#if i were a director i would also cast myself in everything and give my character quirky scars/marks

[changecomesforyou]

so amazing to see xavier dolan expand his repertoire from sad character (gay) to sad character (straight)

[brunchable]

Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else. 

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a ���great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal? 

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you—perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar. 

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave. 

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster. 

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful. 

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl. 

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV 

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for. 

Filth. 

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them. 

It’s me, of course. 

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us. 

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × × 

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you. 

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you. 

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × × 

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat. 

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge. 

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath. 

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away. 

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension. 

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away. 

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds. 

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic. 

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. 

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place. 

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry. 

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge. 

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge. 

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away. 

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more. 

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you. 

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every 

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. 

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur. 

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place. 

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses. 

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × × 

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you. 

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him. 

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.” 

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them. 

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed. 

Oh, shit. 

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot. 

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place. 

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded. 

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. 

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you. 

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most. 

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning. 

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself. 

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped. 

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release. 

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment. 

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher. 

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next. 

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it." 

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more. 

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast. 

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most. 

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time. 

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable. 

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it. 

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you’re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more. 

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath. 

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.” 

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.” 

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!” 

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm. 

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms. 

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately. 

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.” 

Insatiable. 

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender. 

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.” 

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it. 

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth  and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way. 

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on. 

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you. 

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go. 

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!” 

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed. 

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you. 

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you. 

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass. 

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie. 

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.” 

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy. 

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.” 

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him. 

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you. 

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement. 

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it. 

Which made it a thousand times hotter. 

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . . 

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.” 

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock. 

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.” 

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.” 

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.” 

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space. 

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle. 

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you. 

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.” 

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his. 

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you. 

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything. 

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles. 

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life. 

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different. 

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing. 

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body. 

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust. 

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated. 

Goddamn, he was a lot. 

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him. 

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.” 

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him. 

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there. 

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away. 

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss. 

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang. 

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking. 

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection. 

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened. 

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

[starzioo]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓. 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘.

Hiii! This is a DracoxFem!Reader one-shot! In this story you are a ballerina. I saw this post of the Slytherin boys x a ballerina and I could just imagine Draco being absolutely in love with her. So here it is I hope you like!

WARNINGS: NONE <3

You sit on the stage of the Royal Opera House in London. Tightly wrapping the dusty pink ribbons around your ankles. Today was your rehearsal day for the production of The Nutcracker. You had been casted as the Sugar Plum Fairy. Most people would take this role as being easy and simple. But oh no, they would be terribly wrong. The movements you made had to be fluid and effortless, while also being regal. You sigh before standing back up and fixing your rehearsal tutu. You head over to your starting mark and give the signal to the director to start the music.

=

DRACO POV

I get out of the muggle-car behind my father. 'Muggles really think that this is the peak of transportation?' I think to myself as I look back at the black car behind me. "Good morning Mr. Malfoy. It's a pleasure to have you here again! Mr. Evan's is in a meeting right now and told me to tell you that he'll meet with you as soon as possible." A woman who I assume is Mr. Evan's assistant spoke to my father. "M'Alright." My father says obviously annoyed with the muggles tardiness. "Right this way then." The woman says with her smile not faltering. She walks a couple paces ahead of my father while I linger behind him. We step inside of the building. The interior looks to be made for royals. The architecture being elegant. She leads us down a couple hallways before stopping at a big door. "You may sit and wait here. Mr. Evan's will be here shortly. If you would like any refreshments or if you have any questions just head down the hallway and my desk is right there." My father only nods in response. She flashes her smile once more before heading down the hallway. Me and my father sit down on the waiting chairs. "Why are we here? Better question why am I here?" I turn and ask my father who's reading a muggle newspaper. He doesn't even look at me, "Because Draco. We are here on important business. It's about time you start learning what lies ahead for you." His tone still cold as ever. I can't even speak back, I know i'll be silenced. All I can do is huff. I stand up and just walk the opposite direction of him. I don't hate my father but sometimes I just can't stand how he seems to have my entire future in the palm of his hand.

Walking down the large hallway I can start to hear the elegant music that I can only recognize as music from The Nutcracker. When I was little my mother used to take me to a muggle theater around Christmas time. Although my father urged that we don't celebrate muggle holidays. She would always sneak us out and take me to see the Nutcracker. Not only did she love ballet but I loved to see the story play out through the graceful dancing. Of course as I grew older the tradition stopped but I never forgot.

I continue down the hallway and I can hear the music growing louder. I turn one more corner to see a double door way with a sign above the entrance that says 'MAIN THEATER' in gold lettering. The doors were slightly cracked open. I slightly peek into the theater to see a girl dancing on the stage doing the sugar plum fairies variation. I quietly slip into the room and sit down in the farthest back row to watch.

Y/N POV:

I had already rehearsed my routine twice but my director kept critiquing every little thing I did. I mean of course that's his job but I swear he was acting as if everything I did was wrong. I was in the in the middle of my third pirouette when my coach suddenly stood up and started walking to the back of the theater. I continued my pirouettes until I heard my coach speak. "I'm sorry sir but you aren't allowed in here while rehearsals are going on. I must ask you to leave." He said as he ushered someone who was sitting in the back of the theater out of the room. The man stood and I caught a glimpse of him. He was tall and had icy blonde hair. I paused my variation and stood to watch. The blonde man then spoke, "I'm sorry for interrupting sir. I had no clue." He said before then exiting the theater. My manager turned back around after closing the doors to the theater. "Alright Y/n from the top!" He said as he gave the tech people the signal to restart the music. I didn't complain. I rushed back to my starting mark and started my routine from the beginning.

DRACO POV:

As I sat in the back row I admired the ballerina on stage. Her movements were so elegant, mesmerizing even. With every turn and step she took her tutu bounced. Her arms stretched out with grace. I'm instantly snapped out of my daze when an official looking man comes up to me. "I'm sorry sir but you aren't allowed in here while rehearsals are going on. I must ask you to leave." He said as he turned to open the door for me. "I'm sorry for interrupting sir. I had no idea." I said as I stood from my seat. I walked to the door and took once last glance at the ballerina.

Y/N POV:

After the man had left the theater I ran through my routine nearly a half a dozen more times. Each time my coach giving me more pointers and critiques. As the music stopped and I finished my last variation my coach stood from his seat, "Y/n you need to keep your back straight and your knees pointed on that last part!" My coach shouted clearly tired of me not being able to perfect my solo. I just huffed and wiped my forehead with the back of my wrist. "Can I go get some water?" I said with my hands on my hips. My director sighed, "Yeah, be back in five." He said as he wrote something down on his clipboard. I hurriedly sped walked down the stairs that were on the far end of the stage and headed towards the theater entrance. I took a turn then walked down the long hallway. I stop at the end of the hallway when I see that man who got kicked out of the theater and another man who has long icy blonde hair, they're both sitting down on the waiting chairs outside Mr. Evan's office. I shake my head of any curiosity about the two and hurriedly walk past them to go to Adeline's desk. I notice the short haired boy look up at me as I walked but I continued. "Hey Adeline, could you please get me a water?" I asked to the woman. "Yeah just give me a second." She said with her usual smile, as she stood and went to another room. A couple seconds later she reappeared and had a water bottle in hand. The water bottle had a custom logo on it that said The Royal Opera House in gold letters on a dark red paper. "Thank you Ade, I'll most likely be back soon." I said as I turned around while simultaneously taking a drink of my water. As I turned I practically bump straight into a brick wall.

But it wasn't a wall it was that same blonde boy. And I had now just spilt water all over him. "Oh, i'm sorry! That was my bad!" I said frantically as I tried to wipe the water off of his black button down. "No, no, no, don't worry about it." He said laughing lightly as he grabbed hand to calm me, after a few seconds you let go. "I was just coming to compliment you. I saw you back in the theater and your dancing was truly beautiful." He said as his ice blue eyes practically pierced yours. "Oh...thank you." —I laughed softly—"But my director would say other wise." I said as I began to walk past him, I turned back around to look at him once more to find him with his eyebrows furrowed. "Well it's basically his job to tell me what I'm doing wrong, but it feels impossible to get my routine perfect." I sighed. "Well...regardless of what that oaf thinks I think you dance nothing short of perfection." He said slightly playfully. I let out a small laugh. "Well, I've got to get back to rehearsing. It was nice meeting you...?" I questioned having never learned his name. "Draco." "Draco?" "Draco." He confirmed. "Well it was nice meeting you Draco." I said nodding my head before turning to go back to the theater. "Wait what's your name?" He calls out to me as I was walking away. I turned around once more then gestured to a poster on the wall, then finally walked away.

As I gestured to the poster Draco immediately examined it. It was a picture of you in your sugar plum fairy costume and a title below it. It said, 'Y/n L/n as The Sugar Plum Fairy' Draco let out an airy laugh as he admired the poster when Lucius appeared behind him. "Draco I would like to not have to come look for you as if you were a lost puppy. Mr.Evan's is ready to see us now." He said coldly then turned Draco following behind.

=

You had went back to the theater thoughts of Draco lingering in the back of your head. Draco had went to sit in on the meeting between Lucius and Mr. Evan's. To Lucius that meeting was very important to the future of his shares in the theater, but to Draco it was merely an hour wasted listening to rubbish. You had finally wrapped up your rehearsals for the day and it was time for you to go get food and go home.

DRACO POV:

"Draco you can sit outside while me and Mr. Evan's wrap this up. Don't wander." Lucius spat. I didn't respond he simply just got up and left the room. I sat outside on the chairs until I heard a voice. "Yeah, I'll see you on Thursday?" She said as she walked out of the theater. There she was, Y/n. All of my attention was on her. She was no longer wearing the tutu and leotard. She was now wearing a baby pink off the shoulder knit sweater with grey flared leggings. She has a white knit scarf around her neck and she carried grey bag, what I assume was her ballet stuff. Her hair was in a low bun making her headphones she had in visible.

     When she turned to walk out she paused when she saw me. "Hey, you're still here?" She said softly as she walked up to me while taking out her headphone. "Yeah, i'm just waiting for my father and Mr. Evan's to get out of their meeting." "Well, I could wait with you?" She said as she rocked back and forth on her feet. "Yeah, sure. I don't mind." She sat down next to me setting her bag on her side. "So why are you here? To see Mr.Evans I mean." She said as she looked up at me. "Well I wouldn't say that i'm here to see him. My father is.  Something that has to do with his shares. I honestly don't know. The only thing i've gotten out of coming here was seeing you dance." I laughed a little, and so did she. "I didn't know I was that good." She smiled. "Whatever your director was yelling at you, he truly is wrong. I thought you danced perfect." I said avoiding eye contact with her. I could see her out of the corner of my eye just staring up at me. "Why thank you good sir. I'm glad you liked it." She giggled. "Have you ever seen The Nutcracker?" "Yeah, quite a few times actually." "Oh. Would you like to see it again maybe?" She asked this time not peering up at me, but now fiddling with the loose ends of her scarf. "When?" She stop and looked back up at me. "Uhmm,—she hummed— Opening night would be December 10th, I could get you tickets if you would like?" "Yeah, yeah, although I don't know when I'll see you again?" I asked. She laughing softly, "I guess whenever you want to see me again." She smiled.

DECEMBER TENTH

DRACO POV

Today was the day, the day I get to see her again. I don't know why I'm so...entranced? By her. Something about her just makes me fascinated. Ever since last week she's all I could think about. Of course in order to be able to go see the show I told my parents some bullshit excuse. My father would never let me go to London by myself, especially just so I could go see the ballet. Not only that a muggle girl.

I had made my way to the theatre early so I would be able to avoid all the people there for opening night. I stepped out of the taxi, it was cold the winter air crisp. I entered the building and walked up to the concierge. "One ticket for The Nutcracker, please." I said slightly rubbing my hands together trying to warm them. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid we are all sold out for the night." He said with pity. "What? No, I have to see the show tonight." "Like I said, I'm sorry. But I can sell you a ticket for-" "Oh! Mr. Malfoy I wasn't expecting you so early!" The concierge was interrupted by no other than Adeline. "You were expecting me?" I turned to her. "Well yes? I expected that Ms. L/n made you aware of your visit?" She said with her usual smile. "Well yeah, but- you know what never mind. Why were you expecting me?" "Of course, because she was very adamant that you got the best seat in the house!" She said ushering me down the hall, then to an elevator.

The classical music played lightly in the elevator, the ride up two floors wasn't awkward, it was actually quite pleasant. This was an elevator ride I had been on countless times before, it was nostalgic in a way. The elevator dinged before the large metal doors opened. We were on The Donald Gordon Grand Tier. It was technically the third floor of the theater. She led me to row A which was in the very middle and front. "Ms. L/n was very insisting that you get this specific seat sir. She said it was the best seat in the house and you deserve nothing less!" I stood there for a moment and blinked at the seats in front of me. That feeling of nostalgia had now been explained. I was sitting in the exact same seat my mother would always sit in when we would come to the theater. "Mr. Malfoy, are you okay?" Adeline broke my trance. "Thank you Adeline, for everything." I thanked her as I sat down. "No problem! Feel free to come down to my desk if you need anything!" She smiled before walking away.

I sat there for maybe 30 minutes before hundreds of people started sitting in the theater. Of course by courtesy of Adeline I was able to avoid the crowd. After about another 30 minutes the lights in the theater had dimmed. That's when I heard the oh so familiar tune to the mystical music. There was something about the story of The Nutcracker that always fascinated me. Maybe it was the playful but yet elegant dances that were done. They were so complex but yet so smooth and graceful. Or perhaps it was the fact that I was able to watch a story come to life in front of my very eyes. As I watched the ballet I found myself the same way I was many years ago. Only blinking every few minutes to be sure I didn't miss any parts of the show. My mind fully clear, only focusing on the ballet dancers below. I was entranced by the story all over again.

Now, we were in act II. After Clara and the Prince have slayed the Mouse King, the snowflakes have led them to the Kingdom of Sweets. As the enchanting music transitioned to a more sweet sounding melody it hit me. She was going to be dancing soon. Clara and the Prince arrived to the gates of Kingdom of Sweets. The Sugar Plum Fairy reigns over the Kingdom of Sweets. I sat up in my chair. Then there she was, graceful as ever tip-toing across stage. Her costume was beautiful a light pink bodice and tutu with gold accents. Her hair was elegant and she wore a gold tiara. She was covered in glitter, but what shined the most was her eyes. She was so passionate in the way she danced. Her moves were liquid smooth enchanting the audience. She placed a tiara on Clara's head then commenced a day of festivities in honor of Clara saving the Prince from the mouse king. First came the Chocolate from Spain, then the Arabian Coffee, the Chinese tea, and lastly the sweet French Marzipan.

But then the flowers came, and they preformed a great waltz. The Sugar Plum Fairy came back with her cavalier and did a mesmerizing duet. Although they were doing a duet me and the whole audience could only look at one of them. Her. She danced with a great passion. Not that he didn't. There was just something about her that made you believe that she was born to be on that stage. Born to shine. Even with the light shining down on her, she was the light. Soon after she and her cavalier finished their dance Clara is guided back home. She tosses and turns in her sleep, she wakes up to find out it was a dream? A fantasy. Nothing more.

And Suddenly I was pulled into reality. The audience erupted in roars. Not one person in that theater wasn't clapping. Roses were being thrown onto stage by people sitting on the lower floors. The people around me whistling and cheering. I quickly stood up and headed down to Adeline's desk. "Excuse me, Adeline. I had a delivery made here, did it arrive yet?" I said as I leaned on her desk. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Just wait one second while I go grab it. She disappeared into a room before coming out with the custom bouquet I had delivered. Freshly picked Frutteto's. The baby pink roses were dusted with gold glitter, they were perfect. "She's gonna love them you know?" Adeline asked snapping me out of my trance. "Yeah...yeah, I know. Do you know when she'll be out?" "I'd say maybe 30 minutes? In the mean while you're more than welcome to wait here." She said as she sat back down at her desk and started flipping through a book.

I sat there for what seemed like forever. I inspected every flower to make sure they were nothing short of perfection. Just as I was picking off a petal that was too pink to fit in with the rest I saw her. She was already on her way out of the glass doors. I quickly rushed after her, "Y/n, wait!" I yelled after her as I caught up. She turned around her nose being a light shade of pink from the brisk winter air, the soft snowflakes landing in her hair. "Draco, you came? I didn't see you come in before the show?" "I got here early, don't worry I watched the whole show. You were...amazing. Oh, I got you these." I quickly handed her the bouquet, "They're beautiful." Her face lit up, "Perfect, they're perfect." She cradled them in one arm while the other fiddled with the petals. "Thank you." She said with that sweet smile of hers. "My pleasure, I knew you'd like them." I really didn't, I was actually terrified she wouldn't like them. "Hey...would you maybe..." Her eyes glistened in the street lights as she looked up from the flowers, "...would you maybe like to go to dinner with me?" I was a bit taken aback by the sudden question. I paused, "Yeah, I would love to. But it's my treat." "You don't have to i'm the one who invited you." She said lightly laughing. "Well, I would like to treat you after your amazing performance tonight. Where do you wanna eat?" "I know a great place! It's called Bancone, it's an italian place, is that okay?" "Whatever you want is fine with me." I smile. "Okay, uhh, hold on let me call a cab!" She turned and walked to the road. She hailed us a cab.

We both sat in the back of the cab, watching the snow glitter down from the sky. "How far is the restaurant?" I asked turning to her. When I looked at her she was simply smiling down at her flowers. "Oh, we should be there any minute! Actually we're here! Thank you!" She said as she scooted out of the cab. I paid the driver then got out. I was surprised to find she took my hand and led me inside.

We stepped inside and I was taken aback by the olive tree that was planted in the middle of the restaurant. The interior was classy but casual. "Hi! Welcome in! Table for two?" A hostess came up to us. "Yeah, uhm, could we be seated at a window table?" She asked as she dusted off the small pieces of snow she had in her hair. "Of course! Right this way!" The hostess led us to a table in the front of the restaurant. I pulled out her chair for her, "Why thank you good sir." She softly laughed. I sat down. "Can I get you started with any drinks, or would you like a minute?" "Could we get a bottle of the house red? And then I would just like a glass of water." She asked the hostess. "Great choice, and as for you sir?" "I would just like a glass of water, thank you." She handed us our menus then walked away. "What do you think you're gonna get?" I looked up from my menu. "For sure the bucatini, i've been craving it all day." I laugh lightly, "I don't know what I want" I said as I studied the menu, "What do you think?" I looked up at her to find her already looking at me. "I personally think you'll like the duck ragú, I had it last time I came and it was heavenly." She laughed. "Okay I guess it's settled then, wait what about dessert?" "Oo! They have these cannolis! They're covered in hazelnuts you have to try them." Just then a waitress came to the table, "Here is your house red, and waters." She said as she set down our water and presented the bottle.

She opened the bottle with a pop, then filled our glasses. "Thank you" we both said nearly in unison. "Are you ready to order your entrees, or would you like another minute?" "We're ready. I'll have the bucatini and as for dessert we'll do two orders of the hazelnut cannolis." She said as she handed the waitress her menu. "Sure thing! And as for you sir?" She turned to me, "I'll have the duck ragú, that'll be all, thank you." I handed her my menu. "Okay, i'll be back with your food shortly." She smiled then walked away to another table. "You know what I realized?" Y/n said as she twirled the wine in her glass. "What?" "I barely know anything about you, but yet here I am at dinner with you." She tilted her head slightly. "Well, I don't know anything about you either." I laughed, "What do you wanna know?" "Anything! But skip the basic things, I just really wanna know you" She took a sip of her wine. What was I supposed to tell her? That i'm a wizard and that I went to a school to learn sorcery? "I honestly don't know where to start? Just ask me anything, anything." "Mmm, what's your favorite childhood memory?" She said as she took off her scarf.

I took a breath "I would have to say...probably going to see The Nutcracker with my mother." I laughed, she looked up at me curiously. "Ironic isn't it." "Very." "See my father isn't big on...fun. Or anything really. So every year my mother would sneak us out of the house and we would go see the show. As I got older the whole tradition kind of just...stopped. But you know what's crazy?" "Hm?" "The seat that you picked out for me, was the exact same seat my mum would sit in when we would go." She looked at me like I was crazy. "She always said 'it was the best seat in the house' the whole thing felt like a dream." "That's...just...wow. That's a big coincidence huh?" "I know huh, I was so confused. But what about you? What's your favorite memory?" "My grandmother she was absolutely amazing when it came to playing piano. As a little girl she would play the Swan Lake piano arrangement while I danced. We would do this for hours and hours till my mother told us to take a break. I've always loved ballet. What I would give to re-live those memories." She looked out the window and played with the hem of her sleeves as she spoke. "That's...beautiful. So you've been dancing since you were young?" "Yeah, kinda like you my mother took me to see the ballet when I was little. But instead we saw Sleeping Beauty. I was absolutely fascinated by it. For weeks I begged my mother to put me in classes, I guess she just got annoyed of my constant begging and just gave in." She laughed softly. "Well it definitely paid off." I smiled.

We got to know each other all night long. Even though we had already finished our food long ago, we sat there and just talked. About everything. She was just so captivating. Every detail about her was intriguing. Each one of her stories just led me to wanting to know more about her. The way her eyes sparkled a little when she would talk about something she was passionate about. All of her was just perfect. I told her a lot about myself. Maybe more than I should've. Everything about me surrounded the one thing I couldn't tell her. Most of the stories I told her had gaps but I don't think she caught on. I felt almost...bad? For not being able to tell her what could possibly be the biggest detail about me. But seriously how do you just tell someone that. 'Oh yeah, by the way i'm a wizard. And there's millions of other wizards around the world.' And plus even if I wanted to tell her I couldn't. And it was killing me.

We stayed at the restaurant until the waitress told us they were closing soon. "I guess we should get going huh?" She asked as she lightly laughed. "Yeah, I guess so." I slightly frowned. I paid the bill, then we left. We stood on the side walk as the snow continued to fall from the dark sky. Street lamps lit the road, illuminating it with golden rays. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and carried her flowers with both hands. "Could I have your number by the way?" She asked. "Oh, yeah. Here just put your number in and i'll text you later." I handed her my cell. I got a muggle cell phone, specifically for this reason. My father would never approve of me having a device like that. But for her it was worth whatever trouble it could cause. In all reality the reason I asked her to put her number in my cell was because I had no clue how. "Okay, there." She smiled as she handed me back my phone. I looked down, Y/n xx , is what she put as her contact. "I should get going now, I have to be back at the theater early tomorrow." She said as she fiddled with her flowers. I took a breath, "Okay, tonight was really great. When can I see you again?" "Like I said, whenever you want." She smiled, I laughed. She turned out to the road and hailed a cab. "Goodnight!" She yelled out to me before turning back to the cab, she paused, then turned around back to me and ran back to me. She gave me a kiss on my cheek and then a small hug, "Goodnight." "Goodnight." I said a bit surprised. She ran back to the cab and got in. I watched the car disappear down the road, out of sight.

===

Mwah I hope you liked! If you did make sure to reblog and leave a note! <3

[pawnshopbleus]

Put Me in a Movie - Chapter Five

Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader

Summary - You’re a famous actress and he’s one of the greatest directors of all time. What happens when you get cast in his new movie?

Chapter Four

The California weather was surprisingly cool today. The meteorologist said that it would be in the upper sixties today. It was always hot in Hollywood, so you decided to enjoy this opportunity. Fern was more than happy to join you at work. She happily wagged her tail as she stuck her head outside of the window of your car.

Hair and makeup took less time than yesterday, considering that the hairstylist had everything she needed. There were also no surprise visits from Tasia, which was an extra plus.

Today, you will be filming the scene where James confesses his love for Linda, also known as Polina. Rose overhears this and is hurt because of her love for James. Before Linda can get a word out, Rose comes out and starts shouting out accusations. Some strong emotions need to be channeled for this scene to be right.

You were pretty sure that you wouldn't have a problem with Peter. You enjoyed filming scenes with Peter, whether it be a comedic scene or a dramatic scene. He was great at both and deserved more recognition. Not to mention that he is an absolute sweetheart behind the scenes, completely in love with his wife, and a great father to little May.

Tasia, on the other hand, could be pretty difficult. You've gone on and on about her to Fern, who acted like your therapist. Speaking of, you would need to get a real one soon. Anyways, back to Tasia. She's rude to everyone she comes across (except Miguel), she's messy, and she's a bully to her personal assistant. Sometimes you overhear her berate her personal assistant for a simple mistake. It's gotten so bad that you had to take her personal assistant aside to ensure she was okay. You felt bad for the girl, but there was nothing else you could do. You later found out that her name was Gwen Stacy, a college student who wanted to be a director. She was only Tasia's personal assistant to work her way up. If and when Tasia lets her go, you might just end up hiring Ms. Stacy.

Like any other time you're filming with Tasia, there are many mistakes. You and Peter would get to the part in the scene where Rose was supposed to enter, but Tasia would mysteriously disappear and would later be found in her trailer. Then, she would either forget her line or laugh during a serious moment. Now, you can't fault her for breaking, actors do it all the time, but there has to be a moment when it falls back into place. She was breaking every single time.

"Cut, cut, cut. Just fucking cut already!" Miguel yelled - no roared - when Tasis broke for the tenth time. Everyone jumped out of their skin at the sound of Miguel shouting. He threw the headphones he was wearing onto the floor, causing them to break. "What the fuck is so funny?" he asked. Everyone was silent, too scared to say or do anything.

"Am I talking to myself? I asked what. The. fuck. Is. So. funny?'" He took an intimidating step towards Tasia, who puffed out her chest and stood a little taller. You had to give it to her; even if she was a mean girl, she knew how to handle her shit.

"Nothing. God, you're so overdramatic." Taisa rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"Get out." Two simple words were uttered from Miguel's lips.

"What did you just say?" "I said, get out!"

"You don't know who you're messing with. My father will-" Tasia was interrupted by Miguel.

"I don't give a fuck who you're daddy is or what he'll do. Get off of my set before I call security." Everyone watched in amusement as Tasia got fired. Eyes were wide, and jaws were dropped.

Tasia stormed off without another word, her fiery red hair blowing in the wind.

Miguel simply looked around at everyone who stood completely still. Many, including you, were petrified at what he might do or say next. He merely shook his head and sat back in his director's chair. He got out his phone and dialed a number.

"Jessica, I need you."

Chapter Six

[fishyishy]

A3! Event Translation - The Twelve Heavenly Generals of the Dawn (2/11)

━━━━━━━━━

Director: Welcome home, Homare-san.

Homare: I'm home. My apologies, it seems I'm the last to arrive.

Tsumugi: Everyone just got here, so there's no need to worry.

Director: As you can see, today we have gathered Itaru-san, Tenma-kun, Muku-kun, Sakyo-san, Tsumugi-san, and Homare-san to be here.

Director: I have a request to ask these members.

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

Tenma: I see, so it was a request from a game company.

Director: Yup, and the members we've gathered here right now are the members we would like to have on stage at the game show.

Itaru: The stage is planned to be based on a game that has a Twelve Heavenly Generals motif. I decided on which members to cast first based on the game characters.

Itaru: However there may be scheduling conflicts, so it's not mandatory. If it seems too difficult to manage, I can reconsider the roles.

Sakyo: As I stated in our meeting before, I have no problem with appearing.

Homare: I was just wishing for some new inspiration, so i am OK to appear.

Tsumugi: I have no problem with appearing either.

Muku: I'm also fine with it. Thank you for letting me be a part of this!

Tenma: I'll need to check my schedule with Igawa first, so I'll let you know in a moment.

Itaru: Thank you. It'll be okay as long as you don't overdo it.

Tenma: That's right. But I'll try to ask if I can appear. I'm also curious to whatever role Itaru-san thought would suit me.

Director: We also have to coordinate with the other party regarding the roles.

Director: I can share more information later once everything, including Tenma's appearance has officially been confirmed.

Muku: Yes, I understand.

Tsumugi: For now, we should all start by learning more about the game and the Twelve Heavenly Generals.

Director: As for the games, the other party sent me a few games for reference, so please give them a try.

Itaru: If you guys don't understand something, just ask me.

Homare: I understand. I will look into many things myself as well.

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

Itaru: (My work day is over. I can just go home now.)

Itaru: (While everyone was talking yesterday, we talked about deepening our understanding of the Twelve Heavenly Generals.....)

Itaru: (Maybe I should try to think of things I can do outside of games)

Man: Um....excuse me...... but, could this possibly be Chigasaki Itaru?

Itaru: (This vibe makes it feel like this guy is a fan of MANKAI Company.)

Itaru: Yes, that's right.

Man: Of course.....! I loved the KniRoun performances!

Man: The visuals of Chigasaki-san's Lancelot looked like he jumped right out of the game, and the acting and script were the best!

Man: Aah, I'm really sorry to suddenly appear in front of you....! This is just the kind of person I am......

Itaru: Thank you very much.

Itaru: (A business card...."Eternal Games," huh......)

Itaru: ......Eh?

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

previous I next

*the twelve heavenly generals are protective deities in east asian buddhism

*i think if you read out the kanji it would be "Yukya Games" but the kanji translates into "Eternity" or "Eternal" so for the sake of the translation I will call it "Eternal Games"

[natlacentral]

Rising actor Ian Ousley is making waves in Avatar: The Last Airbender.

When speaking with Ousley, seeing what the casting directors saw in him wasn’t difficult. A sharp wit, a dry sense of humour, and a charm that could easily capture the hearts of millions. He is the embodiment of Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe and he absolutely kills it in the live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender. Premiering this past February, Ian brings the character to life with a new dimension, giving us (the fans) a glimpse of what makes Sokka truly tick. It is clear the initial animated series meant a lot to him and the entirety of the crew that worked on the show. If you’re expecting a beat-for-beat retelling of the animated series, you’re going to be sorely disappointed, but if you open your mind (and heart) to new interpretations, you’ll be in for a pleasant surprise.

Being a fan of the original series himself, Ian never dreamed that the opportunity would even land on his doorstep. However, when Netflix announced they would be doing a live-action retelling, fast forward to mid-2021, Ian is sitting in a hotel getting the call that the directors had found their Sokka. As they pass the torch to a new generation to be introduced to the beloved show and its characters.

Following the news of Netflix renewing the show for another two seasons, Ian Ousley talks with 1883 Magazine about his love for the original animated series, his proudest moments on the show and his hopes for later seasons. He also chats about how he keeps himself centered after a long day, which character he’d like to switch places with and so much more! 

So, first things first, congratulations on Avatar: The Last Airbender being out in the world! 

I know, it’s crazy!  

How long have you been working on the show? Before Netflix officially announced it, or?

Truthfully, I don’t remember when it got announced. But I do remember being in my kitchen and hearing about it being like, “Gosh, that’s insane. I wonder who they’re going to get for that.” Not even thinking it would be me. It just seemed so otherworldly at the time. This was years before I auditioned for the show, I believe. Maybe about a year before? I remember sitting with my manager at the time (we were close) and I made him watch the whole first season. I just subtly nudged him, “Hey, dude, this is casting. I love the show.” I got cast much later, end of May 2021. I didn’t know what I was auditioning for. It had a code name and everything. My manager didn’t know either, when he found out, he was like, “Well, I guess I got it for you!”

Did you have a suspicion when you were reading for the part? Did it feel familiar at all?

I think it goes back to what I just said about me being in the kitchen. It had a name. Usually, the ones Netflix wants to keep secret do. And so, I was like, “Let’s think about this. Could this be Avatar?” Because the character description was so much about his sister. And I said to myself, “She has power. She has to save the world. She doesn’t know how to handle her powers.” It sounded like she was supposed to be the lead character. So, maybe not Avatar. The funny thing is, I was practicing with my sister and she said, “This is like the secret tunnel episode!” And I was thinking, “There’s no way that’s in season two!” And we moved on! 

When did they finally break the news to you that you were auditioning for The Last Airbender? Was your mind blown?

It’s funny, I was going through my behind-the-scenes for the show last night. I was on this deep dive of all the memories and stuff. I found a video after I did the chemistry read. I was like, “Hey, I just did the chemistry read for the show ‘Tradewinds’.” I was fully immersed in the fact that this was so new, I thought it was going to be like Outer Banks. When I got it though, I freaked out. They told me I was going to do a personality test, which I was very scared of. Also, my management team didn’t know what this was. So, they were like, “We’ve never heard of this before. You might have been a jerk, so they want to make sure you’re not a jerk to work with, you need to put your personality on for this.” And I was like, “What? Give me another audition, please! I’d rather do another audition.” I was out in the country, and I had no cell service.

Oh, no!

I had to drive to a hotel 30 minutes away that I hadn’t even booked. I sat down, threw on a different shirt and was ready to show the most personality I’ve ever shown in my life [laughter]. They didn’t let me talk, they were just like, “Hey, we’ve looked all over the world for this role.” I originally thought I was up against 40 people but it was 10. They said, “This is for Avatar: The Last Airbender and we’ve been looking for our Sokka.” And I just burst into tears, I started crying. I was doing that cry where you can’t quite catch your breath.

The ugly cries?

[laughs] Yeah, the ugly cries!

Has it sunk in yet?

I mean, I think so. I think one of the most grounding moments for me was the premiere. Watching it with a bunch of other people who were really enjoying it. It was so surreal getting to celebrate each other for all the hard work we put into it. And I think we’re all proud. So yeah, that was one moment that made it feel real. Also, meeting Jack De Sena (the original voice actor for Sokka) was crazy.

I saw that clip!

I never thought I’d meet him, honestly! So, that was a cool thing. He talked to me after the premiere and said some kind things, which I’m going to keep private. 

Of course.

But it was really, special to me. It was amazing.

Now that The Last Airbender is out what scene are you most excited for fans to react to and why?

That’s such a big question! There are a lot of great scenes! You could pick any scene from episode 8. I’m excited for fans to see the scale of our show and the epic magnitude of the fighting. I’m excited for fans to see the more human elements of Sokka. Who he is and why he is the way that he is. I would have to go with an arc instead of a scene, but the arc he has with his father and episode 5 is really special, and I think fans will open a new pathway in their heart once they see that episode and why our show is the way that it is. It’s still in the spirit of the animation. There’s a lot of new material when you see these characters in the flesh.

I agree. The live-action gives way to more character growth and new moments to be created. Since we’re talking about arcs, what advice would you give to Sokka as he goes on his journey? 

Before Season One or before Season Two?

Let’s go before Season Two.

Okay, so he’s learned a lot, honestly. I think some of the advice I’d give to him is to be grateful for the time he had with Yue instead of holding on to the past. I would also advise him to let go of Katara a little bit and let her become her own person and empower her the best he can. Be more open-minded. Also, he could love the kids in the water tribe a little better. In Season One he’s fed up.

He’s just a guy with a boomerang doing the best he can.

He definitely is!

How would you say you’ve grown as an actor since booking the role?

I don’t even recognize myself as a person! But this show has changed my life forever, in more ways than one. I mean the people I’ve gotten to meet are the most important thing. And the material means so much to all of us. It’s not very often that you get a project that everyone is so passionate about making good. Like the best that it can be. What was the question?

How do you feel you’ve grown as an actor since booking?

There’s nothing like experience. There’s nothing like experience on location, I was very far away from home for 13 months. I just immersed myself. I don’t think I would have been able to carry on if I didn’t give everything I possibly could to this role which is what I think I was trying to say earlier. Everyone was in that mindset. I roomed with Dallas Liu, who portrays Prince Zuko, and we were helping each other. We were figuring out each other’s scenes. I did a lot of acting classes, but there���s nothing like getting to play in front of cameras, it’s a whole new dance, especially when you’re in front of that thing every day. So, I still have a long way to go I’m only 21. I feel like I more than levelled up on the show, just like anything, you grow if you’re doing it for 12 hours a day for 13 months. I feel like a whole different actor than I was a year ago. I’m so proud of the work that I did.

As you should be! If you could switch roles with one of your castmates, who would it be and why?

Appa, bro! Just switch the faces out! It would be terrifying, but I think I could pull it off.

Oh, to be a flying bison soaring through the sky.

I joked around and I said, “Guys, I think I can do it!” The voice actor they got for Appa is incredible, I just wanted to do one sound. They wouldn’t let me do it.

I feel like that was a missed opportunity.

That’s what I’m saying! 

You never know, they may let you for season two! So, when the press junkets and the interviews are over, what do you do to unwind? What does your free time look like? 

Yeah. It’s kind of a weird job. Because you leave the press junkets and you leave these experiences that are honestly just talking for 8 hours? It’s like a therapy session. It’s not that deep or intense. It’s just being mindful not to say the wrong thing and that you’re serving the show the best way you can. It’s a whole other side of the job I’ve never experienced before. It’s a whole other job in a way. And you leave these things feeling fantastic, but by the time you get home, you’re drained. It’s like you want to lay on your couch and fall asleep.

So, for me, I try to realign spiritually. For me, when you’re giving a lot, you have to pull from a source, and that source for me is God. I’ll just sit in worship and I’ll read my bible and journal and pray. I’ll work out with Dallas, too, to try and get some of that physicality out. Also, fashion is a big part of my life. I read a lot of magazines; Vogue and such. I’ll draw occasionally. Just whatever inspires me. But mainly reading and just sitting with the Lord is the thing that centers me.

Looking to the future, what is one scene from the animated series you’re looking forward to seeing brought to life?

Oh, man. I’ll choose a serious one, and then a fun one. Okay, I need my space sword! And for a serious one… there are so many. Anything with Sparky-Sparky Boom man! I don’t know if we’ll get to him, but I hope so! 

I forgot about him! I think seeing combustion bending in live-action would be so cool, especially with what we’ve seen with bending so far! And lastly, what advice would you give young Ian knowing everything you do now? 

Oh, wow. To young Ian, don’t put too much stock into material stuff. Don’t stress out so much, it’s all going to be chill. Enjoy it more. I was so worried about ‘making it’ that it was the main thing in my life. I was consumed with film in general because I wanted to direct, I wanted to act, and I wanted to write. So, just chill out, you’re 15 — everything is going to work out just fine. Even if it wasn’t this [acting], it would have been something else. I believe that. Just work hard at something. Something that you’re passionate about and give it up to the Lord, honestly. That’s all you can do. I think that’s a recipe for success in any field for any person.

Interview Dana Reboe Photography Ben Duggan Styling Douglas Van Laningham at The Rex Agency Grooming Stephanie Nicole Smith using Prism Botanics and Bumble and Bumble Studio Vision Studio LA

[unhingedhearties]

For Reals, How Is This Legal You Guys?

This post was so annoying to put together. Sorry to come at you all with this one-two punch of stupidity, but I want to feature these two posts together. To paraphrase the Black-Eyed Peas, it's about to get "started" in here.

First off, all that stuff about "a play, singing, directorship" comes from this interview Erin and Kevin did that's sending these people into a meltdown. I've provided a transcript. Skip to 1:50.

Interviewer: Erin, are you gonna step behind the camera and direct? I know you produced the show but are you going to direct some episodes?

Erin: I would love to. I think that would be such an interesting challenge. I'm not sure what's possible because I'm American and we shoot in Canada but, um, I think that would be a really neat new avenue certainly something I'm interested in and I know Kevin's interested in.

Kevin: Yeah.

Erin: Yeah

Interviewer: And Kevin I mean with your history, I mean on stage and I know Erin has the same, but do you miss stage work?

Kevin: Yes of course all the time yeah. *looks at Erin* Why you don't?

Erin: No I just think it's an interesting question, I mean when was the last time you were on stage?

Kevin: On stage? Probably 10 years ago. 8 years ago. I'd be terrified to go up and do it now. We saw a play last night actually, we're here in New York right now, and yeah I was baffled. I was like "I used to do this" and I don't think… it would just be so difficult it's because they're just two very different mediums, acting in front of the TV, in front of, this uh camera and then on stage but I mean long story short I would love to get up there and do it again. I miss it every time I see it and uh yeah I hope I get the opportunity to.

Erin: We've actually talked about potentially producing a play together we thought it would be fun to, um, with another one of our castmates get together and do a play.

Kevin: Yeah.

Interviewer: That would be wonderful. We should see a musical version of When Calls the Heart.

Erin: Oh…

Kevin: We pushed for this idea well, yeah…

Erin: Oh, on screen yeah. A musical episode?

Kevin: Yeah, that would be great. A little choreographed dance number.

Kevin: Yeah. We… it might happen. I mean as… the fans love it and the seasons continue maybe we'll see it.

Interview: Erin, uh, 12 seasons of When Calls The Heart though, um… I mean your cast, your crew… this is family now.

Erin: It is. It really is, um I consider myself very lucky to have met some of my best friends on When Calls. Um, they're people who have stood by me in some of my lowest moments, they're the people that I laugh with, the people that I travel with, um that I adopt dogs with, it's just a really incredible community. I mean it's it's a lot of really good, fun, kind, talented, people. It's a great group.

Interviewer: Kevin, same question. I mean, uh, there must be people you know close to your heart that are crew members and all do you…

Kevin: Yeah, of course. I mean you're looking at one of them right now, but on top of that, you know, I met my fiancé on on the show and, yeah just, I mean everything that Erin has said it's, it's… my life has only gotten better from joining the show. Not only professionally but also personally.

------

Now, I don't want to go all "body language analysis" on them (because it's a pseudoscience with no basis in reality that only idiots believe in) but when Kevin brings up the musical episode of WCTH, the way Erin says "oh, on screen" sounds weird. Like it's just a joke and not a serious thing.

Also, wow, two actors who used to do plays and act on stage might potentially want to return and make their own play. That's literally never been done before. And how does being on WCTH give them an advantage to do this?

As for directing episodes, this is a great point to go into the second half of this post:

Johanna/Molly Director Shadowing for an entire block of shooting on WCTH during Season 11. How snobbish.

Loretta/Florence producing plays. I'm sure being on Hallmark helped her advance her career this way... some how.

Andrea/Faith, Amanda/Mei, Natasha/Minnie/, Hrothgar/Ned, Loretta/Florence together for one of Loretta's plays. Hmmm, sounds like they're all BFFs and helping each others careers. Very selfish.

Viv's own children playing his character Joseph's children on WCTH. Hmmm, sounds like nepotism.

Natasha/Minnie becoming an "Auntie" to her co-stars kids and then staring in a Hallmark movie with him. Hmmm, suspicious.

SOMEONE CALLS THE COPS! HOW IS ANY OF THIS LEGAL!?!?!?1?

But seriously, why is it that when literally ANY OTHER CAST MEMBER does this stuff, Lucas fans say nothing, but if Erin so much as briefly says "yeah maybe I sort of thought about directing an episode or producing a play" suddenly it's a government conspiracy meant to intentionally hurt Chris's fans?

And I've brought this up before, but Pascale/Rosemary is very obviously a close friend/BFF to Erin. If Erin is some bitch giving her friends perks, what is Pascale getting? I've yet to see any Lucas fans answer how Pascale benefits from nepotism. She's always conveniently left out because it doesn't fit their narrative.

Also, the idea that Ben is getting any perks from dating Erin is hilarious when you actually think about it. I like Hickam and I think he's a very funny character, but if after being on the show for ELEVEN YEARS the only perk he can get is "you can have a girlfriend, but your character is still an emasculated beta-male" then he sucks at negotiating.

[jechristine]

Some thoughts

For ages, the 26-year-old had been telling his team to be "on the prowl" for a project like Edward Norton's 1996 legal drama Primal Fear.

Interesting! I wonder if he’s been wanting to play against type or if what he’s been wanting the challenge to play multiple “roles” in the same film? Or both. iirc Tom has also said that he thinks Ed Norton is one of the best actors.

He signed on not only as its star, but also as an executive producer without seeing any official scripts.

I’d think that Goldsman is an example of a director whose scripts you’d want to read, since he’s been really hit or miss? Oh well. Fingers crossed it was good.

When it came to casting, Goldsman, who serves as showrunner, writer, and executive producer on the series, said that Holland was "the first and only person" he spoke to about playing Danny.

Wow! Good for Tom. I think he gives a version of earnest, lovable, vulnerable young man in everything he’s in, and I’d bet that’s what Goldsman wanted. My bet is we’ll sympathize with Danny nearly throughout the series.

"For me, it was about really creating empathy — to create a character that you would really ally with," Goldsman said. "That you would feel connected to and so his journey would become the audience's journey."

Yup, I was right haha. Maybe this is how we’re “being” in the mystery?

Holland recalls one moment when, after nine months of filming, he found himself unable to detach from Danny. "I was seeing myself in him, but in my personal life," he explained. "I remember having a bit of a meltdown at home and thinking, like, 'I'm going to shave my head. I need to shave my head because I need to get rid of this character.' And, obviously, we were mid-shooting, so I decided not to… It was unlike anything I've ever experienced before."

Huh. Good for Tom for committing like this. I’ve often felt like this identification with the character is one of the coolest and impressive things about acting. If I were an actor, I think I’d want to experience this at least once in my career. I’m glad he had this opportunity to throw himself all in even if it was hard. It’s interesting that he uses hair as a kind of metonym for Danny, given how we all obsessed over it!

Thankfully, Holland was able to lean on costars like Sasha Lane, who plays Danny's friend and roommate Ariana, for guidance and support.

This makes me want to hear Sasha interviewed about the show.

His wish is that, through The Crowded Room, viewers will "have more respect and more sympathy for people who are going through mental health issues," he says, adding, "I hope that people will feel educated about the powers of mental health, the struggles, [and] our incredible abilities to survive."

I know what he’s trying to do—connect the show to himself and all its potential viewers. Everyone has mental health, afterall. But this strikes me as collapsing what are really different things. But I guess we’ll see what the show gives us.

[academicelephant]

This Ain't No Broadway "CATS" - Teller Joins the Cast of DHARMA & GREG

While we were in Boston, "Dharma and Greg" called to ask if I'd play a Man, Mr. Boots, a man who has chosen to live his life as a cat. Seven substantial scenes, the guest star role in the B story. The week was open and D&G is a popular show (often in the top 20) that my mother likes. So I said yes.

Now there's a basic sitcom dictum: the characters may not develop. This prevents any heavy writing from going on. But given that, the script was excellent, as I found out on the Monday table read. Lots of laugh-aloud funny stuff, it seemed to me.

More than that, the atmosphere was perfectly delightful. Jenna Elfman was as unaffected and generous as one could want. Thomas Gibson who plays Greg was a rabid P&T enthusiast. The producers Chuck and Randy seemed just thrilled to have me there; Chuck said they wouldn't have done the episode if they hadn't been able to get me for it. Seemed like pretty much everybody on the set was a P&T; fan, and seemed not just to like but to really respect our work. I was being treated like an old pro.

A good work atmosphere. Monday I talked with the wardrobe people. The character, Mr. Boots, was described in the script as wearing black pants and turtleneck with white sneakers and gloves. I thought this would have been fine on a skinny mime, but would look awful on me. I looked at myself in the mirror as I talked to the wardrobe people and asked them to get me a velvety sweat suit. I wanted to be a plump, luxurious, smug, snide lap cat. To give myself maximum freedom of movement, I had them get me scuba boots which we put inside white tube socks, to give the impression that this guy lived his life in his stocking feet. I knew I'd be on my hands a lot and my knuckles and wrists are not too good, so the Wardrobe lady Bonnie suggested boxing gloves.

Tuesday was an all-day rehearsal, and it was brutal. Try walking around on all fours for a day and you'll know what I mean. Everything hurt. My thighs particularly were rock-hard with cramps. I had also had really bad insomnia Monday night, and was running on empty. Still it was a blast. The producers watched a run-through and gave really good suggestions -- they seem to just love the show and its style and there was lots of laughing and "Hey, kids, let's put on a show" enthusiasm. I know nothing, and I mean nothing, about cat behavior, and made no secret of the fact. So all day people -- the animal trainers, the P.A.s, the makeup people -- would walk up to me and say, "I don't know if you have a use for it, but my cat does this...." and showed me funny stuff cats do. I devoured everything and immediately put in right into the show, which made people want to give me even more stuff. At the end of the day I was tired but was starting to get a few "moments" here and there that felt good to me.

It's funny how right Stanislavsky is about acting. He tells you to read the script again and again, to act it out again and again, not to think too hard, but to wait until this or that moment starts to get illuminated. Gradually, he says, the bright parts of the script will expand until the whole thing is lit up. That's a little hard to do in a short rehearsal period, but since the role was written with me in mind and since everybody was working so hard to help, the process was speeded up.

Next day we did a pre-shoot of an "exterior" where Mr. Boots gets stuck Up a tree and Greg unwillingly climbs up to rescue him. I was very glad they put thick mats under the tree, as Greg went plummeting on one of his first climbs. We did it until everybody laughed, then stopped. Gail, the director, then told me that Fred Greenlee, the man who had dreamed up the Mr. Boots character (literally, while sleeping) had offered to work with me one on one on scenes I was having trouble with.

For three stupendously fun hours, Fred and I went over each piece of Mr. Boots' "business". His original idea was that Boots took the cat concept less literally than I had thought. Mr. Boots should SEE himself in his mind's eye as trotting around on all fours all the time, but in fact often be upright (think of the horses in "Equus") moving like a cat-man. Fred is thin, so he had in mind all sorts of graceful stuff that didn't suit me, but the idea -- that Mr. Boots actually walks along the streets of San Francisco much of the time in his cat mind-set -- was an eye-opener. I started to think, Let's make Mr. Boots all about being luxuriously comfortable at all times. So we draped me over steps, refrigerators, couches, and I came up with a funny cat-trot that enabled me to do quick crosses when I needed to. By the end of our session, there were big Stanislavsky pools of light all over the script.

I noticed a large group of tough looking mobster type actors waiting in the bleachers. They were auditioning for the role of Vincent the pimp, who appears as the punch line in a scene in a hotel where a man thinks he's on a date but suddenly and painfully learns he has been hanging with a hooker. I was standing next to the producer and said, "You need a big, mean-looking guy? Hell, you should use Penn." The producer went nuts. "Do you think he'd do it?" I told him to ask Krasher. Penn said yes.

Thursday was camera blocking. More cat advice poured in and again I Used every suggestion anybody gave me. I was still sore from Tuesday and the hair guy suggested I ask them to bring in the studio masseur to beat my cramps into submission. Accordingly at 3:30 p.m. when I was finished my camera blocking, a squat Russian guy came in to work me over for 75 minutes. I slept very soundly that night.

Friday was final blocking and taping. Chuck the producer spotted parts Of the script that were not working and just fixed them simply and cleanly on the spot. The only negative thing he said was, "Best not to meow during that line. We'll take it wild and lay it over in post."

I ate Chinese chicken salad for dinner, and not too much, either; I'm watching my feline figure. I called my parents, who wished that I'd break bones and encounter Macbeth. The cast did a "speed through" of the show (where the cast recites the lines really fast to fix the lines in their minds) then we started taping.

Now, I know it's no big trick to get laughs in a cat suit, but when I Went out and did all the stuff I had been planning, well, the studio audience just went nuts. I was pretty tentative in the first scene, but when I heard the laughs, I was off and running. They do multiple takes of the scenes, so the audience has to laugh at the same jokes twice, so the producer suggested I try some variations. Well, I remembered somebody's suggestion about how cats sneeze. I did it and the audience just exploded.

Now I was feeling good. I felt on and hot. So the next scene, well, I just had fun. The scene has Mr. Boots entering behind an unsuspecting mother-in-law in idle conversation with off screen Jenna. Boots stretches after his nap, then creeps up to the mother in law and rolls on his back to be scratched. They shot it perfectly, in one wide, silent-movie shot with me tiny in the background getting large and larger as I approach. The mother-in-law's reactions were perfect, stunned, shocked. The laughs were so loud they finally had to re shoot, cutting the dialog in the scene. After that scene, Randy the exec producer took me aside and said that it was the loudest, most prolonged, most out of control laughter they had since the show began. I told him that if it was any good, he had only his own writers and cast to blame. Likewise, when Penn appeared as the pimp, well, the crowd went nuts.

It's supposed to be on TV on April 1.

© Teller

Source

[ashleywool]

Hello! Saw the show on Sunday and loved every second! I'm also a non-union performer who is neurodivergent (ADHD with anxiety comorbidity though I suspect it could be something more) and I've lately been struggling with navigating the audition process and its characteristics (loud waiting rooms, disruption of routine, long travel days, over stimulation of NYC itself) with my how my brain works.

I also live a bit far from the city so I usually need to weigh pros and cons when deciding what to go out for. And I find I'm constantly weighing the effects on my mental state against the opportunities it could give me. Are their things you or your cast mates do to help accommodate during situations like that? Do you think their are accommodations that the theatre community could put in place in audition spaces to better include neurodiverse talent?

To be clear, the actual audition part of it never bothers me it's always the easiest part. I just find I feel completely fried by the time I get in the room because of what it took mentally to get myself there.

Either way How to Dance in Ohio is such a breath of fresh air and I hope it manages to find life after Broadway either on tour or in schools or maybe a spot off-broadway. It has so much more good to give.

Ooooof. I feel this. All of it. I'm originally from northern Westchester and I spent many exhausting commutes doing exactly this.

I would honestly say the best thing you can do for yourself is to join Equity if you are eligible. It's a better audition experience all around, you can sign up for appointments in advance on the member portal and view projects that accept self-tapes, AND it will get you in the room for better jobs.

If you aren't eligible yet or just don't feel ready to compete on that level yet, I'd recommend focusing more on local projects over the big NYC cattle calls. I don't know exactly where you live or what your regional/community theatre scene is like, but I do know that those theaters are the ones that are struggling the most right now and could use people who are passionate and want to build their resumes. It's a lot easier to get seen and get cast, you'll be able to keep your day job and not tunnel-vision your life around waiting on line for crappy nonunion tours that charge Broadway prices but pay minimum wage, AND you will likely meet a lot of people who will get to know you much better and more personally than a casting director ever could in a 2-minute window.

Keep in mind, also, that when you walk into a professional audition and a casting director looks at your resume, they don't care how much you were paid for a job or what kind of contract you were on. And they don't care how you got your Equity card. The only people who care about that stuff are bitter judgmental actors who need the gatekeeping to feel better about themselves (and no matter what your answer is, they won't like you anyway). The people who actually matter only care that you're on time, prepared, friendly, open to direction, and right for the role they need.

As for actually doing the professional NYC audition grind, here are some pro-tips:

-Opt for appointments and self-tapes over "open calls" whenever possible.

-CONTINUE being selective about the projects you go out for. Trust me, I did many years of the "throw all the spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks" method, and it doesn't work, and it will only burn you out more.

-Don't overthink your audition material. You don't need exact 16-bar cuts of ten different in your book for every style of musical theatre. You can do the "overdone" songs and monologues if they fit who you are and the roles you can conceivably play. It's New York. Everything is overdone. YOU are not overdone.

-Dress comfortably. Sounds obvious, but it took me way too long to realize that no, really, I do not have to wear heels to an audition. Be strategic with layers.

-Get a rolling suitcase over a backpack. Way less strain.

-Noise. Cancelling. Headphones. Also, make playlists of your "comfort" songs and your "motivation" songs and your "wind-down" songs and your "zone-out" songs so you have predictable, appropriate background noise to whatever you're doing--commuting, waiting in the holding room, eating lunch, etc. Preferably songs that are not from musicals and have nothing to do with whatever shows you're auditioning for. Auditioning is a job and you need a work-life balance there too.

-Do something else in the city unrelated to auditioning or performing. Go to a museum or a park or just a cute coffee shop where you can just EXIST and not perform.

I hope these help <3

[evelyne-am]

14th March 2023-

14th March 2023

Day 1 

(By the way I’m really glad I didn’t post as last night because my day one continued over the 24 hours.)

I don’t know where to start. Those who follow my stories know that I didn’t sleep much, I felt nervous excited and scared all at the same time. There is a part of me that thinks that this kind of grueling training is exactly what I need, to strip myself to nothing after being somewhat applauded the last year or so in the music world, that has been nice after a long pandemic of feeling indispensable,but it has been completely unchallenging. But also it has been a long time since I have sat and created music, as opposed to performing it, and the next couple of months I had saved for that, so I wasn’t sure if fully I knew what I was giving up my creative space for.

I woke up 30 minutes before my alarm and had a chat with a couple of friends who were awake at the time thinking “ oh I have these extra minutes” only to discover it was my first day of my period. If you have a woman’s body then you will know for many that is horrible horrible day for most. For me it’s usually raging pain. Today was no different. I want to be full proof about being there punctually every day so the driver was ready for me and I was bang on time but I have not accounted for the fact that I would be in so much pain. I asked the driver  to go get some medicine and said if you couldn’t find me, leave it in front of the lift. I reach 20 minutes before our call time so I can listen to some music and chill, the second I arrived I see others had already arrived; they were warming up walking, jogging and within two minutes of me coming sir and our other director Mohsina (henceforth referred to as M) also walked in. I did not have a chance to chill. I was pleased I was there before sir though, (like everyone else was,) that he saw my face when he walked in and not that of someone who came exactly time but as someone who came for themselves to adjust to the new surroundings just like we had been taught in the workshop. Sir comes daily with a whole car full of things; a project, Harmonium, a keyboard, speakers, and a big picnic basket full of goodies for us. Even in the workshops I’ve seen him always come 30 to 60 minutes early so that he has ample time to set up all his equipment and also if there are any questions for anyone who comes early. I see the room (pictured) on the 6th floor that will be my home for 3 months. It is beautiful in the morning sunlight, and way way nicer than the one we did the workship in, I feel so lucky the moment I have entered, a weird sense of belonging comes over me. After a quick warmup. There are 12 of us if you count M. 8 females and 4 males, quite a small cast. They are all quite pros but one of the males is a young guy who was in the workshop with us, tbh I was surprised to see him, but found out he is just shadowing the cast as he can’t attend daily due to university. The rest of us are the main cast, but it will determined what roles we each have as the play is designed. Sir started with a short but sweet message for us to be kind to be grateful and to remind us that we are doing is paying homage to the people that the play is written about (we’ll talk about that later) Sir told us a little bit about how his vision in the play. I won’t give too much away (but this blog will have a lot of spoilers for this play anyway, so don’t read if you don’t want spoilers for Spardhhas next production. ) But for now let’s just say it’s going to be immersive. It made me feel so excited, I can’t tell you. I have those feelings of when we were bringing Rahman Sir for his honorary doctorate in Berklee. But there I knew exactly what was going to happen I could envision it. Here it's outside my realm  of thought everything that was talked about; lights and audience participation and set I don’t even know what they’re meaning but I could tell that it’s exciting.

My adrenaline got me through the first half, the first half is something that I know a little about as I had done the workshops last month. It’s fully physical, it's sometimes really hard, and sometimes there are little breaks that he gives for us to meditate in between the exercises. I don’t want to divulge his actual methods but there’s voice, breathing, full body, meditation there’s awareness of the room  and the  group exercises. As someone who has been to school where you are studying the entire aspect of an art, this is something that I can do technically- warmups, biology etc. The mental Aspect of being hundred percent aware of your surroundings is not something that I have studied. I am a very inside my head kind of person and Sir calls me out on it. My mind wanders constantly, and though I try to bring it back to be in the room it waivers a lot. I feel bad but I also appreciate Sir reminding me of this bad trait, this is the main thing that I would feel that I will have to work on. 

Actually it is the reason that I have so many accidents, if you have read any of my Facebook status as you will know that I had about 3 to 4 accidents last year I have bruises all over my body. And just today I was thinking how reckless I am in my thoughts especially when I’m walking on the streets and I had a vision that I was hit by a bus. I’m thinking I must use what I learned in class in my everyday life and be less so. 

At the height of our physical limits, sir gives us a break. I assumed it was about 20 minutes as it used to be in the workshop and I ran to the washroom. Oh that bloody ShilpokolA washroom. Thanks to the state of my health I spent the whole 20 minutes in the bathroom, the entire break. I had prepared a Tiffin of boiled eggs sausages and oranges, I planned to have some tea/caffeine to wake myself up for the second half as I used to do in the workshop. But I did nothing.

The second half is when we read the script. I had prepared my backpack to perfection but of course I forgot my glasses. What happened was, that I started falling asleep. Hundred Pages of bangla  text l, everyone taking turns reading it; one would’ve thought that the hardness of it would keep me alert, or the fact that I could be next to read would keep me alert, but I fell asleep, I nodded off and in front of my 11 peers and Sir. I kept checking myself up and cursing myself and not sleeping enough, for not bringing caffeine (caffeine makes my heart palpitations go nuts so usually I don’t drink it) and for not bringing my bloody glasses that I really need to read this long text. And it was right then, during the second half of the rehearsal that my cramps came back in full bloody swing, the driver did not bring the medicines that I had asked him to do in front of the lift and I was squirming in pain. This was the point where all these thoughts crossed my mind that I would not be able to do this every day. The long hours, hard Bangla, and most of all the level of constant concentration felt really hard, especially with cramps. I tried to hold my back and massage it very discreetly so the pain would subside.I think M noticed and she asked me to come sit next to her in front of the desk where I could lean. From the second story (which shall henceforth be called M1- because its the first story in order) though I don’t know what happened, maybe it was sitting next to M, or the fact that it was something that hit me harder I was back in. I cried while the story went dark, i found the character so intriguing and hard to fathom. I even volunteered to read in my horrible Bangla reading With the risk of angering sir when I stumbled. 

i left day one feeling absolutely in a rush, all my earlier doubts out the window (as you could see in my Insta video.) before I left I asked permission to write this blog from Sir. He seemed cool, which is why I officially start the blog today’s with the day one post.

The rest of the day was spent in multiple things, I was a bit down, I got distracted. The days homework was to prepare a section of the play to present the next day and by the time I did my to dos from my normal music life, procrastinate, spent time with my mum it was really late. On my way home from mum’s I was walking to buy some chocolate and listening to a song, when I fell down. Another of my accidents, because I was unmindful, the bleeding wouldn’t stop for ages as ususally that happens. I was reminded of how just that morning I saw myself being hit by a bus and now have vowed to stop being on my phone when I am walking the streets. Reading in Bangla is really tough for me so I asked DC (friend) To read it out for me so that I could record. Halfway through the story of M1, DC stops. At first I couldn’t understand why and asked if they were tired, but then I realise DC is crying. I realise this is the first time that DC is reading it and that the first time we had heard the story in class almost all of us were in tears too earlier that day. I will elaborate later about the stories themselves. I have taken permission actually to reveal here, but it’s intense, the most intense; it is about women and rape. While I was listening to the story being read out loud for me I saw a lot more things than I did when I was trying to focus on reading Bangla text. I didn’t really prepare a part but I knew the text a lot better last night than I did when I was reading it with my own eyes. But i did not feel as emotional the second time around, i dont know why, i was dilly dallying, and tho i stopped myself from doing the blog post, i still stayed up later than the previous night and at one point it was 2 am till i push myself to shut eyes. Something I can’t explain is that I woke up at 4:30am. It was my cramps, but I was sat in the middle of the night clutching my uterus and crying, I’ve had cramps before but I’ve never felt like . This story is creeping inside me.

[doux-amer]

I watched Barbie and Oppenheimer and they were just...okay. :/ I think I already talked about Barbie a bit. Tl;dr: it was aesthetically pleasing, but pacing and writing were horrific, Barbie's arc was all over the place and expected, and it was really dated and tried to do like three different things that didn't end up doing any of those three things well).

With regard to Oppenheimer, I didn't hate it, but I feel like it, more than any of his movies I've seen (and enjoyed or was neutral about), highlighted Christopher Nolan's limitations and inexperience with certain things.

It felt like it was two movies squeezed into one unsuccessfully, and I'd rather it have picked one. I actually think it might've been better as a limited series, but they would have never made one for lots of reasons. The pacing and editing were odd, distracting, and confusing and same goes for some cinematographic choices; the narrative choices were sooooo rudimentary to the point of being a bit childish (omg please...I wanted to take a red pen and start slashing away at the script and writing notes); and I don't know if it was just my theater, but the sound was awful. This isn't unique to Oppenheimer as we've all been aware of for several years now, but I was straining to hear a lot of the dialogue and when there was loud music, it was virtually inaudible.

The star-studded cast prevented me from immersing myself in the movie too because it screamed "BIG STUDIO MOVIE BY BIG DIRECTOR ABOUT BIG PROJECT EVERYONE IS DYING TO BE IN!" It became a game of "who's who" for me at some point. We could've gotten away with casting newbies, guys, especially for the bit roles.

And some of the actors didn't impress me; Florence and Robert were okay which is disappointing because I'm very fond of them. I'm not sure why everyone was raving that this is a RDJ Oscar nom; tbh, I thought he slipped into his usual mannerisms and RDJ-ness in the second half/last third of the movie. Still good of course because he knows how to act, but it felt like he was treading familiar territory for me despite the very different character he's playing. But he's also such a unique actor and person that it's hard to ignore all the things that make him him; it can be hard for me to forget he's RDJ. :/ Still excited that he's taking on projects like this and The Sympathizer!

But I guess...the reason why I didn't hate it was because I at least like the fact that Nolan's trying something new and I'm giving him some grace because of that? And there are still things he does that I like and the talent is there. AND OF COURSE Cillian. He made the movie. I understand wanting to put your blorbo in everything you do (this is like Bong Joonho and Song Kangho for me lakdfjsa), and what a great blorbo to have. He was SO SO SO good and I forgot how much I love watching him act and how much I missed seeing him. Everything he did was *chef's kiss *mwah.

[laurenreviewsmovies]

Creed III

Director: Michael B. Jordan

Cast: Michael B. Jordan, Jonathan Majors, Tessa Thompson

Release Date: March 3, 2023

My Rating: 7.5/10

My Review (NO SPOILERS)

Okay, so I still haven’t seen Creed I; take everything I say with a grain of salt. I did see Creed II, but I saw it opening night, four and half years ago, and haven’t ever watched it again.

Whenever a threequel comes around, I get worried that it won’t live up to its predecessors. That’s not an issue with this movie. Then again, I’ve not seen the original, so I’ve been judging these sequels solely on their own merits.

This movie had a lot of great fighting sequences, and packed a heavier emotional punch than I can remember Creed II delivering. The stakes didn’t feel quite as high, but they were certainly a lot more personal. The characters felt a bit underdeveloped and static, but I guess you could also maybe expect that with a third movie in a franchise, when the characters were already developed in the previous two movies.

The plot was coherent but felt a bit jumbled and rushed at some points. Right as the movie would started to dip into something deeper, it would change directions. It kept toeing the line of being something *more*, but it just never fully crossed that like.

Furthermore, even though I only saw it once, the final fight sequence of Creed II was so incredible. The sound mixing, the shots, the action? I was nearly standing up out of my seat cheering. I felt like I was there in the arena. The final fight in this movie…it got a little two symbolic for me. The imagery was over the top (Good guys in white, bad guys in black? Give me a break). Without spoiling too much, you’re really taken out of the boxing match atmosphere and it’s all focused on the boxers in almost a sort of dream sequence. It was interesting at the very beginning but then began to drag and went on a bit long. The fighting atmosphere only came back for the final round. The final fight just didn’t live up to the final match from Creed II in my opinion.

That being said, I really did have a great time watching this movie. It made me laugh, gasp, cry, smile, and hide behind my hands (I’m a bit squeamish, sue me). The acting was phenomenal, and the resolution was very fitting. It wrapped up the Creed trilogy nicely, and actually kinda of set up the possibility of a next generation Creed story. I found myself really hoping for that possibility.

If you liked the other Creed movies, this one is definitely worth seeing as well.

[park-jaechan]

[Kitto Exclusive Interview] DKZ JAECHAN with Two Faces : An Idol and an Actor

JAECHAN, as you reflect on 2024 and wrap up the year, could you share any keywords that come to mind when thinking about "2024"?

"Learning" and "Growth." This year, I was involved in filming many dramas, including Bitter Sweet Hell (original title: 우리, 집), My Sweet Mobster (original title: 놀���주는 여자), and Check in Hanyang (original title: 체크인 한양). I learned a lot while working alongside various senior actors, and with each shoot, I discovered more enjoyment in acting. In the past, I used to overthink things before filming, but this year, I realized, "Acting can be this fun!" I also enjoyed synchronizing with my co-stars, and I found joy in the process of discovering my character while reading the script. I feel like that process has become smoother compared to before. It was a year where I learned many ways to enjoy the filming experience while making the most out of the set.

What is the most memorable event of 2024 for you? Hmmm… (JAECHAN pauses to think) The most memorable would have to be my birthday. The day before my birthday, I had a fan meeting, and on the actual day, I went home and ate a meal that my mother had prepared. To be honest, I never really liked birthdays that much before. I used to think of them as just another passing day. But since around last year, I've started looking forward to them.

Was there a special reason that made you start enjoying your birthday? I'm not really sure… I just feel like I've come to like it. My family, my fans, and my close friends all celebrate it with me, and thanks to that, I think my excitement for it has grown.

Check-in Hanyang marks your first attempt at a historical drama. Did you have a lot of concerns about taking on this genre? When I was first cast, I was worried about the traditional language used in historical dramas. However, after talking with the director, I learned that my character, "Go Sura," didn’t need to use the rigid, formal language typical of historical dramas. That significantly eased my burden. Instead, since Sura is a strong-willed character, I focused a lot on how to effectively portray his passion and energy.

How similar do you think you and Go Sura are? One difference between us is that I am quite intuitive and spontaneous. I tend to act on impulse when traveling somewhere or buying things. On the other hand, Sura is a very methodical person—when he decides to do something, he studies diligently and sticks to a strict schedule. While this aspect isn’t explicitly shown in the drama, in my mind, Sura is the type to meticulously plan his studies and even follow a fixed mealtime routine. Though we differ in that regard, I still found many similarities between us. Sura has a strong ambition and determination to succeed. He understands his goals and puts in maximum effort to achieve them. I, too, am passionate and relentless when it comes to things I want to do or improve at, so in that sense, I think we are quite similar.

Since you have a spontaneous personality, did you find it stressful to play such a methodical character like Sura? I wouldn’t say it was stressful, but because Sura is so structured, I tried to become more organized myself. I approached studying the script and analyzing Sura’s character in a very systematic way—just as Sura would study.

After all that effort, do you feel like the gap between you and Sura has narrowed? No, not really (laughs). In the end, I just went back to being myself.

While playing Sura, what aspect of his character did you like the most? What I love about Sura is that he puts his whole heart into everything he does. But within that dedication, there are also moments where he’s a bit clumsy, and that makes him even more endearing. He takes everything seriously, but his little awkward or adorable moments add to his charm.

I heard that you’re good at giving names to things. If you were to give Sura a nickname, what would it be? Oh, I tend to keep names really simple (laughs). I think I’d just call him "Passionate" Go Sura.

When you take on a role, the character’s personality and thoughts can sometimes linger even after filming ends. Do you feel like Sura has left any lasting impression on you? I don’t fully carry over a character’s traits once a role ends. When I build a character, aside from the key personality traits that are already set, I try to make them as close to myself as possible. For example, if Sura is a character full of passion, then aside from that passion, I try to shape him in a way that resembles me. So by the time filming ended, I felt like Sura and I had become a bit more alike.

When did the filming for Check in Hanyang begin? Filming started around late April or early May this year. Since we shot in many different locations, I feel like I’ve been to almost all of Korea’s most beautiful scenic spots.

Were there any particular places or foods that left a strong impression on you? Andong’s Hanok Village was truly beautiful. Also, the beef galbi I had in Andong was absolutely delicious. If I get the chance to visit Andong again, I will definitely go back to that restaurant.

Experiencing Hanyang’s historical culture for the first time through this drama must have been refreshing. What stood out to you the most? The episodes that take place at Yongcheonru left a strong impression on me. In modern terms, Yongcheonru wasn’t just an ordinary place that anyone could visit—it was like a top-tier luxury hotel. The interior setting and the decorations were so intricately and beautifully designed that I was really amazed by them.

Was it difficult to film in hanbok during the summer? The weather made it challenging. But the outfits were so beautiful, and I think the way my hair was styled suited me well. Many people told me that I looked good in hanbok, so aside from the difficulties due to the weather, overall, it was a great experience.

Viewers are also curious about the chemistry between you and your co-stars in Check in Hanyang. Is there a romantic storyline for your character this time? Rather than focusing on a romance with one specific character, the drama highlights the relationships within the Haona Four. Among them, Lee Eunho, Hong Deoksoo, and Jeong Junhwa have romantic storylines, but I do not. My character, Sura, focuses on friendship instead. He strongly desires success alongside his friends, so he constantly encourages them, saying, "Let’s do our best, let’s keep going," while also supporting their romantic developments.

Did you reference any other works while preparing for this drama? I thought the atmosphere was similar, so I used Sungkyunkwan Scandal as a reference. The latter half of Check in Hanyang is quite different from Sungkyunkwan Scandal, but I especially drew inspiration from the early parts of the drama.

You mentioned that you tend to buy things impulsively. Have you made any spontaneous purchases recently? About a week ago, I almost made an impulsive purchase but ended up canceling it after thinking it through. It was a mop vacuum cleaner. I already have both a vacuum and a mop at home, but I thought having a mop vacuum might make cleaning a bit easier. However, I quickly realized, "If I put in just a little effort, I can clean just fine without it," so I canceled the order. I wouldn’t say I have an obsession with cleaning, but I do like to keep things tidy, so I try to maintain a clean environment as much as possible.

I heard from the staff that you go to three different gyms. Yes, I use three gyms: one that's open 24 hours, so I can go even at 5 AM; one with a sauna; and one that's really close to my house. I don’t remember exactly when this started, but over time, I naturally ended up using multiple gyms. This way, I eliminate excuses for not working out. For example, if all three gyms closed at 11 PM, I might use that as an excuse not to go after that time. But with different options, I always have a place to work out. Also, if a gym closes at 11 PM, I would have to make sure I go by 9 PM, but I’m not good at planning ahead like that. I’m the type of person who needs to go whenever I feel like it. Since I dislike and struggle with strict planning, this system works best for me.

Do you go to the gym almost every day? I used to go every day, but in December, with all the year-end commitments, I haven’t been able to go as often. Still, I try to go whenever I can.

Compared to before, your physique has changed a lot. Yes, since I started working out, I’ve gained about 10 kg. I’ve been training hard and eating a lot. In the past, I used to lose weight by eating less, but nowadays, even when I’m dieting, I make sure to eat three proper meals a day. I find that much more enjoyable.

It's great to see the results of your consistent efforts—your transformation looks healthy and disciplined. I think when you reach your mid-20s, you naturally start wanting to have a more masculine physique (laughs). That’s why I started working out seriously, and it’s been bringing me a lot of positive effects.

What emotion best represents your 2024? That would also be "passion." This applies to my learning process in acting as well—I’ve been eager to learn and take on many challenges. While preparing for the drama Check In Hanyang, I started taking regular acting lessons for the first time.

Did you personally request acting lessons from your agency? Yes, I did. I wanted to keep improving in acting for the long term.

Besides acting lessons, have you developed any new hobbies or interests recently? I haven’t found a new hobby yet, but I’m actively looking for one. Now that I have some time to rest, I realized that I need new hobbies or interests. When I was focused on work, I didn’t really notice it, but now I want to try something new. I’d like to learn tennis or try cycling again—I used to enjoy cycling when I was a kid.

How about learning a new language? I feel like I don’t have a talent for languages. I’m interested, but it’s not easy for me to start. Since I spent more time on acting, singing, and dancing than studying when I was younger, I might have developed a bit of fear toward academic learning.

Have you ever traveled to Japan alone? Not alone, but I recently visited Japan with friends.

In DKZ’s YouTube original content, you seemed to have a great time exploring Tokyo by yourself. I’m not the type to plan trips in advance—I just go wherever I feel like at the moment. But somehow, things always work out (laughs). That’s why even if I travel without a plan, I always have fun and return with great experiences.

Do you have many friends with an MBTI J type (structured/planning-oriented)? I think I have a few. Since I’m an P type (spontaneous), I tend to listen to my friends’ suggestions a lot (laughs).

Have any of your daily habits changed after meeting different characters through acting? That’s a difficult question. I don’t think anything has changed significantly. If something did change, I believe it wasn’t because of a character in a drama but rather due to my own decision.

Is there a moment in your life that you’d like to preserve as a lasting work? Maybe when I turn 25 next year. I feel like 25 will be the coolest age in my life. There’s no special reason, but ever since I was a kid, I thought that turning 25 would truly make me feel like an adult, so I’ve been looking forward to it. I’ve always believed that 25 is the coolest age, and I’m working hard to make that a reality.

What are you doing to make 25 a "cool" age for yourself? Exercising is part of it, and I’m also dedicating myself to studying acting.

You said you want to preserve your 25-year-old self as a work—what specific moments from that age would you like to keep? I want to capture myself managing my work well while also enjoying my hobbies and having fun when it’s time to play. I want to leave behind a version of myself that has worked even harder and grown in every aspect.

What is your favorite time of day? I like the quiet morning hours because I can focus well during that time.

Now that filming has finished, it’s past 8 p.m. What do you usually do at this time during the winter? At this time? In winter, I tend to go to bed earlier. So, I sleep a lot during the winter.

Is there anything you keep around to ensure a good hibernation? A humidifier, underfloor heating, and a boiler.

Are there any genres or roles you would like to challenge yourself with as an actor in the future? In terms of genre, I would like to challenge myself in the dark noir genre. As for roles, I would love to play a villain. I've thought about what it would be like if I played the role that Im Siwan-sunbae portrayed in the Netflix series Unlocked.

You mentioned that you are spending December leisurely, but it seems like you are busier than anyone else this December. Today you have a photo shoot, a fan meeting the day before your birthday, Check in Hanyang is airing, and your album is also scheduled to be released at the end of December. Are there any additional events you hope for or are looking forward to in the remaining December? I don't have any particular events or expectations for additional events. I like to go with the flow, and since the album will be released and the drama is airing, I just want to participate in any good opportunities that come up and enjoy them. Right now, I'm focusing on the drama and the album.

For the DKZ year-end project that will be released at the end of the year, it seems that each member decided on their role. Could you give us a little spoiler about the role you took on for that project? The year-end project isn't a big project; it's more like a self-made preparation where we give a small gift to our fans. There's no special spoiler, but I was in charge of the photo shoot for the members. I took pictures of the members with an ordinary camera. Since we have a relaxed relationship, I think both the members and I were able to take the photos in a comfortable atmosphere.

Were there many A-cuts? As for A-cuts, that's not for me to decide, but the members will make that judgment (laughs).

If you had the chance to choose a role again, what position would you like to take on within the team? Since I originally did composition, it might be fun to try composing again.

Looking back on today’s photoshoot, choose the perfect background music for the concept. Is there a song you’d like listeners to hear while viewing today’s photos of Jaechan? I’d choose Pink Sweat$'s "Honesty." This song is very relaxing, so you can listen to it without thinking about anything and just unwind. I think it suits today’s photo concept as well.

Can you express how you feel now after the photoshoot using an emoji? "☺️" It’s an emoji with a very calm expression. The eyes are slightly squinted, and the cheeks are a little rosy. That’s how I feel in winter — things pass by quietly, even without anything special happening.

Finally, could you share your goals for the future as a member of DKZ, as an actor, and as a person named Park Jaechan? As a member of DKZ, my goal is, of course, to show more music and better performances. This year, we weren't able to perform much on stage, so next year I want to stand on more stages. As an actor, I’ve just started to understand how to approach acting, so in my next project, I want to show a more developed version of myself, continuing to grow as an actor. As Park Jaechan, I just want to live happily and do what I love. It’s fine to go with the flow and not feel pressured to do something, so I want to live happily.

Source: 【Kitto独占インタビュー】 アイドルと俳優、二つの顔を持つDKZジェチャン Translated by Park Jaechan Updates

[dzjadzja]

Buckle up, Buttercup.

Let's talk about how people who violate boundaries and do not actively work to understand how and why they were in the wrong will do it over and over again; and how we, as a collective whole, allow this to happen. This has been your content warning.

Brief story time. I was in a show, and in that show, during a run through, my scene partner slapped me in the face. It was not part of the blocking. It was not something we'd ever talked about. It also--and this is important to how I behaved afterwards--did not physically hurt me. It was not intended to be malicious. My scene partner thought it would be a "playful paw" and just went for it.

I was not okay with that. I told my scene partner immediately that he was never to slap me again. I told the director (in a conversation that included my scene partner) that I was no longer comfortable with being intimate with him on stage, and that I wanted to switch to the alternate blocking that had us not kiss. I told the intimacy coordinator that I wasn't going to pull out of the show because I knew that would cause problems, but I had no interest in helping my scene partner out anymore. That he needed to be responsible for himself. I would show up and perform with him, but I didn't want to be his coach or cheerleader anymore (which I had been, up until that point).

Everyone agreed to this. At no point did my scene partner apologize to me. He told me, repeatedly, that it was not his intent to upset me. I told him intent and impact were not the same thing, but that I wasn't interested in exploring that idea with him. I knew he hadn't internalized that what he did was wrong because he hadn't acknowledged it was wrong. He only wanted me to understand that he didn't mean it to be bad. His intent was the only thing that mattered, from his perspective.

The show went on. I was uncomfortable the whole time. At first, my scene partner stopped doing any of the blocking with me, even the non-intimate moments, which was difficult to work with. Then, after he relaxed a bit and we were in front of an audience, he once again began improvising things we hadn't discussed or ever worked on. Wrapping his arm around my head and stroking my face with his other hand in a way that I couldn't extricate myself from. Squeezing my hands hard enough that he hurt me. And in the final show he chose to kiss me on the cheek during the moment that I'd said I no longer wanted to kiss him and wanted to use the alternate blocking (which did not include a cheek kiss).

And despite my discomfort... I didn't say anything. I just wanted to get it over with.

Part of the reason I didn't say anything was that, while a few cast members and the intimacy coordinator had taken the incident with the slapping very seriously, many others did not. The director asked me to do an extra pickup rehearsal to run lines with him, even after I'd said I wasn't available to coach him anymore. The cast continued to be very supportive of him and friendly with him. It felt like many people just wanted to move past it and assume everything was okay.

But, in the end, me not saying anything was on me, not on them. I wanted to get out of that situation without putting any more emotional energy into it, and I did. I've been told in the past that I make too big a deal out of minor things, and I didn't want that happening here. I didn't want to be a problem and I didn't want to make trouble and I didn't want to think about it anymore... so I didn't.

Fast forward to this week. I cannot give details, but I found out that he has recently done yet another completely inappropriate thing to someone else in the cast.

Y'all... I wish I could say I was surprised. But I'm not. What I am is really disappointed in myself, because *of course he fucking violated someone else's boundaries*. That is how this scenario goes.

And the thing is... as with SO MANY situations of consent violation, it does not matter if he didn't mean anything bad by it. What matters is that HE wanted to do something, so he DID, without any thought as to whether it was acceptable or appropriate or how it would impact the person he was doing it to. And he never moved past that initial thought.

I am not saying no one ever violates a boundary, realizes their error, and corrects. They *do*. People are flawed and genuine mistakes happen. But the difference, and it's a really important difference, is that some people work to learn where they went wrong and do better. And some people insist they "didn't mean to upset anyone" and carry on with their lives without trying to change anything.

And we--all of us, ME INCLUDED--let this happen. We just don't want to put any more emotional energy into it. We don't want to make trouble. We don't want to deal with people telling us we're blowing up over nothing. We don't want to make things awkward. We want to get it over with.

I'm not saying victims owe it to the world to handle things in a particular way. They don't. They have a right to their privacy and doing whatever makes them feel safe again. But I wish *I* had handled it differently. And I wish everyone who *wasn't* a victim would stop pushing so hard to get back to the status quo.

If a person doesn't acknowledge that they made a mistake, and actively work to correct their behavior going forward, that person is *not safe to be around*. Maybe they've never done anything to you, but that doesn't mean they won't do something to someone else. And that means you can't just accept their presence, and assume things will be fine.

We all have to be okay with being uncomfortable, if we want to keep our social groups safe.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

(Edited to say "improvising" not "improving" because that is not how you conjugate "improv")

[kmsml]

T-ara Eunjung News1 Interview ①

How do you feel about the conclusion of 'Suji and Uri,' which you were part of for such a long time?

It really feels like it passed in the blink of an eye. I was so busy over the past nine months that I barely remembered what day it was. I feel grateful and have no regrets about this project. Every day felt like a new challenge. I constantly thought about how to clear these challenges, so it still feels unreal that it’s over. I think it will sink in more as I return to everyday life.

Was there anything particularly different about this project compared to your previous ones?

Although it might be considered old-fashioned, this drama combined the 1, 2, and 3-camera system with the ENG system, allowing us to try various forms of acting. Ad-libs were not allowed on set, but there was more room for creativity in outdoor scenes. The lack of physical time is a natural feature of daily dramas, but the audience's expectations remain the same, making it challenging. We wanted to deliver quality despite time constraints, so we relied on our acting skills. Our props team was exceptionally prepared, setting up everything meticulously. Seeing their attention to detail made me think I should act with the same level of commitment. It made our drama stand out more.

What made you decide to take on the role in 'Suji and Uri'?

I was contacted and offered the role, initially unaware of the male lead. I had concerns about how continuously appearing in daily dramas might affect my image. I felt I needed to train myself in various directions, not just one. However, the script was so compelling that I wanted to keep reading it. The female lead was very attractive. When I heard that Baek Sunghyun was the male lead, I was thrilled. I also learned about the senior actors involved and thought, 'How did they gather such a stellar cast?' It was clear it would be a great drama. I wanted to show people that daily dramas could be different from what they typically expect.

How did you want to show that daily dramas could be different?

The issue of quality in daily dramas often arises due to the lack of time, leading to fatigue and rushed conditions. There isn’t much time to memorize scripts, but with a little more effort, daily dramas can be made more refined and rich. Our outdoor director guided us well, which was a great help. Even though following the script alone was challenging, they went as far as preparing the storyboard the day before and handed it to us on set. This allowed the staff to be ready faster, giving us actors time to discuss and even add ad-libs. The writer was also open to incorporating those changes, which led to new and fresh expressions in the drama. There is a unique system in our country’s daily dramas that allows us to combine stage-like set scenes with ENG (Electronic News Gathering) shots, creating a blend that doesn’t feel jarring. This distinctive feature of daily dramas made me want to become an actor recognized in this genre. I started to appreciate daily dramas as a wonderful genre.

How was it reuniting with Baek Sunghyun after about 12 years since 'Queen Insoo'?

Working with him felt like being with a T-ara member. During rehearsals, we didn’t even have to synchronize—he’d just say, "I’ll figure it out," and we’d proceed. With other actors, not rehearsing like that could lead to arguments. If you don’t know how someone will act, how can you respond? But Sunghyun was able to respond to what I did as he saw me acting, and that’s what true chemistry is. This allowed for a natural feeling to our scenes, and I was grateful for that. It’s challenging to express raw emotions in a daily drama, but Sunghyun brought out that naivety and authenticity.

'수지맞은 우리' 함은정 "일일극에서 이름 날리고파" [N인터뷰]① - 뉴스1 (news1.kr)