him in a hug, his tail went completely stiff and straight, poofing up.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t mind too much if you’re not entirely independent, but he can’t stand when people can’t do anything for themselves. Sounds sort of hypocritical coming from him… but he grew up around both men and women having to do their part, so having a partner who genuinely can’t do anything is a bit off-putting for him. (Unless of course there are reasons for that!! For if you’re sick, disabled, hurt, etc.. he would gladly help out his ill partner, but having someone who just pouts and refuses to try is frustrating to him.)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Well… the main one being he just is always asleep is definitely there. But outside of that, I think he just really.. really likes to cuddle. Before he met you, he was the kind of guy to sleep with a pillow held tightly in his arms.

holy yap feast..

[thefourthfixed]

This is something I’ve wondered for a long time. Does anyone have any idea exactly why William doesn’t like Michael and doesn’t want to accept him as his son? Especially because he decided to have two more kids. What was it about Michael that was different? Does his similar appearance have something to do with it? As interesting as I find William I’ve always found it a bit hard to get inside his mind. But also we weren’t given an overwhelming amount of information about this relationship which I hate because it’s one of the most important relationships in the story lmao. Their similar appearance is emphasized over and over and over to a point where Michael ended up *literally* purple because Scott wanted to get that point across extra hard. But at the same time, the idea that William dislikes Michael came from The Immortal and the Restless (I think)? I was actually talking to someone about how Michael being so uniquely hated by him is unanimously agreed upon but was wondering where exactly that came from. Is there anything other than the Immortal and the Restless? I would love to know if there is.

Like most, I’m of the belief that William hated him enough to not even want to be associated with him (The Immortal and the Restless does make a good case for that) and considering William’s treatment of his other children throughout the franchise I think it’s basically canon that he’s an abuse victim. But I was thinking about it and I was just like, why? It’s not like William is a great father to Elizabeth and crying child but why is Michael singled out? Why does William wish Michael WASN’T his son? Williamheads I would love to hear your thoughts.

Even their voices are similar and P.J. Heywood (William and Michael’s voice actor is the same person which I’m sure was a deliberate decision) had this to say about that, and I have not been able to get this off of my mind:

“And in terms of playing the two, it does allow you to explore two sides of… what would otherwise be very similar people if it wasn’t for their characters. You know, William’s dead and shambling around. Michael’s dead and shambling around.”

I just want to know more about this relationship. I mean I’ve inferred based on what we know plus some logic how Michael was treated by William and how he feels about William, but I still haven’t quite figured out the reasons behind the way William feels about Michael. If there even is one.

P.J. Heywood also said that it sounds to him like Michael is trying to win William’s approval which I thought was worth putting here too since it counts as one of those crumbs of information.

I kind of understand what he means like, I feel like Michael might still want that deep down even if he hates William. But you know when I listen to the beginning of that speech it always reads to me as “I did what you asked me to and I succeeded, are you happy?” coming from someone who has never been able to do anything right for the person he’s speaking to. But I think there’s a tone shift, several actually, but specifically right at “There’s only one thing left for me to do. I’m going to come find you” that is threatening. It always sounded that way to me especially with the implication that Michael is the one who started the FNAF 3 fire (I think the “I’m going to come find you” is the warning and the scene we’re viewing is a flash forward to the aftermath) but I’ve seen other people say they don’t read it as threatening and I just. I like that we’ve all listened to that and tried to interpret emotions. My favorite one is after he says “they thought I was you” he makes this quiet noise and I still cannot decide if it’s a laugh at how ridiculous and unfortunate the situation is, or if it’s some sort of scoff from frustration at that fact.

Last thing I’ll put here, I’m not really a big fan of the new FNAF stuff but I did at least watch a playthrough of the new one. It didn’t resonate with me so I didn’t look very far into that Moon thing but this.

And in my mind, I’m immediately thinking of that toy phone in FNAF 4 and the question in the survival logbook asking Michael if his favorite toy was the phone. Maybe there’s another meaning for this line or something else it’s meant to represent that I don’t know due to not looking into it but it’s a question I’d been meaning to ask so it’s worth putting here.