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buck-star · 2 days ago

Note

bucky eating you out while steve eats your ass! that lil shit is such a closeted freak. bucky is too, just not as closeted LOL

loves to tease steve about how much he likes eating your ass until one day he’s like “keep talking shit” and eats bucky’s ass and bucky is just on cloud 9 😛

Better than thought

Bucky loves to tease Steve about his way to pleasure you, even though it’s better than he thought.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 3.890 Words

Warnings/Tags: established relationship, petnames [bay doll, princess, King grumpy, Majesty Sunshine], possessive, grumpy, poly relationship, smut [oral (fem!/male!rec), oral pussy/ass, fingering, handjob, squirting, cum, humping, praises]

Authors Note: Thanks for the request. Waking up and reading such a filthy thing is… needs a day filled with writing because this thought didn’t want to leave my mind, so here. Divider made by me.

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist

The sun is painting your bedroom in a beautiful yellow-orange when the sun goes up. You're snuggled with your face into Bucky's chest, while Steve has his strong arms wrapped around your waist to keep your back pressed against his chest.

Bucky turns slowly; after a while, the sun on his face is too bright to keep sleeping, plus both of your two super soldiers love to stay up earlier. Or wake up early to watch you sleeping like creeps - or puppies in love. You're not sure which fits better, because they are cute, but it's also weird and funny to know that they watch you while you're sleeping.

"Mornin'," Steve grumbles, pulling you even closer against his chest. Bucky chuckles, a low rumble leaves his chest, and he turns on his side to place an arm over your waist, his fingertips tracing Steve's stomach slightly. "Gonna come run and go to the gym with me?"

Bucky shakes his head, bringing his face to your shoulder and hiding it. He can be such a grumpy face in the morning, and it can be pretty funny when he's all grumpy and doesn't talk. Bucky's mostly growling, but even though you don't get many words out of the man in the mornings, you and Steve love it.

"So, you want to be grumpy and pull her into your grumpiness with you?" Steve jokes and Bucky growls once again. This time it's muffled with his face buried in the crook of your neck. Steve can't help the low chuckles slipping past his lips. He's bringing his hand to Bucky's head, stroking a few of his strands behind his hair. "Sleepy head and grumpy face working together, huh?"

"Mhm," Bucky hums, his tone sounding more happy this time. Steve keeps stroking his fingers along Bucky's cheekbone a while longer, his ocean blue eyes lingering on the both of you.

"You know, your lovely muscles - the ones you adore so much, especially when you can make them bulge in front of her—they need some training too," Steve keeps teasing the brunette. Bucky ignores him, pressing his face further into your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

"Loves them anyway," Bucky mumbles, and Steve's eyes widen. He barely gets a word out of his boyfriend's mouth when he just woke up. Steve chuckles, nodding; he pulls his hand slowly away and turns around to get out of the bed. "'N you too, majesty sunshine."

"Really, King grumpy?" Steve laughs at the nickname. Both of them got these nicknames after you noticed their different ways of behavior after waking up. Steve is - no matter how bad or cold the weather is - a sunshine. And Bucky is - no matter how sunny or warm it is - a grumpy face in the mornings. So, you called them by that name, and somehow they love it so much to tease one another that they keep the nicknames.

Steve gets out of the bed, chuckling still. Bucky pulls you even closer, tangling your legs with his while he sighs softly in your neck. His grip around your waist tightens, and he kisses the soft skin of your neck.

"Mine... all mine," he grumbles. Steve dresses himself, a soft smile spread on his lips. A few minutes later he leaves the room, ready for his run and his training afterwards. Both of them know that you sleep at least one or two hours more, but Bucky refuses to leave the bed and get cold himself or get the bed cold so you would freeze.

Bucky keeps mumbling something between praises and possessive words. When you slowly wake up after a while, he pulls you even closer, nuzzling your cheek. You're practically pressed into him, arms and legs tangled together, and you giggle softly when you feel his stubble against your soft skin.

"Possessive baby?" You mumble, and Bucky nods, agreeing to your question. He is always possessive when it comes to you or Steve. And he's gladly your baby when you want it, when it makes you giggle even more. "Big baby, aren't you? Did you throw Stevie out of the bed?"

Bucky nods, smirking slightly. "Mhm, he's sleeping on the ground now," he grumbles, earning another giggle from you. "You should giggle more often; it's cute."

"It makes the grumpy's heart melt?" You tease, and Bucky grumbles but nods once more. Of course, your giggles make everyone's heart melt, just like Steve's and Bucky's wouldn't dare to deny that because he knows it's true. No matter how grumpy he is, you're always making him happy.

"Mhm, yeah. Now, come closer," he grumbles, and you raise one of your eyebrows. Bucky chuckles low in his throat, turning the two of you until he's on top of you. "Yeah, we can be closer; don't try to tell me we can't. I can lie on top of you, and then you have me on top, on your left and on your right."

You laugh as best as you can with his weight on top of you. But he's right, his arms caging you in on both sides, and he's on top of you. Bucky hums happily, leaning his head down on your shoulder, kissing the soft skin softly.

"My baby doll. All mine," he mumbles against you. "Say it, baby doll, pleaseeeeee?"

You sigh and nod. "I'm all yours, grumpy baby."

Bucky lifts his head, grinning at you. After a moment you narrow your eyes. Your boyfriend usually eats breakfast before you get up, but today he's still in bed, cuddled up with you.

"Aren't you hungry?" You ask, a bit confused. Bucky shakes his head a bit before his grin widens and his eyes darken slightly. "But you haven-" You gasp when he pulls the blanket away and slides down, hovering with his head over your lower stomach. "Do we have a 'King grumpy is possessive' day?"

"Mhm, mine. Gonna have my breakfast now; let Stevie hear what he misses when he makes his workout instead of cuddling and eating with us," Bucky mumbles. His hands snake down your sides, curling around the waistband of your panties to pull them down. With a low growl, he decides to rip them off your body, too impatient and too lazy to move.

"Bucky!" You whine when you see the scattered fabric of your panties. Bucky grins, pushing your legs wider apart before he lowers his head and inhales deeply. A moan escapes your lips, his breath warm and teasing at your wet folds.

"Mhm, so pretty, all wet and ready for me, baby doll," he whispers, kissing your folds. His tongue licks a fat strap from your leaking entrance to your clit, circling the bundle of nerves a bit.

You moan, arching your back. Your hands gripping the sheets tightly while Bucky uses his talented tongue to get more of these sweet noises out of you. His hands rubbing up and down your thighs, steadying you a bit when he delivers such pleasure. Your hips rolling against his face, and Bucky chuckles when he keeps kissing your clit.

Bucky teases you when he pulls his head back slightly. Your hands shooting into his hair, gripping his brown strands tightly to pull him closer to your pussy.

A low hum escapes your boyfriend's lips when he dives his tongue through your wet folds once more. His strong hands gripping your thighs tightly to keep them spread wide. "Tasting so good, baby doll."

Your back arches, and you grip his hair tightly, trying to bring his skilled mouth even closer - if that's even possible. Bucky groans, kissing your clit when you tug at his hair. His eyes finding yours, his mouth never leaving your most sensitive parts.

"Need me to take a break, baby doll?" He asks, his voice rough. Bucky's usual blue eyes darkened, lust written all over his features. His plump lips finding their way to your clit, kissing and sucking softly at the soft bundle of nerves.

"N-No, please," you whine, arching your back. Your legs are trembling, and Bucky grins before he buries his face between your thighs once again. Whines and moans leave your lips, your head thrown back into the pillow while you pull Bucky even closer against your throbbing cunt.

"Can't get enough of me eating you out, can you, baby doll?" Bucky whispers, blowing a bit of cool air against your neglected entrance. You whimper, thrusting your hips against him to get more friction.

"She can't get enough of me eating her ass either," another rough voice comes from the door of the room. You turn your head; your eyes widen when you see your other boyfriend standing in the doorframe. His short hair is perfectly styled, and you really want to run your fingers through it to ruin the perfection.

Your eyes move lower over his chest and abs, still glistening in sweat from his workout. He's completely undressed, like always after his workouts; Steve always puts his sweaty clothes in the wash. You wonder why his hair is so perfect, maybe because of all the sweat. However, it's perfect, and the light of the room makes his body glistening softly. Saliva almost drools out of the corner of your mouth when your eyes settle on his hard cock.

Steve is shamelessly stroking the thick length in his calloused hand. He grins at you, noticing where you're looking at. His tip is leaking pre-cum, and you lick your lips instinctively. "That's what you need? My cock down your throat while Bucky eats your pussy? Or do you prefer getting your ass eaten out?

A whine creeps up your throat when Steve laughs, his eyes settling on Bucky, who still eats you like you're the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. He hums, playing with your clit until you almost scream from the pleasure that's rushing through your body. Though, it's still not quiet enough to throw you over the edge.

"Say please," Steve commands. The moment you try to open your mouth to ask him nicely to give you his cock, Bucky thrusts two of his thick fingers into you. You moan loudly, your body tenses, and your legs tremble around your boyfriend while you come.

Bucky smirks, thrusting his fingers against your spongy spot, causing you to squirt over his hand. "There she is, such a good girl, baby doll. Now let's see if Stevie can make you cum better eating your ass than I did, huh?"

Steve chuckles, shaking his head but walking closer to your - accepting Bucky's challenge. Since the brunette is always making jokes and teasing Steve about his obsession with your ass, he now has the perfect chance to show Bucky that he can make you come just as hard as Bucky when he plays with your cunt. Bucky kisses your thighs a few times, causing you to whimper while you slowly come down from your orgasm.

Both of your boyfriends change places. Steve grabs your hips, turning you around. Your arms and legs feel too weak to hold you up, so you let yourself fall flat down on your belly. Both men start laughing, admiring your sweet, fucked-out form.

"Princess, I need you on your hands and knees," Steve mumbles softly, letting one of his hands run up and down your back when his other grabs your hips to help you get up slightly. You growl, as much as you want this, as much as you want to take a break before he brings you to another orgasm.

The three of you know that you can take more than one orgasm, but you also know that Steve is just as skilled as Bucky, even when he eats your ass instead of your pussy.

"Good girl," Steve praises when you bring your knees underneath you and lift your ass into the air. Your face still pressed into the pillow underneath, and you sigh softly when he kisses from your neck down to your ass. "Mhm, good girl, such a good girl for us."

Steve kneels down on the ground behind you, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. His hands move to your ass, squeezing and rubbing your cheeks softly. Bucky undresses himself, his ocean blue eyes on you, a wide grin on his face.

"Yeah, let's see if our ass obsession is making you cum better than I can, shall we?" Bucky chuckles, walking around the bed to kneel down on it and crawl close to you. Steve shakes his head, raising an eyebrow before he leans closer to kiss the soft flesh of your ass cheeks.

You moan, looking up at Bucky, who grips you underneath your arms to pull you up. You pout, placing your hands underneath you to hold you up. Bucky's crotch is the same height as your face, the tip of his dick red and leaking.

He wraps his hand around his thick shaft, bringing the tip to your lips. Bucky sneaks his pre-cum all over your lips, letting you lick it away before he slowly pushes in. You immediately swirl your tongue around his cock, taking him slowly down your throat. Bucky groans, throwing his head back while he thrusts in and out of you. One of his hands is tangled in your hair to keep you in place while he rubs the other over your neck and shoulders. Something he always does when both of your men use your hole for your and their own pleasure.

Meanwhile, Steve keeps kissing you, helping you to relax a bit more after the first orgasm you had. "Ready to get your ass eaten like never before, princess?"

You moan around Bucky's thick shaft. Steve often made you come like that before, but somehow his voice has that mischievousness and holding a promise that he will make you come like he has never done before. You wiggle your ass, humming low in your throat.

Steve chuckles, his tongue licking a fat strap from your cunt to your puckered hole. Your back immediately arches, and you whine around Bucky's dick. His rips rutting against your face, his balls coated in your saliva and smearing it all over your chin.

"Mhm," Steve groans, trying to push his tongue inside of you. His hands spread out your ass cheeks, and he kept pressing against your tightest hole. He slowly breaks through the muscles, grinning against your skin when he works the tip of his tongue in and out of you.

One of his big hands snakes around your waist to your clit. You shriek, trying to crawl away from the pleasure he delivers. But Bucky and Steve hold you in place, Bucky's cock down your throat and his hands on your shoulders, while Steve keeps one on your waist and one still playing with your clit.

"S-Stevie..." you whine, arching your back. He chuckles, two of his fingers thrust into your cunt. You almost scream around Bucky's cock; they both know you too well to give you a chance to control your body or orgasm.

Your legs give out, and you almost fall forward into the pillow, but your men's strength keeps you in position. Your cum is squirting out of you, your body shaking, and tears roll down your cheeks from the pleasure. Steve doesn't let go of you until your orgasm has faded, and you pull off Bucky's cock to roll on your back.

You're breathing heavily, and you whimper slightly when Steve gets closer, kissing you softly. He lets you taste yourself, growling into your mouth before he pulls away softly. "Good girl, you did so good for us. Now, who made you come better?"

With a roll of your eyes and a chuckle, you point at both of your boyfriends. While Steve looks satisfied with your answer that him eating your ass is as good as Bucky eating your pussy, your brunette boyfriend frowns.

"You can't really mean that eating ass makes you feel so good, can you?" Bucky asks, tilting his head slightly. Steve laughs, pushing up; he holds his hand out for Bucky to take, and he does. With narrowed eyes and slight uncertainty on his face, he lets Steve guide him to where you were kneeling on the bed for them.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Steve pushes Bucky with his chest first on the bed. Bucky's legs are still on the ground, while his ass is directed to Steve. "Princess, do me the favor and sit down on Bucky's back; he needs something to strap him down, or else our big boy squirms too much."

Bucky growls, trying to push up, but with a still fucked-out expression and a smirk on your lips, you crawl closer and sit down on Bucky's back. Your wetness rubbing over his back, and he moans at the feeling of your cum all over his skin.

"Fuck, Stevie, she's so wet," Bucky groans. Steve chuckles low in his throat, kneeling down again before he kisses Bucky's ass cheeks, his tongue licking over his puckered hole, and Bucky immediately hisses. He grips the sheets underneath him tightly, cursing under his breath.

"Feels good, huh?" Steve laughs, probing at Bucky's hole. The blond man growls when he feels the tightness of his boyfriend. "Your ass is even tighter than hers."

Bucky rolls his eyes, earning a slap on his ass. Steve doesn't even have to look at Bucky to know what he just did. He brings one of his hands to the brunette cock, stroking it slowly while he keeps probing at the tight ring of muscles.

After a moment he finally breaks through the tightness. His fingers tighten around the other man's cock, while you start humping on Bucky's back, making him whine and squirm slightly. "Fuck, Stevie, please."

Steve grins against Bucky's skin, keeping his pace slow but tightening the grip around Bucky's cock with every stroke a bit more. After a moment he lifts his head, peppering soft kisses over the soft skin of Bucky's ass.

"Look at our girl, getting off while you get your ass eaten, Buck," Steve laughs. He lowers his head again, pushing his tongue inside of Bucky once more. Steve speeds up, making Bucky whine even more. His grip on the sheets almost rips them apart while he tries to arch his back with you still on top of him.

"Fuckkkk, please, Steve, fuck, fuck." Bucky moans, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten further. Steve laughs, speeding the movements of his hand around Bucky's cock up, loving that he's right - ass eating is giving a lot more pleasure than Bucky wanted to believe or admit.

"Mhm, Stevie, making him," you hum, bringing your fingers to your clit to rub it in harsh circles. You're determined to come with Bucky, and from the noises he makes, you know he's close, needing just a few more strokes before his orgasm crashes over him.

"You should see our girl, Buck. Touching herself, wanting to come so bad with you. She's not as fucked out as we thought after two orgasms," Steve says, between licks over Bucky's puckered hole. Bucky's hole clenches, his whole body tensing when the coil in his stomach snaps and his cum coats Steve's hand and the floor.

Steve slows down, watching you while you come once again. Bucky and you are panting, sweat coating both of your bodies while you both ride out your orgasms. The blond leans down once again to Bucky's puckered hole, pushing his tongue inside of him again to force more of the white liquid out of the brunette.

"Fuck... this-" Bucky groans, around, keeping you on top of him. You're not sure how he managed, but you don't really care. Bucky pulls you down on his chest, kissing you softly. "Get why you love your ass eaten so much. Got off while Steve made me cum, naughty girl."

You giggle, ready to snuggle into your boyfriend's, but Bucky lays you down next to him, his lips lingering on your forehead for a moment longer before he looks at Steve.

"Let's find out how fast we can make you cum," Bucky mutters with a grin. Steve shakes his head, lifting his hands, knowing what Bucky's tactic is to make him cum as fast as possible while still giving him all the pleasure he wants.

Bucky gets off the bed, his legs still wobbly, but he reaches out to pull Steve closer, going down on his knees in front of him. Bucky leans his head back, smirking, his blue eyes locked with Steve's.

"I want you to take what you need, Steve," he growls low in his throat, bringing one of his hands to the other man's cock. Steve moans, throwing his head back. His hands find their way into Bucky's brown locks, pulling him closer to his cock.

Instead of taking Steve's cock in his mouth, he lowers himself further, licking and sucking softly at the blond's balls. Steve whimpers, a sound he only makes when one of you plays with his balls - something you discovered by accident when you wanted to tease him, just to find out he loves when you play with them.

"There you go, Steve," Bucky chuckles, taking them slowly into his mouth. You watch your boyfriend, smirking at the pleasurable expression on Steve's face. Bucky keeps stroking the other man's cock, slowly, to keep the focus of Steve on Bucky's mouth around his balls.

"B-Buck..." Steve moans, his hips rutting and his cock twitching already. More pre-cum leaks down his tip, and Bucky grins. He keeps looking up, his eyes on Steve's face. When the blond-haired man looks down, he comes. The sight of Bucky - on his knees, mouth full of Steve's balls, while he strokes the thick shaft of the other man - is too much for Steve to hold back his orgasm. The cum shooting onto Bucky's face and in his brown locks.

"Mhm," Bucky hums, leaning back and licking the tip of Steve's cock clean. A whimper leaves the other man's lips, his cock feeling too sensitive. Bucky uses his fingers to clean his face a bit, sucking the cum off his fingers. "Tasting good, Stevie."

"This shouldn't be so hot; it makes me wet again," you pout. Bucky turns toward you, a grin playing around his lips.

"It doesn't need me to suck Steve's balls to make you wet after you came three times where you squirted two times for us," Bucky laughs, earning a growl from you. "But yes, let's help you with your wetness; your poor puss is all neglected."

"Bucky!" You laugh, getting off the bed to walk into the bathroom. Steve and Bucky's gazes follow you. Steve's still panting but slowly calming down, his body still glistening with sweat.

"Those orgasms are better than any workouts," he mutters, chuckling softly. Bucky gets up, pulling Steve into a soft kiss, before they both follow you into the bathroom. "She's not planning to take a shower without us, is she?"

Bucky shakes his head, grinning widely. "She wouldn't dare to take a shower without us, unless she's in need of a good spanking with a few more orgasms afterward." Steve chuckles, nodding before they both follow you into the bathroom to take a shower with you.

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lunarriviera · 2 days ago

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There's actually a couple more additional aspects that can make a difference, if you're a fiction writer, to help your reader. 1. We all know that the most common narrative tag should be "says" or "said" (depending on what verb tense you're writing in). But given that, it's useful to vary the way that's structured as well, alternating it with the noun/subject:

"Spock, I'm tired of this," Kirk said. "I don't want to go on this way any longer." "I see," said Spock, after a moment. There was a pause. He said, "Would you be willing to explain what is troubling you?"

In this example the verb hasn't changed, but the order in which it's deployed has (though tbh if I weren't making that point I probably would have introduced the third utterance with, "before he added").

2. Vis-à-vis the point about paragraph breaks letting the reader know that someone new is speaking, it's really important to keep the utterances of a single character together. Even when the speech acts are broken up by a fair amount of description:

"Fine," says Watson, shortly. He bends down to the dining table then and concentrates on making his sandwich: brown bread, butter, and a thick layer of strawberry jam. Outside their flat, the starlings are deafening, clustering noisily around Mrs. Hudson's bird feeder. "There's just one more thing, Sherlock," he adds, as he slams the two slices of bread together. "Oh? And what's that," asks Sherlock, not looking around his newspaper.

I often see writers tempted to start a new paragraph at any point between Watson's first and second utterances, but please resist that temptation. Otherwise we're going to have to reread it at least twice to figure out what's going on. Always save your white space for a change of character, in dialogue. (And conversely don't add a space when a character simply changes the subject. If it's still the same character, it's still the same utterance/speech act.)

3. In both of the above examples, the narrative tag comes after the utterance, which is typical, but if you do that too repetitively it gets boring like anything else. Start some paragraphs/sentences with description or exposition, then drop in the utterance. It's best if you go back and forth between these. Changing length of speech acts is very good too! People don't speak in complete sentences anyway.

John didn't respond for a moment, but sat motionless, looking out over the water. When he finally spoke his voice was hoarse. "Why? You owe me that much." "Fine! I'll tell you." This was followed by a bewildering silence during which Rodney walked around in a circle waving his hands, and then stood spluttering inarticulately. "Rodney?" John turned around despite himself. McKay kicked a chair before glaring at him. "You have a master's degree! How are you this dense? Were you ever going to— Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "To what?" "Ask me to marry you!"

I threw in a couple other little tricks in here to keep things moving, though it's pretty terrible as far as dialogue goes. What I usually do is write dialogue, then later try to take out approximately half of it. This is an old hack I learned during a playwrighting class in grad school. We actually had the actors fold their sides in half and only read the first halves of the written dialogue. This will never work, we thought, it won't make any sense. IT WAS INCREDIBLE, PLS TRY IT.

(and no I don't know why everyone in the examples is breaking up i'm a angst-loving pantser okay lbr these men aren't always going to get along)

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

#dialogue tags #punctuation #long post #fiction writing #writing dialogue #writing reference #writing tips

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httpwintersoldier · 2 days ago

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『sweet little thing p.2 | b. barnes x reader』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's real long okay, it even has a third part! summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 1 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

"I don't think the text was for me, darlin', but for the record, it looks good."

Your widened eyes stared at the text until the screen of your phone locked again due to lack of activity.

You couldn't believe you had been so stupid as to send without checking the contact beforehand! You cursed your slippery fingers, and the fact that their names started with "J". Thankfully you didn't mention any names in the text, or else you'd probably have to drop out and move elsewhere...

Once the embarrassment had washed away ever so slightly, you let his words sink in - "but for the record, it looks good". You gripped your skirt and pressed your thighs together as you imagined the man leaning closely and whispering that in your ear, telling you just how good you looked.

Another dilemma popped into your mind - now that he knew you thought it was slutty, should you really go out in it!? On one hand, Bucky told you it looked good, but on the other you'd basically admitted to knowing too much showed in that outfit...

The sound of a car honking outside broke you from your trance, and you walked over to your bedroom's window to find your ride already waiting for you. You muttered a small "fuck" under your breath gathered all of your things and stuffed them in a bag before taking one last look at the mirror.

"Oh, whatever, can't get worse than it already is." You said to yourself, grabbed a large jersey and threw it on top of the cheerleader outfit you decided to wear.

You sprayed some perfume and left the house, with your heart wanting to find Bucky right away, and your mind wanting him to stay as far as possible.

You all rode in the same car in direction to Andy's house, which meant that at least you wouldn't be alone with Bucky yet again - that alone calmed you down quite a bit. The ride was loud and full of music, but you couldn't stop thinking about your little (big) mistake.

Your friends noticed, but as far as they were aware, you had a thing for Andy, so they just brushed it off as being nervous to be around him or something of the sort.

Fortunately, Andy was the one opening the door this time, and he greeted everyone with a big, adorable smile that would have made you fall to your knees just a couple weeks ago.

"Guys, I need your help carrying the beer cases, the ice and the thermal boxes. Y/N can you and Jas go to the garage and bring the boxes? There's four of them, they're empty so you should be alright bringing two each."

You and the other girl nodded, following his instructions as to how to get to the garage. Once you got there, however, the boxes were nowhere to be seen.

"Can you go ask him where they are, Jas? I'll keep looking."

Your friend nodded and turned around, leaving you alone to look for the boxes by yourself. You tried not to make too much of a mess while searching for them, but you had looked as hard as possible without moving anything, and yet you had no luck finding what you were looking for.

"What happened to that little number I saw?"

You jumped and shrieked at the deep voice behind you. When you turned around you saw those steel blue eyes looking down at you, with a little knowing smile.

There was no point in playing dumb, you both knew what he was talking about. His eyes flew down to your hands that played with the hem of your jersey.

You felt so small under his gaze... You had never felt like this with any other guy - sure, you had been shy before, but when it came to Bucky it was like the words were caught on your throat and your whole body caught on fire. Maybe it was because he was older, maybe it was the confidence and power in the way he conducted himself - the image of a man who wasn't, for once, all bark and no bite.

He stepped forward, reaching right beside you to claim the beer he had left open on the counter that you were leaning against.

"Decided against my advice?" He took a swing of his beer, the playful, devilish smile on his face spreading wider "Andy would've liked it."

He was teasing you. He knew you were embarrassed and he was using it against you, for amusement.

"Why? Did you like it?"

The both of you were shocked at the words that left your lips - you didn't know where those words came from and Mr. Barnes wasn't waiting for something so bold to come out of you.

He chuckled and his eyes suddenly seemed to be darker, but that darkness wasn't the lack of emotion you had seen that day at the store, it was a different type... there was something sensual about his gaze rather.

"Maybe I did."

The two of you heard footsteps heading towards you. Bucky stepped away from you and faced the door just as your friend came in.

"Andy said that his dad already- oh, hello Mr. Barnes!"

"Hi there. Can I help you?" He asked Jas.

Bucky acted as if nothing had happened, as if he and you had just been having a casual conversation, as if the air was thick and tense from the sexual tension burning between your bodies.

"Andy told me and Y/N to fetch the thermal boxes, but he didn't know you had brought them out already." She explained.

"I see. Well, have fun girls." He said, looking between you and her, as you walked towards the door to leave with your friend.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your mind, a little bit of revenge for what he had just done to you. You needed to act fast, so thinking twice about the idea was out of the question, you just... did it.

"Aren't you going to watch the game, Mr. Barnes?" You asked teasingly, turning back around to face him.

Bucky scoffed, knowing exactly what you were doing calling him 'Mr. Barnes'.

"Might stop by and watch it, why sweetheart?" The man asked, with a curious look, taking another sip of his beer, something he did often to hide his smirk.

You took off the jersey you were wearing over your outfit, revealing the cheerleader getup you had just talked about, and handed him the item of clothing.

"You don't have anything to support the team! I can lend you my jersey." You said, your voice honest and innocent, as if you didn't know exactly what your words and actions meant, as if there wasn't a second meaning to what you did.

Bucky wasn't exactly subtle in the way he looked at you. His eyes were eating you up, from top to bottom, slowly taking in the view in the flesh. Eventually, he reached for the jersey and took it.

"Thanks, sweetheart, I'll make sure to give it to you when the game is over."

You mumbled a "don't mention it" and walked back into the house with your friend, so you could help everyone set up for the game.

"Dude, his dad is a real DILF." Jas whispered as you two made it to the front porch.

"I know, right?" You smugly agreed.

Whistles and compliments echoed in the room when you pulled up with the cheerleader outfit after ditching the jersey. Andy's eyes in particular stayed the longest on your body, and you felt a little guilty for nor caring about what he thought - the feedback that you truly wanted had already been received.

Bucky had joined the group not long after the game started, and you didn't miss the way his eyes stole glances at you whenever possible.

The man himself didn't know what was wrong with him. He was nearly twice your age, he could be your dad, it was a very possible scenario since his actual kid was your classmate, but for some reason, ever since you had walked into his house with that pretty little skirt and those big, shy eyes, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you.

He knew he wasn't being subtle when eating you up with his eyes, but Bucky wanted you to know, to see what you did to him.

Both of you were aware of the painfully tense and erotic situation, as you'd spread your legs and cross them more often than not, giving Bucky a good view or your exposed skin, making him yearn for more.

"Shit, we need more chips." One of the guys complained.

"I can get them." You offered, since you weren't really interested in the game, and stood up, taking the two empty bowls with you.

It seemed to be impossible to ever be in that house without being left alone with James Barnes, but that time it wasn't accidental at all. As you were opening the chips and dumping them on one of the bowls, footsteps echoed behind you.

Suddenly, Bucky placed his hands on your waist and flipped you around, pressing you against the counter and trapping you between the furniture and his body.

"What are you doing, darlin'?" He asked, looking straight into your widened eyes.

"I-I'm refilling the chips..." You responded, pointing at the bowl behind you with your thumb.

"Fuck the chips, you know exactly what I mean, pretty girl." The man said, cutting right through your act, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you to him.

One of the corners of your lips twitched upwards, discarding the innocent façade.

"I'm doing just what you are doing."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N."

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine, it rolled off of his tongue in a manner that couldn't be described in any way other than sensual.

"And you aren't?"

He chuckled, licked his lips slowly and then brushed his hair back with his hand, out of frustration. Your naive side had him going insane with desperation, but your bold side had the man wishing to fuck the brat out of you.

"You know what?" He said, taking his hand and softly placing the pads of his fingers right above your knee "I'd love to bend you over this counter and fuck you with this little skirt still on."

His hand trailed up your leg, slowly lifting your bottoms, revealing your white panties with a pink bow in the front. Bucky smirked and chuckled, a small patch of wetness was clearly visible.

"But?..." You questioned, teasing him as you slid one of your thighs between his legs.

"Y/N! How are those chips coming along, dude?" One of the boys yelled from the living room, snapping the two of you into reality.

"Yeah- coming! One second." You responded.

"I guess we'll have to finish this later, Sergeant."

You didn't give him time to respond, as you grabbed the two bowls and walked back into the living room, the wet spot between your legs now larger than ever before, seemingly.

What Bucky was feeling was wrong. He stood there in the kitchen, thinking about you, thinking about how he towered over you and how you looked at him with those eyes that switched back and forth from innocent to fierce, to tease him, to lure him even further.

His pants were tight and his head was filled with thoughts of your body, leaving over and pressing against every surface of that house, with him inside of you.

It was torture, he couldn't handle it anymore, and he couldn't go back into the living room with such and obvious problem - and with the source of the problem sitting so close.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mr. Barnes going up the stairs, with a serious face and a quick pace. No one else seemed to notice, however, as they were too focused on the game.

"I'm going to the bathroom, anyone need anything from the kitchen?" You lied, looking for an excuse to leave the room as quickly as possible without being suspicious.

You had just come back from the kitchen with the chips, so everyone shook their head or mumbled a "no", so you stood up and followed up the stairs, looking out for any noise to find out which door Bucky had gone into.

As you walked down the hallway, you could hear faint grunts that grew closer with each step. Eventually you found the door of what you assumed was his bedroom, and your whole body froze. There was only one door between you, and the thing that you had fantasized for so long.

"Fuck..." You heard him groan from the inside.

Your hand grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, as the heat between your legs was too much to bear. You opened the door, just enough to be able to see him sitting on the bed, back against the wall and head leaning back, as his hand stroked his cock.

"Are you enjoying the show?" He asked, continuously jerking his shaft as he lowered his head and looked straight at you, his hair falling beautifully over his face.

Your face was burning up and your heart was racing, but your nerves were nothing compared to the pure hunger and desperation you felt for the man. You stepped into the room, carefully, as if stepping into a wolf's cage, and closed the door behind you.

Bucky watched as you walked over to him, eyes shifting between his hand's movements and his face.

His free hand flew to your hip, slowly guiding you down until you were sitting on his lap, your wet, clothed pussy applying pressure on his cock.

You stared at each other's lips for a very long time. Bucky's hand cupped your cheek and, slowly but surely, brought you closer, until there was no space left between you.

What started out slowly very quickly progressed, and the second your lips connected, his hands were all over your body, gripping you ass and toying with the little skirt he loved so much. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it ever so often as his tongue got bolder.

The two of you pulled apart, your lips were swollen and your eyes were glazed, obviously displaying how much the two of you needed more.

His eyes fell to your lips and he kissed you softly once more before looking up at your eyes.

"We shouldn't do this..." His mouth said something, but the curious fingers that played with the waistband of your panties told you a completely different story.

"Why?" You asked softly, placing small, wet kisses on his neck, causing him to close his eyes and groan.

"My son... Fuck- Andy likes you." Bucky said finally, gripping you tightly as soon as those words left his mouth, as if he thought you'd slip away at the confession.

You kept on kissing his neck, as that confession didn't faze you - if it was something that you would've been over the moon about just a month ago, it was now irrelevant. Bucky came into your life and took over your mind completely, you felt as if every release would feel subpar, unless he was the one helping you reach it.

"You really wanna stop? Hm?" You asked teasingly, as your hips began grinding against his, your wet panties rubbing on his cock.

The conflict on his face was brief, as he eventually threw his head back and let out a low groan. The male gripped your ass cheeks and flipped the two of you over as he attacked your neck.

His hands expertly slid your underwear down your legs, and the male began kissing down your neck, your chest, and your stomach, until he reached your pussy. Bucky teased you for a second, kissing your inner thighs, but he was just as desperate to taste you as you were to feel him.

As his tongue begins licking your cunt and circling your clit, your right hand covers your mouth, while the other grips his hair.

"Aren't you a sweet little thing?..." He whispers, after tasting you.

You almost came at those words, the pure filth of the whole situation leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

The man's cock throbbed against the mattress, but he was too drunk in your taste to let go - Bucky wanted to taste as much of you as possible. His tongue slipped in and out of you as he took a break from teasing your clit, and he didn't stop until your back arched, as Bucky wanted to make you cum with his cock.

Bucky's lips met yours once more, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. That kiss was meant to muffle your sinful sounds as he slipped inside of you and slowly pushed himself fully into you. His girth stretched you out in the most satisfying way, and, somehow, the thing you had fantasized about for so long was even better than you had imagined.

He started out slowly, looking into your eyes as if testing the waters, and picked up the pace when he saw you were comfortable enough. Thankfully the TV was loud enough to drown out the echo from the skin slapping sounds, but they wouldn't drown out much more.

Bucky covered your mouth with his hand as his hips snapped against yours at a feral pace - he wanted to make you scream in a way that you wouldn't be heard.

"Want to be a whore? Hm? Parading yourself in front of me with those pretty little skirts thinking I wasn't gonna fuck the shit out of you?"

Your tits bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts, and you thanked for the hand covering your mouth, allowing you to be as mouthy and as loud as you wanted to.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you looking pretty like this, sweetheart." He said, between pants.

Bucky wouldn't last long, as your ever-tightening walls and the erotic look on your face rendered him weak, but thankfully you were also near your climax - he could tell from the way your back arched slightly more by the second.

"Wanna cum for me, baby?" Bucky questioned, removing his hand so you could answer.

"Y-yeah, please, Sir."

He chuckled and smirked at the nickname that, to your credit, did have a nice ring when you were begging under him.

One of Bucky's hands slid between your bodies and circled your clit, until your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your toes curled. You had to bite your lip harshly, to stop yourself from moaning out Bucky's name. The latter pulled out and buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning and panting as he climaxed, spilling all over your stomach.

Knock, knock.

"Hey dad, have you seen Y/N?"

For a second your face went white and your blood froze - you begged that he didn't open the door, or he would come face to face with a rather unfortunate view. You simply stared at Bucky, trusting that he would come up with something

"Huh?" He said, pretending to be clueless at first, "Oh yeah, she had a bit of an accident." Hinting that you had gotten your period, a clever lie that Andy wouldn't question due to its nature "She was embarrassed and didn't want to tell everyone so I told her to just go home."

"Oh... Okay." Andy's voice seemed sad, and you heard his footsteps dragging on the floor and becoming quieter as he walked away.

Bucky looked into your eyes before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"Guess you don't gotta go back down... Plenty of time for another round. Or two."

'minors do not interact' banner credit: @cafekitsune

#bucky #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky smut #winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes reader smut

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hayoomii · 3 days ago

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ILYTOW⋆˚࿔

500ish words / tsukishima kei x f!reader

fluff , use of Y/N , sweet kisses , tsukki being pretty cheesy tbh

“Tsukishima…” Y/N’s voice is a mere whisper, barely audible over the quiet melody drifting from the speaker.

“Hm?” He cocks his head to look at her. The blond is caught off guard, however, when he notices just how close she is. And as if it is second nature to him, his gaze flickers down to her lips as quickly as lightning strikes. Shit, he thinks. He hopes she didn’t notice.

“What?” The boy asks more adamantly this time, faux annoyance adorning his features.

She giggles lightly, “You’re really good at that, y’know…”

“Good at what?” Tsukishima’s eyebrow quirks up.

“Acting mean,” this time her eyes look down at his lips, “but you’re lucky I know better. You’re too nice to me.”

At this point, the space between them is rapidly closing, and Tsukki only has time to gulp and chuckle nervously before that distance is nonexistent.

Y/N’s lips are soft. Her kiss is light, and Tsukishima can't help but let out a breath through his nose close enough to a whine. He doesn't understand how she can make him feel this way so easily. It's almost like he could start floating at any moment. Or maybe his heart would race right out of his chest - rushing to burrow itself closer to hers. Not that he would complain, though. Deep down, he thinks it’d be happier that way…

Her nose nudges against his as she tilts her head slightly, pressing further into him, now gliding her gentle hands up his chest and around the nape of his neck. She fiddles with the short blond tendrils there briefly before fully embracing him.

After a few moments, she pulls back. Tsukshima’s lips subconsciously follow hers – like it’s some natural instinct to keep them melded together – but he’s stopped by a light peck on the tip of his nose.

He opens his eyes this time, lashes fluttering in a daze as he takes in the image before him.

She’s beautiful.

Tsukishima sighs imperceptibly. He knows if she could read his thoughts she’d smack him for thinking such lies. But, they’re not lies. And, he wishes, more than anything, for her to believe it too.

“Kei,” he swears he could get drunk just off her voice, “you’re so pretty.”

The boy blinks slowly once, then twice before finally registering her words. And, without even thinking, the next words slip out of his mouth.

“That’s my line.”

If it were any other man than the one and only Tsukishima Kei, it wouldn’t have been so surprising. But, it is him, and the shade of red that flushes across Y/N’s entire face, and down past the collar of her shirt, is almost record-breaking for the amount of time it occurred in. In order to hide her embarrassment quickly, she slumps forward, face resting comfortably in the crook of his neck.

“Stop,” she mumbles, “that was too cheesy…” Tsukki chuckles at her barely audible statement, trying not to squirm from her tickling breath.

“Don’t try to hide the fact that you liked it. And, that makes you cheesy,” he whispers directly into her ear, which earns a quiet groan from the girl.

She pulls herself halfway out of her hiding spot but stops to leave a chaste kiss on his jaw.

“You’re stupid,” she says plainly.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, or whatever.”

notes : this is the very first fic i have ever written with the intention of posting, so please be gentle! let me know what you think! i hope to post more in the near future <3

song : Peppers (feat. Tommy Genesis) by Lana Del Rey

Divider from saradika-graphics !

#tsukishima x reader #this is my first ever fic please be kind LOL #i literally have no idea how posting here works help me #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukki x you #tsukishima kei x you #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #tsukishima fluff #hq fluff #tsukishima drabble #haikyuu drabbles #hayoomii

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lyricwritesprose · 1 day ago

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See, this is also why slash ships tend to be very high in popularity. Because when you look for something really fun to ship, what you are looking for is mental and emotional intimacy. You're looking for someone who instinctively looks for their other half when they hear something weird, or something cool, or when they need help, when they are wounded, when they are distressed. Holmes and Watson are some of the originals because there is nobody Holmes would rather tell about it than Watson, for any value of "it," and frankly I think Watson sometimes gets Holmes to explain How He Knows The Thing just so he can hear Holmes have fun with it. Kirk and Spock are the same way. Mulder and Scully are tied together by powerful bonds of can you believe this shit, but what that really means is that they want to hear what the other has to say. They want each other's thoughts. They want each other's opinion. When they need something, whether that's a person to save their life or someone to tell them they're full of shit, Mulder looks to Scully and Scully looks to Mulder.

And frankly that's so much more powerful, to our little shipper brains, than pants feelings. It's so much more significant than the sort of thing that, I don't know, Jason Bourne shared with whatever girl he kissed in those movies. If directors want us to ship their favorite hetero ships, they can leave out the kiss and give us more moments where one is essential to the other's way of existing in this world.

- David Duchovny

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tsuutarr · 1 day ago

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(Yandere Otome Isekai Harem [commoner MLs] x Reader)

"Thrust into an unfamiliar world, you have to navigate your role as the Heir to the Arrington Estate. Luckily for you, you have allies that are eager to help you. Maybe a little too eager, in fact."

The Arrington Estate [Chapter 1]

When you wake up, the first thing you want to do is throw up. You feel so deathly ill that you’re on the cusp of feeling like you’re not alive at all. But you’re in so much pain that you know you have to be alive – there’s no other way your nerves would be filled with what feels like molten lava.

“Breathe.” A voice, gentle and low, soothes from beside you. A warm hand settles itself on your back and you’re not even sure how you managed to register it, but you do. “Drink.”

You’re not fully conscious of how the liquid pours down your throat, but you soon find your eyes fluttering shut. Your nerves settle down as you’re lulled into a peaceful rest.

Time is foreign to you when you wake up. Your body still feels heavy, but it doesn’t hurt like it did prior. Processing things is difficult, your mind being bogged down with thoughts that have no end. All you can do is stare at the ceiling made of ornate golden patterns. Gorgeous, but…

It isn’t familiar to you.

Panic should be shooting through your spine, but there’s a feeling of… emptiness that seems to sink into your heart, making the situation seem dull rather than frightening.

“Are you awake?”

You didn’t even realize that there is someone beside you – beside the bed you’re in. Slowly, you turn your head to see a man sitting poised and proper on a wooden chair. His long chestnut colored hair is tied in a neat ponytail, a pleasant smile on his face. But what really draws your attention are his eyes – golden, almost.

“It appears that your complexion has returned. That is a relief,” he says, but you can’t really discern the emotion on his face.

“Who are you?” The words come out of your mouth before you’ve even processed them inside your brain.

There’s something eerie about the way his expression shifts – it doesn’t shift too noticeably, but there’s a hint of pensiveness that makes you nervous.

“My, I suppose your illness has rendered your memory quite poor. That is unfortunate,” he murmurs, but you’re not entirely sure if he means it or not. It’s a weird contrast – he speaks so kindly, so gently, that he seems so harmless. But he is a stranger to you. You don’t know him – if you can trust him.

Perhaps he notices the wariness on your face, but he relaxes his body somewhat, offering you a friendlier smile as he introduces himself, “My name is Geoffry Cullen. I am your butler.”

“B… Butler? Mine?” you ask, your brain fog slowly receding. Everything about this situation is so foreign to you, from the ornate ceiling to the luxurious bed you’re on to the man who claims he serves you.

You’re pretty sure this isn’t the life you remember.

“Yes, yours.”

“Who am I, then?” you ask, trying to piece together something – anything that can give you a hint.

“Why, you’re the heir to the Arrington Estate,” he states as if it is the most obvious fact in the world. And perhaps it is the most obvious fact to everyone but you.

You can’t help but doubt the validity of this “fact” that’s been told to you because, while you don’t remember much, you do remember something:

You are, in fact, not the heir to the Arrington Estate.

Perhaps your expression gives away your entire dilemma, because Geoffrey offers you a sympathetic smile. It’s the kindest he’s looked so far.

“You must be hungry. Let me bring you your meal.” He stands up gracefully, adjusting his suit jacket as he does so. “In the meantime, please get some more rest.”

He bows, before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You’re still utterly lost and confused, the uncertainty of your own situation making you nervous.

Despite your legs still feeling wobbly, you force yourself to rise. Stumbling, you make your way to the mirror. It’s probably the fanciest mirror you’ve ever seen – it almost looks like a jewelry box. It’s so fancy that you’re undoubtedly certain that you aren’t home. There’s no way you could ever afford a mirror of this quality.

What’s odd, though, is that you actually see yourself in the reflection. A part of you wondered if you’d possess another body or something of that sort, but… you look identical to how you remember looking. But you shouldn’t look like yourself, right? After all, the butler – Geoffrey – had claimed that you are the heir to the Arrington Estate, which you aren’t.

Now that you’ve been allowed to wake up fully without the pain from prior, things are slowly coming back to you. You recall your home, your friends, your family; and it’s all just so normal compared to the grand room you’ve found yourself in. This room feels too fantastical to be real.

In fact, it reminds you of the stories you had read about reincarnation and transmigration back in your world. Everything, from your confusion to the room to the butler, seems like the hallmarks of one of the transmigration or reincarnation stories you had read back then. Only… you’re not certain what story you’re in. Geoffrey as a character is unfamiliar to you. The Arrington Estate as a place is unfamiliar to you.

Furthermore…

Why do you still look like yourself?

You can’t wrap your head around it. Sure, some people retained their appearance when they got teleported into another world, but they usually had a role that did not already exist. These people are the “hero” that got called to help save the world, so it makes sense that they retained their appearance.

But it doesn’t make sense for you. You’re considered the Heir to the Arrington Estate, meaning that you must’ve taken over the role of someone who already exists. And yet you still look like yourself.

You groan, feeling tired. You feel lost and confused. There are too many things you don’t understand – too many variables.

It’s all too much for you.

Slowly, you trudge back to your bed, settling yourself under the plush covers. You’re pretty sure that the blanket itself is enough to pay your rent for a year. You don’t even want to think about how much the pillows, the bed, the entire room may cost. You’re certain that it’s more money than you would’ve been able to see in ten lifetimes, at least.

But now you’re able to see all this money – it’s yours, technically.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. It makes your heart beat loudly inside your brain, making your ears ring as you stare up at the ornate ceiling. Somehow, looking at the ceiling makes the buzz in your brain quiet. Your eyes follow the curves and edges highlighted in gold. Your eyes follow the ceiling’s patterns again and again and again until you lull your tired body into a dreamless slumber.

Geoffrey returns to your room a bit later, only to see you slumbering peacefully. He places your meal down on your bedside table, before taking a seat on the wooden chair by your bedside. Quietly, he watches as your chest rises and falls softly, breathing even in your sleep.

Yes, you must’ve been quite tired, that much is certain. It’s not easy to come back from death, after all. And you should be dead, yet somehow aren’t.

“Curious, isn’t it?” he murmurs, softly, his gaze lingering on your face for any clues.

Yes, it’s quite curious. You should be dead. He was certain that you wouldn’t be able to recover.

Oh, yes, he was quite certain.

After all, he’s the one that killed you.

And yet, here you are.

#yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #tsuuper ocs #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #yandere butler #yandere butler x reader #Geoffrey Cullen Tsuu OC #The Arrington Estate (Tsuuries)#Yandere Otome Isekai #Yandere series

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holdmytesseract · 2 days ago

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One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

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lupinqs · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER TWELVE ━━ Worried About You

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 5.9K

❀ ━ warnings: mentions of unhealthy eating habits

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: so many fun things to come without that boy in the way

MORNING COMES too soon for Jo, pulling her from the deep, restless sleep she finally fell into. At first, she doesn’t open her eyes. She just lies there, warm and still, trying to cling to the hazy edges of unconsciousness. It’s better there. There, she doesn’t have to think. But then she shifts slightly and feels the unmistakable weight of an arm draped over her waist, a steady warmth pressed against her back.

For a fleeting second, in the soft, blurry quiet of waking up, her brain wants to think it’s Asher. That maybe last night was some awful, vivid nightmare, and she’ll roll over and find him there, smiling at her like everything is fine and he didn’t throw the last five—or, really, nineteen—years of their lives away. But then her thoughts sharpen, reality settling like a stone in her chest, and she remembers everything.

It’s not Asher’s arm around her. It’s Paige’s.

Her heart feels heavy all over again, sinking with the weight of the truth. Asher cheated. Since September. Three months of doing God-knows-what with that Brooke girl.

Her throat tightens, and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears to stay put. She cried enough last night. Too much, probably. And Paige—God, Paige—was there for all of it. Patient and kind, not saying much but doing everything Jo needed, like pulling her back together without even trying.

Jo takes a deep breath, feeling it rattle deep in her ribs. Slowly, she turns in Paige’s arms until she’s facing her. The room is dim, the light from the window covered by the blanket Paige always keeps over it. Paige is awake, or mostly awake, blinking sleepily at her. Her blonde hair is a little messy, sticking up at certain edges, and her face is soft and unguarded.

When Paige notices Jo looking at her, a soft smile tugs at her lips. She reaches out, her hand brushing some hair away from Jo’s face with a gentle touch. Jo leans into it a little. “Hey,” Paige murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep.

Jo forces a small smile of her own. It’s weak, but it’s something. “Hey,” she whispers back.

They fall quiet again. Jo doesn’t know what to say, and Paige doesn’t seem in a rush to fill the silence. Paige’s arm is still wrapped around Jo’s waist, and the younger girl finds herself wanting to be even closer. It just—it feels good, being held like this. Comforting. Safe. She closes her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into Paige’s warmth.

It’s not like Asher’s. Asher’s arms always felt solid, familiar, but Paige’s—Paige’s feel different. Softer, somehow, though still firm with muscle. Not worse, just… different. And maybe Jo likes it more than she should.

Her mind keeps circling back to everything that happened, no matter how much she wants it to stop. The fight. The crushing, suffocating betrayal. The excuses. Jo’s loved Asher for so long, she doesn’t even know how to think of herself without him. It’s always been them. People used to say they were inevitable, like something out of a movie. It feels like a joke now.

Her fingers tighten slightly around Bubbles, the stuffed turtle Paige had thought to grab for her last night. Jo had clung to it like a lifeline, the soft fabric soaked with tears by the time she’d finally fallen asleep. Paige hadn’t let go of her the entire night. She didn’t even flinch when Jo’s sobs soaked her shirt.

Paige shifts slightly, pulling Jo closer, her hand still resting lightly on Jo’s side. It’s like Paige knows Jo needs this without needing to be told. She always does. Jo doesn’t know how she does it, how Paige seems to understand her better than anyone else.

Paige’s thumb moves absentmindedly over the fabric of Jo’s shirt, a small, soothing motion that Jo finds herself focusing on. It’s helps to pull her away from the spiral of her thoughts a little. She lets out a slow breath, her body relaxing just slightly more against Paige’s.

“Thanks for dealing with me,” Jo whispers after a while.

Paige’s hand stills for a moment, and then she squeezes Jo’s side gently. “You’re not something that has to be dealt with, Jo,” she says slowly, voice soft but steady. “I’mma always be here for you, ’kay?”

Jo’s chest tightens again, but this time it’s not entirely from sadness. She doesn’t have the words to explain how much that means to her, how much Paige means to her. So she doesn’t try. She just shifts a little closer, letting her head rest against Paige’s shoulder. Paige doesn’t say anything else, and Jo appreciates that.

Jo isn’t sure how long they stay like that. But, eventually, Paige begins to slowly sit up, her hand still pressed against Jo’s side. Jo watches as the blonde rubs at her eyes a little, before looking down at her. She offers her another small smile.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast,” Paige says determinedly, her fingers trailing across Jo’s waist. “Just stay here. Relax. Go back to sleep if you want.”

Jo blinks at her, her lips parting as if to argue, but she doesn’t really have the energy to fight—even if it’s just a little bit of bickering. Besides, the idea of staying in bed, cocooned in the comfort of Paige’s blankets, is all too tempting, even if she doubts Paige’s ability to cook anything remotely edible. She’s a little afraid Paige might burn their apartment building to the ground, but she also knows that Paige is trying to help in the only way she can think of, and Jo doesn’t have it in her to tell her no.

“Okay,” Jo murmurs. “Just be careful.”

Paige just grins down at her, expression warm and inviting. She squeezes Jo’s side again before swinging her legs off the bed, standing. Jo’s eyes follow her as she moves toward the door. The blonde glances back at her, saying, “It’s gonna be good, trust,” before leaving through the bedroom door.

Once Paige is gone, the room feels quieter—emptier.

Jo sinks back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling as the events of the last twelve hours replay in her mind like a terrible movie. She can still hear Asher’s voice, still see the guilt, the desperation in his eyes.

Her stomach twists with nausea as the memory washes over her. She really doesn’t want to think about it anymore, but it’s like her brain isn’t giving her any other choice.

Jo sighs, feeling like she’s been run over by a train. She rolls onto her side, her hand reaching for her phone. She’s got to know, has to see. The urge is too strong to resist.

She unlocks her phone and goes straight to Asher’s Instagram. It’s like picking at a scab, painful but impossible to stop. Unable to help herself, she scrolls through his posts, her thumb pausing over a photo dump he posted a couple weeks ago. In the first photo, he’s at a football game, smiling, looking so carefree, like he doesn’t have a single regret in the world.

And then she’s going to his following, her heart pounding as she searches for a name—Brooke. He only follows one, and, sure enough when Jo clicks on her profile—the girl goes to Penn State. This is her.

Jo clicks on the first photo and almost immediately regrets it. Brooke is beautiful—brown hair that falls in perfect curls, striking green eyes that seem to glow, and a smile that’s so effortless it feels like a punch to Jo’s gut. Jo stares at the photo, her mind racing with questions she doesn’t want to ask but can’t seem to stop. What does she have that I don’t?

The thought makes her throat tighten, and she’s about to click away when the door creaks open. Paige steps back inside, leaning against the doorframe and staring at Jo curiously.

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” she asks.

Jo hesitates, her finger hovering over the screen. She glances up at Paige, who’s already raising an eyebrow at her. With a sigh, Jo sits up fully in bed and turns the phone toward the blonde, showing her the photo of Brooke.

“Is she prettier than me?” Jo asks, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably.

Paige’s expression shifts a little, her brow furrowing as she walks closer, stopping at the end of the bed. She leans in, looking at the photo for a long second before meeting Jo’s gaze, blue eyes intense.

“Who is she?” Paige questions, though her voice is firm enough that Jo thinks she might already know the answer.

Jo swallows hard anyway, the words catching in her throat. “The girl he cheated on me with,” she mutters. The sentence tastes bitter on her tongue.

The instant the words leave her mouth, Paige’s expression hardens. Without hesitation, she reaches down and snatches the phone right out of Jo’s hand. “Nah,” Paige says firmly, holding it just out of Jo’s reach. “You are not goin’ down that path.”

“Hey, give it back!” Jo protests, sitting up and reaching for the phone.

But Paige is quick, sliding away with a mischievous grin. “Uh-uh,” Paige says, her arm extended high with the phone, like she’s playing keep-away with a basketball. “You’re not gettin’ it back until you stop being all self-destructive.”

Jo narrows her eyes a little, her competitiveness somehow managing to break through despite the whole situation she’s got going on. “Paige, I swear—” She lunges, tackling Paige’s arm, but Paige squirms away, laughing some. The sound of Paige’s laughter—loud, unrestrained, and higher in pitch—is oddly infectious, and before Jo knows it, she’s laughing too. The sound bubbles out of her chest like a small spark of light breaking through the dark pressing down on her. It feels good, to laugh like this.

Jo pulls Paige, and the blonde ends up stumbling onto the bed. It freaks beneath them as they wrestle for the phone. Jo tries to pin Paige’s arm down, but she wriggles free easily enough. “Paige, I’m serious! Give it back!” Jo protests, hands grabbing at the older girl.

“I’m serious, too!” Paige retorts, dodging Jo’s next grab with an exaggerated roll. “This is for your own good, JoJo!”

“Don’t ��JoJo’ me!” Jo huffs, planting her hands on the mattress to steady herself before diving forward again. This time, she catches Paige’s wrist, but Paige twists her body, and suddenly they’re tumbling together across the bed, laughter spilling out of them again. For the first time since she found out, Jo isn’t thinking about Asher, or Brooke, or the overwhelming heartache that’s been sitting heavy within her. All she can focus on is the sheer ridiculousness of her and Paige’s impromptu wrestling match and the warmth that comes with it.

Paige, of course, ends up with the upper hand. With one final burst of effort, she pushes Jo back against the pillows, straddling her waist and pinning her wrists to the bed. “Ha!” Paige exclaims loudly. But then her voice grows a little softer as she grins down at Jo, murmuring, “I win.”

Jo stills, her laughter fading as she suddenly becomes acutely aware of the position they’re in. Paige is above her, her legs on either side of Jo’s hips, her hands firm but gentle around Jo’s wrists. Paige’s face is so close, her still untamed bed head framing her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted as she catches her breath. Jo’s heart does their weird, traitorous thing where it skips a beat, and she doesn’t know why. Or maybe she does, but she refuses to acknowledge it because the insinuation would be nothing short of absurd.

Her eyes trace Paige’s face—those pretty blue eyes that always seem to see straight through her, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her mouth quirks just slightly like she’s still holding back a laugh. Jo’s gaze dips, just for a second, to Paige’s lips, and then she quickly looks away, heat flooding her cheeks. God, this whole Asher thing must have given her brain damage or something.

Paige doesn’t seem to notice Jo’s sudden shift in demeanor. She’s too busy leaning closer, her expression softening as she speaks. “You are a million times fuckin’ prettier than that bitch,” Paige says firmly, resolutely, the kind of tone she uses when she’s absolutely sure of something. “But stalking her is only gonna make you feel worse. I’m serious, Joey. I’ll revoke your phone privileges if I have to.”

Jo blinks, feeling Paige’s words cutting through some of the self-loathing that’s been poisoning her brain. Paige says it like it’s a fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it does actually make Jo believe her. Just a little.

Still, she can’t help the sarcastic quip that slips out. “What are you, my mother?” she asks.

Paige grins, leaning back just slightly but still keeping Jo’s wrists pinned. “Nah,” she replies, her voice light. “’M your captain. So you gotta listen to me.”

Jo rolls her eyes, but it’s more playful than annoyed. “Sure,” she mumbles, though the corners of her mouth twitch upward. She feels a little lighter now, like Paige’s words and antics have managed to patch up some of the open wounds.

But then Paige’s gaze locks with hers, and the air around them stills. They’re just staring at each other now, the laughter fading into silence. Paige’s hands are still on Jo’s wrists, her knees pressing into the mattress to keep her balanced. Jo’s pulse quickens as she stares at Paige’s eyes. There’s something in her expression—something soft and searching—that makes Jo’s breath catch.

Her thoughts begin to jumble into a mess of confusion and something else. Because why does Paige have to look at her like that? And why does she have to be so close, her presence so suddenly overwhelming? And, most importantly, why does it make Jo’s heart feel like it’s about to burst out of her chest?

The moment stretches heavily, until, like a switch is flipped, Paige seems to snap out of it. She blinks, breaking eye contact, and quickly rolls off of Jo, her movements abrupt. “C’mon,” she says, grabbing Jo’s hand and tugging her toward the edge of the bed. “Breakfast.”

Jo lets out a shaky breath, sitting up and following Paige. But as she glances at Paige’s back, a small part of her wonders what that was—and why she kind of wishes it had lasted longer.

PAIGE SITS on the couch, one leg tucked underneath her, the glow of the TV reflecting faintly off her face. The UConn men’s team is playing, but she isn’t paying much attention, not really. She’s scrolling through her phone during timeouts, trying to keep her mind from drifting to Jo. It’s not like she’s trying to smother Jo with concern—it’s just that lately, it feels impossible not to worry. Jo’s been… off. Maybe not in ways that anyone else would notice, but Paige sees it. She pays so much attention to her that it would be impossible not to.

Jo isn’t as okay as she pretends to be. It’s in the way she laughs, too loud and too often, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as everyone else that she’s fine. It’s in the way she brushes off questions about how she’s doing or jokes when someone pries too much. But Paige knows better. She sees how Jo has thrown herself into basketball like it’s the only thing tethering her to the ground, the way she pushes herself so hard in practice that she’s damn near sick afterward. She knows Jo is out at either ungodly hours of the night or ungodly hours of the morning, always trying to get more reps in. And it’s not just the basketball.

Paige can tell Jo’s forgetting meals. Lately, she’s been having to remind her to drink or hydrate herself much more often, because she can tell that she hasn’t. Paige knows Jo isn’t doing it intentionally—she’s just been forgetting, too caught up in everything else to remember she needs to take care of herself, too.

Paige knows Jo’s been struggling since the breakup with Asher, and while Jo has always been a perfectionist, always had basketball as her number one priority, this feels different. More self-destructive.

And Paige doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like feeling like she’s watching Jo slowly burn herself out and not knowing how to stop it. Jo doesn’t let people see her cracks—she’s so stubborn about it, only allowing people to see the happy-go-lucky side of her—but Paige sees them anyway. It’s like watching someone tread water, the strain starting to show in every movement, and Paige can’t shake the anxiety that one day Jo’s going to slip under.

She sighs, staring blankly at the TV as the Alex Karaban makes a three. The apartment feels too quiet without Jo here. Jo said she’d be studying with Ice tonight, but Paige doesn’t entirely believe her. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Jo—it’s just that, lately, Jo hasn’t exactly been forthcoming about what she’s doing. Paige has a bad feeling she’s at the gym or running herself into the ground somewhere, but she doesn’t know how to call Jo out on it without starting a fight.

The sound of the front door opening snaps Paige out of her thoughts. She glances over as Jo steps inside, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, her ponytail bouncing as she kicks the door shut behind her. Jo grins at Paige, breathless and bright-eyed, as she bends down to untie her shoes. “Hey,” she says, her voice chipper in a way that only deepens Paige’s suspicion.

Paige narrows her eyes slightly, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Hey…” she replies slowly, her tone cautious. Jo’s coat is still zipped up, and her sneakers are wet, leaving faint marks on the floor. Jo’s grinning, but her face is shiny with sweat, like she’s been moving hard for a while. Paige tilts her head, her eyebrows drawing together as she asks, “Were you running?”

Jo shrugs off her coat, avoiding Paige’s gaze as she tosses it over the back of a chair. “Um… yeah,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Paige stares at her, incredulous. It’s nearly midnight. It’s December. It’s freezing outside. Jo is nineteen, a teenage girl running in the pitch-black cold of winter, and it’s so obviously not safe that Paige can’t believe Jo thought it was a good idea. And yet, Jo’s standing there like it’s nothing, like she’s completely unaware of how reckless it is, how it makes Paige’s chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to panic.

“Bro,” Paige says, her voice sharp, her heart pounding just a little faster as she sits up straighter on the couch. “You gotta stop doing that. You’re gonna get sick or fuckin’ kidnapped.”

“P, I’m not gonna get kidnapped,” Jo says with an airy, dismissive laugh, brushing her off like it’s nothing. Like the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even deserve consideration. But Paige can’t just let it go. She doesn’t like the thought of Jo out there alone, running through the freezing December night with God knows who lurking around, and the fact that Jo doesn’t seem to care—or even notice—just makes it worse.

Paige shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line as she gestures for Jo to come closer, patting at the couch cushion. “C’mere,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Jo hesitates for the briefest of moments before sighing and making her way over. She flops onto the couch beside Paige with the kind of carelessness that’s so uniquely Jo, her movements loose and unguarded. Without a word, she curls into Paige’s side, her head resting on Paige’s shoulder, her body folding into Paige like this is second nature. Because by now, it is.

Paige’s heart skips a beat, like it always does when Jo gets this close. She wraps her arms around Jo instinctively, holding her tight like she’s something fragile and precious that might slip through her fingers if she’s not careful. Her chest tightens with the feelings she never knows what to do with—feelings she’s spent months trying to suppress, trying to shove down deep where Jo won’t see them. But it’s impossible to ignore the way her body reacts to moments like this, the way her pulse quickens and her breath hitches, the way she feels like she’s holding her entire world in her arms.

“You’re freezing,” Paige murmurs, her voice soft but filled with quiet concern. She starts rubbing her hands up and down Jo’s arms, trying to generate some warmth. Jo’s skin is icy under her fingers, and the thought of her being out in this weather makes Paige’s stomach clench all over again.

“I feel good,” Jo disagrees, her tone light and casual, like she doesn’t even notice the chill seeping into her body. But Paige can feel the way Jo leans into her warmth, just a little. She’s been like this recently—minimizing, brushing things off, pretending she doesn’t need anything from anyone. It drives Paige a little crazu, but it also makes her want to hold Jo tighter, to make sure she knows she doesn’t have to do it all by herself.

For a few minutes, they just sit like that, Paige holding Jo close, her hands still rubbing warmth into Jo’s arms even though she knows Jo won’t ask for it. The TV plays in the background, but Paige isn’t paying attention to it anymore. All she can focus on is the weight of Jo against her, the steady rise and fall of her breath, the faint scent of Jo’s shampoo mixing with the cold air clinging to her skin. It’s a little bit intoxicating.

Eventually, though, the gnawing worry in the back of her mind pushes its way back to the surface, and Paige remembers something she needs to ask. She tilts her head slightly, glancing down at Jo. “Hey,” she says softly, her voice cutting through the comfortable quiet. “Have you eaten?”

Jo doesn’t respond right away. She makes a little face, her nose scrunching up like she’s just remembered something she forgot to do. “Um… this morning?” she says, her voice unsure, almost like she’s questioning herself.

Paige gives her a look, her brows knitting together in frustration and concern. “Jo,” she exclaims, her voice sharper than she intends. She knows she shouldn’t push, shouldn’t scold, but it’s hard not to when she sees Jo taking care of everything but herself.

“It’s fine,” Jo says, waving her off like it’s no big deal. Paige hates how easily Jo dismisses her own well-being, like it’s the last thing on her priority list.

“It’s not,” Paige says firmly, shaking her head. She squeezes her arms around Jo slightly, as if it might drive the point home. “You gotta eat to stay healthy.”

“I know,” Jo mumbles, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans further into Paige’s warmth. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s something resigned about it too, like she’s heard it all before and doesn’t want to hear it again.

Paige considers pressing her, considers giving her a whole speech about how she can’t keep running herself into the ground like this, but something in Jo’s expression stops her. She looks tired, and Paige decides to let it go for now. Instead, she grabs her phone off the couch cushion and opens DoorDash, scrolling through the options.

“Whatchu want?” Paige asks, her voice gentler this time.

Jo doesn’t open her eyes at the question. Instead, she shifts a little, nestling closer into Paige’s side like she’s trying to mold herself into the older girl. “Pick for me,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against Paige’s hoodie.

Paige rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. She knows this game by now. Jo says she doesn’t care, but Paige knows better—she always cares. Jo’s just too tired to bother making a decision for herself. And anyway, Paige knows her better than anyone else, so it’s not like it’s hard. Jo’s a creature of habit. She always orders the same thing: chicken tenders or a burger, fries with extra salt, and usually a ridiculously sweet milkshake.

Paige taps the order into her phone quickly, almost automatically, and then sets it aside on the armrest, her arm falling back around Jo like it belongs there. The weight of Jo against her is familiar now, like it’s just part of her life, and she wonders if Jo even realizes how often she leans on her like this. Probably not.

For a while, they just sit there, tangled together on the couch. Jo’s body is heavy against hers, the kind of heavy that means she’s suspiciously close to falling asleep. Paige feels the faint rhythm of Jo’s breathing against her side, slow and even, and she can tell Jo’s teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Y’know,” Paige says softly, nudging Jo’s shoulder, “you can’t eat if you’re asleep.”

Jo frowns a little at that, her eyebrows pulling together, but she doesn’t open her eyes. “I’m tired,” she mutters, her voice thick and groggy, like she’s already half-dreaming. And then, after a beat, she adds, quieter, “And my body hurts.”

Paige lets out a sigh. She knows why Jo’s body hurts—of course she does. That happens when you push yourself as hard as Jo’s been doing.

“I wonder why,” Paige says dryly, giving Jo a pointed look even though Jo’s eyes are still closed, not even registering the glare Paige is sending her way.

Jo cracks one eye open at that, just barely, and then lifts her hand to swat at Paige’s arm in the weakest attempt at a rebuttal. Paige catches her hand easily, holding it in hers for a moment before tugging her upright, gently but insistently.

“Paige,” Jo whines, her voice taking on that petulant tone she gets sometimes when she’s tired.

“Shh,” Paige says, ignoring the weak protest as she shifts Jo around. It takes a little maneuvering, but eventually, she gets Jo where she wants her: sitting between Paige’s legs with her back pressed against Paige’s front, her head resting against Paige’s collarbone.

For a second, Jo doesn’t move, her body stiff with confusion, but then Paige’s hands find her shoulders, and she feels Jo relax all at once, like the tension just drains out of her. Paige starts working her fingers into the tight muscles there, thumbs pressing into the knots she knows are always hiding just beneath Jo’s skin.

It’s instinctive, really. She’s done this before, whenever Jo really needs her to, and she knows exactly where the worst of it is. Her thumbs trace the line of Jo’s shoulder blades, pressing firmly but carefully, and Jo lets out this small, quiet hum of appreciation, her head tilting slightly to the side.

“You’re so knotted up, Joey,” Paige mutters, half to herself, her fingers finding another stubborn knot and working at it slowly. As her own words register with her, Paige can’t help but think to herself—pause. That sounded far different than she meant it to.

Jo doesn’t appear to be thinking about that, though, instead making another little sound, something between a hum and a sigh, and she leans back into Paige more, her head tipping to the side to give Paige better access. “That feels good,” she mumbles, her voice low and drowsy.

Paige smiles faintly at that, though she feels her cheeks heat, too. Her hands move up to Jo’s neck, her fingers pressing gently into the base of her skull. She can feel Jo melting against her, her body going soft and pliant, and it’s almost too much. The closeness, the weight of Jo against her, the way her fingers are in Jo’s hair now, brushing lightly against her scalp—it’s enough to make Paige’s heart race, her stomach flutter.

“You gotta stop letting yourself get this tense,” Paige murmurs, her voice softer now, almost affectionate. “It’s not good for you.”

Jo doesn’t respond, just hums again, her eyes falling shut as Paige’s hands work their way back down to her shoulders. Paige keeps going, her fingers kneading gently, carefully, until she feels the last of the tension start to ease.

Eventually, she lets her hands still, her fingers lingering on Jo’s shoulders for a moment before she leans forward, resting her chin on Jo’s shoulder. Her nose brushes against Jo’s neck lightly, and she feels Jo shift slightly, leaning into her touch without even thinking about it.

“Joey,” Paige says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I’m really worried about you.”

Jo doesn’t say anything, but Paige can feel the way she stiffens slightly, her body tensing again under Paige’s hands.

“I need you to promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” Paige continues, her words coming out softer now, gentler, but no less firm. “I’m serious. You can’t keep doin’ all this.”

Jo doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Paige wonders if she’s pushed too hard, said too much. But then Jo shifts again, leaning back against her, and Paige can feel the way she nods, just a little, like she’s letting herself lean on Paige for once.

And even though Paige knows Jo might not be able to do good on her answer—not entirely, not yet—she also knows that if Jo can’t take care of herself, Paige will do her best to take care of her. She always will.

IT TAKES a couple of weeks, but Jo eventually starts slipping back into healthier habits. It’s slow, gradual, almost imperceptible at first—like the way spring melts into summer. But Paige notices every small change. She notices when Jo starts remembering to eat without being reminded, when she actually stretches after practice instead of just crashing into a chair. She notices when Jo finally stops going out on late-night runs, and she’s proud to say she played a part in putting an end to that.

Okay, maybe Paige’s a little overbearing. She’s aware of it, but she doesn’t care. If being overbearing means making sure Jo isn’t spiraling again, so be it. It’s worth it, even if it means insisting on walking Jo back to her dorm every night after team meetings and double-checking that she’s actually getting enough sleep. And if that also happens to mean sharing a bed almost every night—whether it’s in Jo’s room or her own—then that’s just a bonus. Paige tries not to think too hard about how much she prefers it that way.

Jo doesn’t complain. If anything, she seems to welcome it. She lets Paige pull her into bed when her eyelids get heavy at a respectable hour, lets Paige cuddle in with her. It’s just what’s become normal.

It’s only when Paige realizes what’s driving Jo—what’s keeping her grounded—that everything else starts to click into place. Jo wants a national championship. That’s what she’s been laser-focused on since day one, the thing that keeps her going even when her body’s sore and her mind is tired. And Paige gets it—God, she really gets it. She’s been there before. Paige knows what it’s like to push through pain, to have that singular drive that makes everything else fade into the background.

And because she understands it, she steps up. Jo doesn’t ask her to, but Paige can’t help herself. She starts staying after practice, waiting for Jo to finish her drills so she can point out the tiny things—the positioning of her feet, the angle of her wrist on a jumper, the way she can seal a defender better when posting up. Paige has been where Jo is; she’s been the All-American freshman, the star on the rise. If anyone can help Jo get to that next level, it’s her. And besides, with her ACL still recovering, she might as well make herself useful.

It’s not like Jo needs much help. She was elite when she got to UConn, and now she’s something else entirely. Since Azzi went down in the Notre Dame game a couple of weeks ago, Jo’s stepped up in ways no one saw coming. She’s putting up ridiculous numbers—National Player of the Year numbers, if Paige’s being honest—and carrying the team in a way that even Geno outwardly tells her he’s proud about. Paige is proud, too. Obviously.

They’ve never been closer. Which is saying something, considering they’ve been close since basically the first day of living together. But now, it’s like their lives are so tightly intertwined they don’t know where one of them ends and the other begins. They spend almost every night together now, to the point where it’s become more unusual to sleep apart. Paige’s bed or Jo’s bed—it doesn’t matter. When they’re on the road for away games, they’ve even managed to pull off the occasional roommate swap, with Ice (Paige’s roommate) and Dorka (Jo’s roommate) begrudgingly covering for them. The arrangement works as long as CD never finds out. And while Ice and Dorka make it clear they’ll throw Jo and Paige under the bus if anyone asks, Paige can tell they don’t really mind much.

Still, Paige can’t really ignore the blatant truth at this point: that this isn’t how normal friends act. She knows that. She knows this thing with Jo—whatever it is—has gone beyond the walls of regular friendship. Friends don’t fall asleep in each other’s arms. Friends don’t hold each other like this, tangled up in hotel beds with no space between them.

But Jo doesn’t seem to notice—or if she does, she doesn’t say anything. And Paige doesn’t want to ruin it by bringing it up, especially with the breakup still fresh and still in the unknown about whether Jo feels anything at all for her. So she stays quiet, pushes her own thoughts to the side, and tells herself it’s fine. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Tonight is another one of those nights.

The hotel room is quiet, save for the hum of the heater in the corner and the soft sound of Jo’s breathing. The team had won earlier—a conference game that Jo basically dominated—and Paige had watched from the bench, half coach, half cheerleader. She can still picture Jo on the court, the way she sliced through defenders like they weren’t even there, the way she carried the team on her back like it was nothing.

Now, they’re curled up in the same bed, the blankets pulled up to their chins. Jo’s body is warm and solid against her, her head tucked beneath Paige’s chin, and Paige swears she can still feel the residual adrenaline humming through Jo’s veins.

“Jo,” Paige murmurs after a long stretch of silence, her voice low and soft. She doesn’t even know what she’s about to say; the words are just there, waiting to spill out.

Jo shifts slightly, turning her head so her cheek rests against Paige’s collarbone. “Hmm?”

“You were really good tonight,” Paige tells her, lips brushing against Jo’s hair.

Jo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she presses a little closer, her arm looping around Paige’s waist. “’Cause of you,” she mumbles, her voice quiet, almost shy.

Paige swallows hard. She wants to say something, wants to tell Jo how much she really means to her, how proud she is, how she’s the best thing that’s happened to this team—but the words catch in her throat.

Instead, she tightens her arm around Jo, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of Jo’s shirt. It’s enough.

For now.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #ncaa wbb #wlw #nobody gets me

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yourlocalangeldoll · 2 days ago

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- ❀.ೃ࿔* RV!Friendgroup au !

- ❀ in which You and your team, Nam Gyu, Thanos, Se-mi and Min-su all left after the forth game but didn’t separate. ❀ -

After the fourth game, O’s finally managed to lose the vote, resulting in everyone being practically kicked out. They were decent enough to leave you’s in your… ‘friend groups’. And let’s just say when it finally came down to it, it was harder to say goodbye to this group of losers than everyone thought. So why not merge all their money together, pay off each other’s debts, and move into an a big double story RV together?

- Thanos is the one who came up with the idea of living in an RV all together. Despite being the one to suggest the idea, he tries to act all nonchalant and uncaring, however everyone see’s through his facade. Being out of the games has chilled Thanos out a bit, not being high off drugs all the time, but unfortunately that also means facing what happened while in the games. For a while after the games Thanos couldn’t help but feel guilty for his behaviour during the games. But don’t think he’s some calm angel now, it’s still Thanos after all. Still rapping and making a now steady income. Doesn’t really try to stay on the lowkey about all the money he’s got, but doesn’t, however wouldn’t hesitate to brag if someone asked, brought money up or annoyed him. Kind of the ‘father’ of the group at necessary times.

- Nam Gyu is kind of like the edgy older brother at times. He pretends not to care about what happened at the games- but as anyone who was in such a situation, it fucked him up. May or may have not apologized to Min su in private for being an asshole then proceeded to ‘threaten’ Min su to be quiet ‘bout it. Doesn’t care about what’s going on most of the time. A regular weed smoker. Chilled down with the intense drugs a bit. Has a silent care and protectiveness for everyone. Started ‘working’ by helping Thanos out with his rap career. It’s still Nam Gyu, so he’s still an asshole. Will brag about all the money he has whenever he feels like it.

- Se-mi is the mom or older sister of the group. She’ll gladly put the losers(Thanos and Nam Gyu) in their place if needed. Her area of the big upstairs bedroom is filled with various grunge or alt bands. The one who tends to clean up and make breakfast, lunch and dinner. What’s surprising about her to everyone is how firm she is in eating healthy and properly. After leaving the games she’s gathered up some more piercings, for example nipple piercings. Works as a cashier at the local grocery market just a couple minutes away from where the RV is usually parked. Now more inclined to participate in drug usage.

- Min-su is the one who listens. Just listens whenever someone needs something. He tends to take care of the outdoor of the RV. Still shy and intimidated easily. For a long while he felt Nam Gyu was forced to apologize by Se-mi until he asked her and she was like “..huh?”. He was the most hesitant to move into the RV with everyone. After the games he didn’t immediately get a job, instead opting to go to school for Youth and child care courses. After afterwards he started working as a child special needs caregiver. Has never touched drugs or shown interest. Since the games he seems more comfortable with Thanos, but is doubtful of Nam Gyu.

- Y/N is the ‘innocent’ one next to Min su and seen as such to everyone. Doesn’t do much around the RV unless you count all the sweets she bakes for everyone or blankets ‘n clothes. Occasionally does laundry. Currently doing online school for fashion design, so she doesn’t have a job yet. When she partakes in drug use, let’s just say she gets high as fuck. Her appearance is innocent, so no one expects her to make dirty jokes or think of such too much. Is she really innocent? or is she just good at acting like it?

- The RV is large and expensive, having two floors. The bottom holds the washroom, kitchen, living room and just an… indoor outdoor area. What is the ‘indoor outdoor’ area? It’s a plain room at the end of the RV that’s all window and then wood floor and ceiling. Has a peaceful ambiance to it. The RV despite being modern and expensive, isn’t actually too… ‘technologized’? it has a homey feeling. to say the least. The second floor is home to everybody’s bedroom, one largee empty space with beds along the edges. There’s a bed at the floor, then the ceiling and down a couple inches is cupboards for clothes or simply storing your stuff. Stuffed between the bed and the cupboards is plain open window. There’s unfortunately, no privacy between the beds. The upstairs is usually messy with clothes thrown about.

is the seemingly innocent and normal friend group really that innocent and normal?

- ❀ written by yourlocalangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

- ❀ This will be smutty and very suggestive on one side, but can also be read as a funny lil sfw au 💞 feel free to send reqs

- ❀ This idea is from a dream lmao, may or may not also have character-on-character action 😫 idk if i’m in ovulation week or not but uh yeah i’m lowk feeling 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

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star-suh · 1 day ago

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When the Nerd’s a Fuckboy

Jake Sim x Male Reader

an: just realized part of this fic is similar to the minho bit in the week of wonders one so forgive me for recycling material 😭😭

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yn has been failing his math subject on college, “why the fuck did i choose this degree when i hate maths so much” he cried in the shoulders of his friend sunghoon, “because you are a dumbass” he replied unfazed. “ugh.. whatever” yn blurted out while holding his chest, showing to his friend how much his words hurted him. “instead of being here crying, why won’t you ask one of your classmates, the most intelligent perhaps, to help you with the subject?”.

“hmm the smarter one… who’s the smarty pants in my class?” yn was lost into thinking about it that sunghonn thought he was simply dissociating, “oh fuck no, IT’S JAKEE!!” he yelled making everybody who’s passing by to turn their heads towards the pair of friends, sunghoon covering his eyes with his hand, “the fuck” he murmured embarrased. “sorry by the way but i can’t ask him to help me”, yn exclaimed, “why?” the other asks. “he’s just too scary to approach, he’s a smart guy but he gives off bad boy vibes like a fuckboy”.

“well that sounds off, how can a nerd be a fuckboy. aren’t you just overreacting yn?” sunghoon says with curiosity in his voice, “accompany me to the classroom, you'll see him there”.

“fuck he does give those vibes ynnie, he for sure likes it rough”, “oh my god sunghoon shut up” yn's face lit up in a shade of red, “go to your classroom pervert”. sunghoon waves a goodbye while laughing his ass off. “is he like that?” yn murmurs in a low voice when entering the classroom.

minutes passed and yn was indecisive if talking to jake or not, the idea sunghoon implanted on his brain not leaving him alone, it's like a ghost coming time to time to haunt him. jake is such a hot guy that everyone who sees him from afar would think he's the bully of the class but they get surprised when they see how he's so nerdy. “h-hi” yn greeted jake, “hello” he greets back while still eyeing the notes written on his notebook, “i was wondering if you umm… could help me with math” yn’s whole body still, nervousness taking over his body. “why should i do that?” jake asks making yn gasp in surprise, if he was in an animated comedy he surely would be animated like a piece of glass shattering. he tries to laughs the awkwardness off, “you're the top student and i really.. really need to pass it with good grades”, “not convincing enough” he replied immediately. ‘fuck why does he has to be like that’ he thought and seeing there's no other way to convince him he took a desperate measure. he pulled his jeans right above his knees so he can bend them properly and kneel in front of jake, clasping his hands together he then proceed to say, “please help me, i beg. i’ll give you anything in return”.

something was awoken in jake, seeing yn kneeling in front of him, with those pouty lips and cock sucking eyes. he needs to have more of that, he needs to take yn. no, he has to ruin yn. jake was one of those smarty pants boys with a high libido so his hornyness was at max level every day, this can be proven when seeing his phone full of dating apps and how almost everyone in the classroom was head over heels for him knowing how good he was in bed, hell, even some teachers and staff members of the college were like that from him, truly a nerdy manwhore. so naturally he has to ruin yn expeditiously.

“anything?” jake asks, his tone laced with lust and depravity but yn wasn't as dumb as he looked like, he knew exactly what jake was asking for but nonetheless he decided ro play that game too.

“yes anything please” he keep on with that act because at the end of the day he's gonna learn something and will enjoy it too so it was a win-win to him but oh boy he doesn't know what's coming to him.

—

“what's the answer?” jake's bangs sticked to his forehead due to the sweat, the frame of his glasses falling off of his nose bridge but he quickly fixes it, he licks his lips “answer me slut” the sound of the spank echoed in the room, his hand imprinted on yn's butt cheek, who was sitting on the other's dick with his back facing jake.

“i-i don't rememberrr” yn gasped, letting his sweaty and marked body fall to the floor but with jake's meat still inside him, the nerd has been obliterating his hole the past hour. everytime he messes up one of the 10 questions on the sheet, jake punishes him and made him start again but with a new sheet of questions. “i won't be able to focus if you keep hitting my prostate” yn whimpers. “or you're just messing up because you love my dick stretching this pussy. even a high schooler could resolve this sheet in 15 minutes” jake pulls out his dick and quickly replaces them with his digits. four of them entering at once on the gaping pink hole, smeared in saliva and lube. “or maybe you're just dumb as a fucking rock” the top adds.

yn's head rests on the floor, no strenght left in his body, a pool of drool forming on the floor, “at least give me a kiss” he pouted, “i don't kiss my hook ups” the nerd replied.

“commme onnn~” jake slaps yn's cheek, “four fingers were enough for you to get fucked dumb?”, “n-n..noo~... i just need to-” he was cut off when jake put his fingers on his mouth, “ah ah ah ah ah.. you can't get distracted dumbslut but i'll let it pass this time. meanwhile i think on something to help you keep tasting your boypussy juices”.

jake's dick slid up and down on top of the other's pulsating hole, the burning friction making it shiver in pleasure as if it's asking for more, “hungry pussy” he blurted out, “haven't had one like that for so long”.

“jake pleashee~ help me with thish and then you c-can fu-fuck me all you wanttt~” yn tried to convince jake so he can rest a little but to no avail, “or i'll fuck you right now and then we study” he slaps his tip on top of the hole, then introduces only that part and starts whiping his dick with his hand, the vibration provoking squelching sounds that were like music foe jake's ears, “god how much i love a wet pussy”. “ish not a pusshyy~” yn talks back and it's received with another harsh spank, his ass bright red already, “it's a pussy, my pussy now” jake slams himself onto yn drawing a loud cry from the bottom, “FUCKK!! sho big~”, yn's eyes rolles back and his tongue was out, “look at you, all dumb over my cock”.

jake pulls yn towards him, locking him with his arm around his neck, bulging veins decorating that pretty skin. the headlock wasn't that hard but it has the right amount of pressure to choke yn. the dizziness making him squirm and by consequence it made his hole grip hard jake's dick. “holy fuck, i'm gonna nut in this boypussy” jake grunted, pistoning his hips faster and harder completely ruining that gaping hole.

“fill me up. fill me up” yn begged, jake’s dick throbbing inside him sending waves of pleasure throughout his body, “fill thish pusshy up. to the brimmm~”. the slurred words plus the beggin made jake's dick twitch, his thrusts becoming sloppier, an in an impulsive act he brings yn’s face towards him to kiss him –breaking his 'rule’–, his tongue eager to explore inside yn's oral cavity. in one of those sloppy thrusts he hit yn's sweet spot so hard that it made him orgasm right there –cumming hands free– the white liquid spilling over his body and then running down his shaft to drip on top of jake's balls. jake spurted his spooge inside, riding his high while still buried on yn with a few more thrusts. he then let go of the headlock letting the other catch some breath. jake let's himself fall to the floor and yn plopped on top of him, tired he closed his eyes, while being caressed by jake's soothing heartbeat sound.

“what the-” yn woke up, scared. was that all a dream? he was asking himself mentally, “no, it wasn't a dream, get ready ‘cause we need to finish this sheet” jake said with a monotonous, cold voice, completely different at the beast who rearranged his guts moments ago, ‘what the fuck can he read minds now?’ yn thought, furrowing his eyebrows and his eyes narrowing at the nerdy boy. “i can't read minds, you're just predictable”.

“fuck you” yn started to mumble curses towards the other while going to the bathroom limping. jake just stares at him, his usually calm and cold expression changes to a smirk inmediately afterwards, he then fixes his glasses and direct his stare towards the piece of paper in front of him, licking his lips in the process.

#jake sim x male reader smut #jake sim x male reader #sim jaeyun x male reader #sim jaeyun x male reader smut #enhypen x male reader #enhypen x male reader smut #enhypen smut #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #smut #male reader smut #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader

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vunblr · 1 day ago

Text

Toy Soldier (part 4)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims)

Word Count: 6k.

Previous Chapter

Bucky’s arms tightened just slightly around her as she shifted, sensing her weight tilting as though preparing to pull away.

“Don’t,” he murmured, stopping her movement. His forehead still rested against her shoulder, and his words sounded almost muffled. “Just... stay like this a little longer. Please.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do or say, but then she felt it, the subtle way he leaned into her like he was holding onto something he needed, like a child with his blanket.

“Okay,” she murmured, softly.

Her hands, which had started to pull back, returned to their place on his shoulders. She let them rest there, feeling the warmth of his body beneath her touch, and stayed still, giving him whatever comfort he was seeking.

He exhaled slowly, a sound that felt almost like a sigh of relief, and his body seemed to relax further.

“It’s been a long time,” he admitted after a moment, so quiet she almost missed it. “Since anything... felt this way.”

She swallowed hard, curling her fingers slightly against his shoulder in a gesture she hoped was reassuring. “What way?”

“Safe,” he murmured. “Less… alone.”

Her chest tightened at his words. “You’re not,” she said softly, with a trembling voice. “Not anymore.”

He shifted slightly, settling his vibranium arm more securely around her waist. The movement was almost instinctive, but it was enough to make her cheeks heat.

For a while, neither of them moved or spoke.

When she finally found her voice, it was soft, almost hesitant. “You know... if you ever need this -anytime- I don’t mind. If it helps, I’m here.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and his expression was so unguarded, so raw, that it took her breath away. There was an innocence to it, a vulnerability she had never seen before. To be fair, a lot of his expressions were new to her, she had only ever known the Soldat. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks, doll.”

Her heart gave an involuntary flutter, but she quickly pushed it aside, managing a tentative smile. “Anytime.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer. He hadn’t fully let her go yet, and his hands still rested lightly against her back. She hesitated, feeling the warm rhythm of his breathing against her neck, before slightly loosening her arms around his shoulders, pulling back a little.

“Would you… maybe want to hang out sometime? There is no pressure or anything. I just thought... maybe-” she started, hesitating when his blue eyes fixed on her, unreadable. “I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine too,” she quickly added, dropping her arms completely and stepping back, putting some space between them. “Maybe this thing was... just this moment, and now that we’ve talked, you want to move on with your life. And I’d get it if that’s the case. I don’t want to make this uncomfortable for you.”

Her rambling trailed off, and she winced inwardly, wishing she’d been smoother, braver, or both.

“You’re not making it weird,” he said gently, “You did probably better than me if I’d had the balls to ask.”

Her heart stuttered, “Oh.”

He shook his head, pressing his lips together as though weighing his next words. “Maybe I don’t know what hanging out looks like,” he added, a faint hint of self-consciousness creeping into his voice. “But... I’d like to try. If you’re okay with that.”

She blinked, and a cozy warmth bloomed in her chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his mouth twitching slightly in almost a smile.

She smiled then. “Okay. Again, no pressure, though. Just... whatever feels right. Whenever.”

“Whenever,” he echoed softly.

-----

That “whenever” turned into something of a routine. Two or three days a week, they’d meet up, or, phone calls filled the space between them. Bucky hated texting -said it was impersonal and frustrating- and she didn’t mind. In fact, she preferred hearing his voice.

Sometimes, they ventured out. Small, simple outings, a walk through the park, a coffee shop tucked into a corner of the city, or just wandering without a plan.

Like today.

The planetarium was her suggestion. She’d been talking about stargazing lately, and when she casually mentioned she’d never been, he found himself agreeing before he even thought it through. He arrived first, scanning the crowd near the entrance, his with his gloved hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

She was standing a few feet away, and the blue summer dress with tiny white polka dots caught his eye. She was distracted by something on her phone, with a small smile tugging at her lips.

He exhaled through his nose, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before walking toward her. His boots scuffed the pavement as he approached, but she must have sensed him because her head lifted, and her face brightened as she spotted him.

“Hey,” she said, slipping her phone into her bag, smiling. “You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you,” he replied, flickering his gaze briefly to her dress again. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out: “Nice dress.”

She blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before glancing down and brushing her hands over the fabric. “Oh. Thanks. I bought it in a second-hand store, I used to have one before, and…” better not go there. “You look pretty good too.”

The reply caught him off guard. He blinked, and then, almost unconsciously, his lips quirked into a small smile. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting expression, but it lit up his tired blue eyes in a way she hadn’t seen before.

She decided then and there that she wanted to see that brightness in his eyes again.

The hum of chatter and footsteps around them broke his train of thought. The crowd milling around the planetarium was bigger than he anticipated, and the press of people already made him shift uncomfortably. Without thinking, he offered her his arm.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, a bit surprised by the gesture, but her lips curved into a soft smile as she slipped her hand through his arm. “Almost forgot what a gentlemanly gesture looked like,” she teased lightly.

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Guess I haven’t forgotten all the old ways,” he replied, with a faint smile. “Some things just stick, I guess.”

She chuckled softly, resting her fingers lightly on his arm as they walked. “I like that,” she admitted, glancing up at him. “Maybe because I’m basically an old lady too.”

He raised a brow, his lips curving slightly. He hesitated, unsure if he should ask, but again, the words came out of his mouth before his brain could stop them. “You are right. I’ve never thought about it... how old are you, grandma?”

Her steps faltered ever so slightly, and her gaze drifted somewhere far away for a fleeting moment before she recovered, forcing a playful smirk. “Oh my, you can’t just ask a lady that.” She let the teasing linger for a second before sighing as if deciding to humor him. “But since you’re being such a gentleman... eighty-eight this year. I think I’ve preserved myself pretty well,” she added, throwing in a wink that felt almost rehearsed. "Mentally, I really lost count... thirty, maybe?"

Bucky blinked, a flicker of guilt tugging at his chest as he noticed the cracks in her playful demeanor. Her lighthearted tone didn’t quite match the faint shadow in her eyes, the way she seemed to deflect rather than engage.

“Sorry, I... shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She shook her head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. We can’t always walk on eggshells around each other; it would be so tiring...” Her words trailed off for a moment, but then she grinned, and a spark of genuine mischief flickered in her eyes. “I’ll forgive you if you agree to take a picture with me in one of those silly-themed space photo booths.”

He grimaced instinctively at the suggestion, pressing his lips into a reluctant line. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” she replied, “They are adorable, and I always wanted to do something like that with a friend.”

He sighed in resignation. “Fine.”

Her brows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, averting his gaze as they continued walking. “If it makes you happy, sure.”

----

They walked in a comfortable silence, taking in the various themed sections of the planetarium. The displays were illuminated by soft, bluish lights, with models of planets and spacecraft towering over them. She marveled at the detail, occasionally pointing something out, and he would nod or hum in acknowledgment, his gaze always subtly flicking back to her as she admired the exhibits.

As they approached a rocket replica, he stopped, fixing his gaze on it with an unreadable expression.

“I saw a flying car once,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Her head snapped toward him, and her eyes lightened up with excitement. “Wait, what? A flying car? Where?”

He glanced at her, and the faintest hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “At an expo... Stark’s expo. It was supposed to be a big deal.”

“Stark? As in Tony Stark’s dad? Howard Stark?” she asked, her excitement spilling into her voice.

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “We went with Steve and a couple of girls-”

“So... you took your dates to nerdy conventions?” she teased, playfully nudging his ribs with her elbow, still lightly holding onto his arm.

His ears turned pink at her words, and the faintest hint of embarrassment crossed his features. “Something like that,” he muttered.

“Oh?” she teased further, a grin tugging at her lips. “Charming and smart, surely-oh, look!” she interrupted herself, looking to one of the themed photo booths they passed. Without a second thought, she tugged his arm gently.

He followed her, though his expression betrayed his lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t look so miserable,” she quipped, throwing him a playful glance. “I’ll pay for it. You just put your handsome face in that hole and try to pretend you’re into it.”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head, but when they reached the machine, he pulled out some coins and fed them into the slot himself.

“I got it,” he said gruffly.

As they took their places, he turned to her, slightly furrowing his brow. “When does this thing-”

Before he could finish his question, the first flash went off, leaving him momentarily stunned. He squinted and wrinkled his nose at the brightness, instinctively turning forward just as the second flash fired.

By the time the third picture was taken, he managed to focus, smoothing his expression into something neutral. No scowl, no forced effort, just... Bucky.

The booth chimed, signaling the end of the session, and she reached for the printed copies with a grin.

“Oh, these are perfect,” she said, holding them up to inspect.

He leaned over her shoulder to look. The first photo caught them mid-conversation, his face slightly turned toward her as he talked, while she was gazing at him with a soft smile. In the second, her smile was directed at the camera, wide and bright, while he squinted with his nose wrinkled at the flash. The third one that made her pause, a simple shot of them both looking straight at the camera. She was still smiling, and though his expression wasn’t quite a smile, it wasn’t a scowl either. His features were relaxed, and his tired blue eyes were calm. A win.

“Well,” she said, tucking the photos into her bag, “you survived.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Barely.”

“Don’t worry, you did great,” she teased. “I mean, you’re not exactly a natural, but there’s potential.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t argue, as the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

-----

They continued to walk through the exhibits, and her voice filled the gaps between the growing noise of the crowd. But the further they went, the more people seemed to gather. Conversations overlapped, children darted past, and the sound of footsteps seemed to echo from every direction.

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, and his gaze started to dart toward every sudden movement. The press of bodies felt too close, the noise too sharp, and a familiar suffocating pressure began to rise in his chest.

“Bucky? Are you-” she began to ask, catching the way his vibranium hand twitched at his side, clenching and unclenching in a rhythm she recognized all too well.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly.

But she didn’t miss the tension in his jaw or the way his breathing had started to quicken. “Okay,” she said softly, “but maybe we should head outside for a bit? It’s getting pretty crowded in here.”

He nodded jerkyly, and she gently guided him toward the exit. She kept her pace steady, making sure to stay just slightly ahead of him, carving a path through the throng of people.

By the time they reached the doors, his breathing was ragged, and he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. The open-air hit them, cooler than inside, but it wasn’t enough. The people lingering outside -the families, the couples, the chatter- felt like too much.

“This way,” she said softly, steering him down a side path. When they passed an alley, he stopped abruptly, leaning against the brick wall as if his legs could no longer hold him. His head dropped, and his hands braced against his thighs, as his breaths came in short, uneven gasps.

Suddenly, his hands clenched into fists as his shoulders began to shake. She promptly crouched down beside him. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe, Buck. I’ve got you.”

He shook his head, and his voice broke. “I can’t- I can’t breathe-” His vibranium hand clenched into a tighter fist, and the metal groaned softly under the pressure. His other hand pressed against his chest as if trying to physically force the panic away.

“You’re safe,” she said gently, lightly resting her hand on his knee. “You’re not there anymore. Just breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

His gaze flicked to her, wild and unfocused, but he tried to mimic her slow and deliberate breaths. It wasn’t immediate, but little by little, the erratic rise and fall of his chest began to even out.

Her hand moved to his, covering his flesh hand first before hesitating and resting against the vibranium one instead. “Feel this,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the cool metal. “This is real. You’re here. With me.”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut as his legs gave out beneath him. Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the pavement.

Without hesitation, she knelt beside him, and the rough ground dug into her knees, but she didn’t care. She kept her hands on his with a firm grip, whispering soft reassurances. “It’s okay. Just breathe with me.”

His chest heaved as he tried to match her calm, deliberate breaths. The panic still gripped him, sharp and relentless, but her voice and presence cut through the worst of it like a lifeline.

When he finally lifted his head to look at her, his glassy blue eyes were full of guilt and pain. His voice trembled, barely audible. “I’m sorry. I… your polka-”

A whimper broke through his words, his gaze dropping to her dress, now soaked from the puddle she was kneeling in.

“Shhh,” she interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “You don’t need to apologize for this.” Her voice was low, and so achingly gentle that it made his chest tighten. “Everything’s fine, Bucky. It’s just water. It doesn’t matter.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump that refused to go away. “I hate this,” he admitted hoarsely. “Feeling like this... making you-”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, squeezing his hand. “You didn’t make me do anything. I’m here because I want to be. Because I care.”

He looked at her again, taking in the way her dress clung to her knees, the way her hair was slightly disheveled from their hurried escape, the way her eyes held nothing but understanding.

She sighed, and her gaze dropped briefly to where her hands still rested on his, before meeting his eyes again. “Over decades, I had to fix you,” she said softly. “Not as a person. Not as... you. But as a tool. A deadly, efficient weapon. A puppet of carnage under their thumb.”

Her hands squeezed his gently again. “And every time I healed you, every time I put you back together, it felt like I was just handing you over to them all over again. But now...” she briefly paused to steady her slightly trembling voice. “Now, I don’t have to do it because they’re forcing me to. I don’t have to patch you up so they can send you back out to kill or to suffer.”

Her lips quirked into a small, bittersweet smile. “Now, I get to help you as a friend. Because I want to. Because I see you.”

His head turned back toward her; his blue eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears that he refused to let fall. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

She reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. “I know it’s hard to accept that, Bucky. I know. But I’m here. And I’ll keep being here, as long as you’ll let me.”

Finally, he exhaled shakily, slightly bowing his head. “I don’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“You deserve more than you think,” she replied gently, leaning forward just enough to catch his gaze again. “You just don’t see it yet. But I do. And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Slowly, she leaned back, giving him space while still keeping her hands resting lightly on his.

He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse as he finally said, “Thank you.”

She smiled softly. “Anytime, Buck.”

----

When the emotional storm had eased, he stood, brushing off his pants with a muted sigh. He still looked shaken, though he seemed to carry himself with that familiar, quiet resolve.

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine. I can-”

“Please,” he interrupted. The weight of his gaze silenced any protest she might have had. “Just... let me do this.”

She hesitated but nodded. “Alright.”

As they walked toward the street, she noticed his furtive glances at her dress. His eyes darted to the wet fabric clinging to her knees, then quickly away, as though looking at it too long would somehow make things worse.

When they reached the curb, he raised his hand to hail a cab. She could see the tension still lingering in his shoulders and the way his gaze flickered around their surroundings as though scanning for threats.

When they reached her building, he stepped out first, scanning the area before offering her his hand to help her out of the cab. She took it, lingering her touch just slightly longer than necessary.

“Thank you,” she said softly as they stood in front of her door.

He nodded, stepping back as though preparing to leave. But before he could retreat further, she spoke again.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked.

He hesitated, flexing his hand at his side. “I don’t think it’s a good idea...”

She crossed her arms loosely and leaned against the doorframe, watching him carefully. “Why not?”

He glanced down, as if the words were written somewhere on the pavement. “I just... I don’t want to make things... weird. Or... harder.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, though her eyes betrayed her concern. “Bucky, you’re not going to make anything harder. We’ve been through harder. You’re allowed to have a cup of coffee with a friend.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s late,” he added weakly, like he was searching for excuses, probably mortified by what happened earlier.

“It’s not that late,” she countered. “And you’re still ensuring I’m okay, so... maybe let me do the same for you?”

“Okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Just for a little while.”

She smiled, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Make yourself at home, you already know where everything is. I’ll go change”

Bucky stepped hesitantly inside, as though he were intruding, even with her invitation. He stood awkwardly in the entryway for a moment, looking at the familiar details: books stacked on the coffee table, a knit throw draped over the couch, a faintly lavender scent lingering in the air. It was warm, welcoming, and unmistakably hers.

There were a few more plants than the last time he’d been there, their leaves were lush and healthy, catching the soft light of a nearby lamp. His eyes drifted to a basket by the couch, filled with yarn and a half-finished crochet project. She must’ve started something new, though he wasn’t sure what.

A few minutes later, she reappeared in a sweatshirt and leggings. Draped over her arm was another piece of clothing, a pair of grey sweatpants. She held them out toward him without much ceremony.

“Here,” she said casually. “Your jeans got wet too. These aren’t fancy, but they’ll do until yours dry.”

Bucky frowned slightly as he took the pants. They were plain, unassuming, but distinctly... male. A faint crease appeared on his brow as his thoughts began to spiral. Whose sweatpants...?

“Don’t like grey?” she teased, breaking through his train of thought.

He blinked, looking up to meet her eyes. She was watching him with a faint smirk, completely unaware of the questions ricocheting in his head.

“Uh, no, grey’s fine,” he muttered, gripping the sweatpants tighter. He mumbled a quiet “Thanks” before heading toward the bathroom to change.

As he shut the door behind him, his reflection stared back at him in the small mirror above the sink. He could feel the weight of his own thoughts pressing down. Why does she have these? Who left them here? Was it someone she’s seeing?

The idea settled uncomfortably in his chest. It wasn’t as if he had any right to ask, and yet... the questions wouldn’t leave him. He pulled off his damp jeans and slid into the sweatpants. When he returned to the living room, she’d set up a drying rack by the window, and extended her hand toward him to take his jeans and put them there.

“Thanks,” he said again.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, brushing her hands off as she turned back to him. “No problem. You look good in grey, by the way,” she said with a wink, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Bucky’s lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile, but his thoughts remained tangled. He sat down on the edge of the couch again, briefly flicking his gaze to the sweatpants before settling on her.

“Do you want tea, or are you sticking to coffee tonight?” she asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Coffee’s fine,” he replied, almost distant.

As she busied herself in the kitchen, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through his body. It’s none of my business, he reminded himself firmly. She can have whoever she wants here. It doesn’t mean anything.

He rested his elbows on his knees, and his thoughts spiraled as his eyes fixed on the coffee table. The faint sounds of her moving around the kitchen didn’t help, they left him feeling more isolated, as though he were drifting further from solid ground.

With a frustrated sigh, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He told himself it was to keep her company, but deep down, he felt like a lost puppy, tailing after her for no reason other than to stave off the weight pressing on his chest.

She didn’t seem to mind. When he appeared in the doorway, she glanced back and offered him a warm smile before turning her attention back to the coffee mugs she was setting out.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look casual despite the storm brewing inside him. She hummed softly as she worked, relaxed and unhurried.

As she waited for the coffee to finish brewing, she rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small paper envelope with the photos they’d taken at the planetarium’s booth.

A soft laugh escaped her as she flipped through the images, and her gaze lingered on the one where he was squinting and scrunching his nose from the flash. Without hesitation, she walked over to the fridge and stuck it there with a sunflower-shaped magnet.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her, unconsciously tightening his fingers around the fabric of the sweatpants. “What are you doing with that?” he asked, his tone edged with tension.

She glanced at him unbothered. “I love this one,” she answered simply, gesturing to the photo. “So it goes on the fridge. Right where I can see it.”

His jaw worked silently for a moment, a flicker of something he couldn’t name tightening in his chest.

She seemed to pick up on his hesitance, and her smile softened as she walked back toward him, holding out the other two pictures. “Do you want any of these?” she asked.

Bucky hesitated, glancing down at the photos in her hand. One showed her smiling brightly at the camera while he’d been caught mid-sentence, looking confused but oddly endearing. The other was the final shot, where they were both looking straight ahead, her grin wide and radiant, while his expression was almost neutral, but not unpleasant.

He pointed at the last one. “Maybe… that one.”

She handed it to him, brushing his fingers briefly. “Good choice,” she said with a smile, watching as he stared at the photo in his hand.

His thumb brushed absently over the glossy surface of the picture, and the edges crinkled slightly under the pressure of his fingers. He glanced up again, and his gaze fell on the photo she’d stuck on the fridge. He bit his lower lip.

There was a rhythm, a game to moments like this. Small, personal exchanges that could shape the tone of a connection. But he was out of practice. And tired. So tired. Instead of letting the thought fade, he spoke bluntly.

“Whose pants are these?”

She didn’t turn to look at him, focused on filtering the coffee. “Sam’s,” she said lightly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A pang hit him square in the chest. Well, yes, they were friends. Actually, he’d met her again thanks to him. Neither of them had said anything about seeing each other, and he hadn’t considered the possibility that... maybe they had their dynamic. Their own history.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

She finally turned around, holding two mugs in her hands. “They’re his old workout pants,” she explained. “He left them here ages ago when he helped me move some heavy furniture. I tried to give them back, but he told me to keep them. Said they didn’t fit him right anymore.”

Bucky’s lips twitched faintly, and his grip eased on the photo. “Oh,” he repeated, softer this time, nodding slightly as if to himself.

She studied him for a moment, with a hint of curiosity flickering in her gaze, before offering him one of the mugs. “Why do you ask?”

He hesitated, gripping the photo a little tighter again. “I don’t know,” he muttered after a pause, the faintest trace of vulnerability slipping through his tone. “I guess I just... wondered.” He glanced back down at the photo, the corners of his mouth pulling downward faintly. The laughter in her face, so easy and genuine in the picture, contrasted sharply with the heavier thoughts swirling in his chest.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He blinked, startled by the question, and quickly nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Hmm,” she murmured, unconvinced but not pressing further. Instead, she offered him a small smile and gestured toward the living room. “Let’s sit. Coffee’s better when you’re not standing around awkwardly, you know?”

He followed her lead, moving slowly and setting the photo down carefully beside his mug on the coffee table. As he joined her on the couch, he caught himself glancing at her again.

Before he could avert his gaze, she met his eyes, and her brow furrowed. “Buck,” she started, gentle but firm, “you should have told me about the crowds. We could’ve gone somewhere else, like our other outings.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and he stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers as though searching for something to say. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad,” he admitted quietly. “Didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she replied quickly, leaning forward slightly. “You know that, right? I had fun. It’s just... I hate that you felt like you had to tough it out when you didn’t have to.”

He nodded slowly, still avoiding her gaze. “I’m used to... pushing through,” he muttered. “It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Maybe with me, you don’t have to,” she said softly, almost hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure how he’d take it. “Crowds were a thing for me for a long time after I escaped. Sometimes they still are. I mean, I never left the Hydra bases when they woke me up from cryo. All I knew for years was my cell, yours, the med bay, the cryo room, and the... party accommodations.” Her voice faltered slightly at the last phrase, but she pressed on. “It was just those walls every day since they abducted me one day returning from the bakery. So I get it. We don't have to do it again if you know you'll maybe feel bad.

“You were... just going home from the bakery?” he asked, softly.

She nodded, and her gaze went distant for a moment, like she was sifting through memories she didn’t want to relive but couldn’t ignore. “It was a normal day. I had flour dust on my dress, and a loaf of rye in my bag, thinking about what to make for dinner. And then...” She shrugged, her fingers gripping her mug tightly, knuckles whitening. “Then it wasn’t normal anymore.”

“You didn’t deserve that.” He muttered.

Her lips quirked into a sad, fleeting smile. “Neither did you. So, as I was saying, you don’t always have to keep it together, Bucky. Not with me. You’ve already seen me at my worst, and I know more about that part of your past than anyone else ever could. There’s no point pretending.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, drumming his fingers once against his knee before stilling.

“It’s not that simple,” he said finally, his tone was laced with frustration, not directed at her, but at himself. “I’ve been... I always had to handle things on my own. Even now, it’s just-” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Instinct,” she finished for him. “It’s hard to break.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands. “Yeah.”

She leaned forward slightly, touching softly his forearm. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But... I want you to know you don’t have to do it alone.”

His gaze drifted to where her hand rested lightly on his forearm. The warmth of her touch seeped through the fabric of his henley. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he worked through the knot tightened in his chest.

His eyes then flicked over to the coffee table, landing on the photo they’d taken at the planetarium. There it was, sitting beside his untouched mug, her bright smile and his calm expression. The corners of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Then his gaze fell to the grey sweatpants he was wearing. Sam’s sweatpants. His fingers instinctively flexed around the fabric, tightening briefly before releasing as he tried to kick out the intrusive thoughts. He clenched his jaw. His breathing hitched.

And then… fuck it all.

Slowly, tentatively, he shifted forward hesitantly. He hovered his vibranium hand in the space between them before lightly gripping her shoulder. Her gaze snapped up to his, her eyes widening in surprise but softening immediately when she saw the conflict etched into his expression.

She didn’t move or speak, giving him the space to figure it out. And when he finally leaned in, wrapping his arms around her with careful deliberation, she melted into the embrace without hesitation.

His chin rested lightly against her temple, his flesh hand pressing against the small of her back while his vibranium one lingered just above it, as though unsure of its place. His chest rose and fell unevenly against her, his breathing was still a little erratic but slowing, steadied by the warmth of her body.

Her arms slid around his waist, holding him tightly, and she murmured, “It’s okay, Buck.”

He didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to. His grip tightened slightly. The scent of her shampoo, the faint hum of her heartbeat, it was overwhelming, yet calming all at once.

He closed his eyes, his cheek brushing lightly against the crown of her head as he let himself sink into the moment. For once, he allowed himself to take the comfort instead of pushing it away. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the knot in his chest loosened just enough for him to breathe deeply.

Her fingers moved gently against his back, tracing soothing circles through the fabric of his shirt. “You’re okay,” she whispered again. “We’re okay.”

He swallowed thickly and his lips parted as if to say something, but he stopped himself, settling instead for the faintest squeeze of her waist.

They stood like that for a while, their breaths mingling in the quiet, until the sharp buzz of her phone shattered the bubble. She sighed, reluctantly pulling away. He also pulled back, slow and hesitant, dropping his arms to his sides.

She turned to grab her phone, furrowing her brows as she glanced at the screen. “It’s Sam,” she muttered, answering it quickly.

Bucky stayed rooted in place, his enhanced hearing picking up snippets of the conversation despite himself. The words “mission” and “Patagonia” stood out, along with a timeline: five days. When she hung up, she turned to him.

“Everything alright?” he asked, feigning casual curiosity, though his posture stiffened ever so slightly.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, Sam just said we’ve got a mission. Argentina. Something about a big crew going along. He’ll fill me in the details tomorrow.”

The words hit him almost physically. Argentina’s Patagonia region. The location echoed in his mind, igniting memories he’d rather not revisit. Post-war asylum. Hydra remnants. The country’s role after WW2 wasn’t a secret.

His entire body language shifted. The soft, vulnerable demeanor from moments before hardened into something colder and sharper. A mask of resolution and rage settled over his features, and she noticed the change immediately.

“Bucky?” she prompted.

His thoughts spiraled. A Hydra facility? What if something went wrong? What if she ended up in their hands again? The images flooded his mind. The dark cells, the abuse, the cruelty. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and the tension radiated from him like a storm about to break.

“I’m going,” he said abruptly.

“What do you mean, you are-? Bucky, you can’t just decide-”

He stood abruptly, raking a hand through his hair as he began pacing. “Speak to Sam. Tell him.” he said, in a low but commanding tone.

“Tell him what?” she asked, confused.

“Whatever you consider necessary,” he replied, in a tone loaded with implication. Their past.

“Wait-”

“I forgot I have somewhere to go,” He grabbed the photo from the coffee table, tucking it into his back pocket without a second glance.

“Bucky-.”

But he was already halfway to the door. He paused for the briefest moment, with his back to her, before stepping out and letting the door click shut behind him.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @sunshinedayz19 @star-maker-rain-dancer @tumdlrnewb84 @mgchaser @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @gotminho @kaitlin013106 @startorrent @idontknowhowtonormal @mattmurdock42 @hnnhbananananana @aeriss-at-heart45 @jainaeatsstars @airixaram @seventeen-x @jaxz21 @zizzlekwum @hi172826 @valckenaux @moth-maam56 @myllamatimemachine @unaxv @smiithys @cats-chaotic-mind @melsunshine @neuviloved @cjand10 @frombkjar @strvnger3ditz @nikkinss @alexandra-001 @lavanderbreeze @cats-chaotic-mind @sleep-tight1 @lasrehsif @delicatepersondinossaur

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky hurt/comfort #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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once-in-a-blue-moon-rising · 3 days ago

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Seen a few 'maturity is realising that it's not a look of love' videos on Instagram re: 457, and while I do realise it is Not That Deep, I nonetheless have THOUGHTS

The crux of those thoughts is this: has fandom's view of shipping narrowed so far that unless two characters are mashing their faces together on-screen, it's immature to interpret the text contrary to what we assume the creator's intention was?

With this ship specifically, let's start with the obvious: the actors have insane chemistry. This is true whether you see the characters' bond as platonic, romantic, antagonistic, or something else. They are very obviously comfortable and friendly with one another in real life, and this translates into an intense on-screen relationship between Gi-hun and In-ho (and I'm sure this is exactly what the director did want, because, newsflash, this is our protagonist/antagonist duo).

I do think it's valid to ship something based purely off the actors' chemistry, but the comment is obviously referring to the characters themselves in the context of the story, so let's address that too.

There's a clear motivation for the way In-ho stares at Gi-hun, follows him around, and generally tries to insert himself into his life, and this is what these posts are referring to. He's testing his ideology, he's watching how he's affected by the horrific things that are happening around him, and to help him do this, he's ensuring that Gi-hun trusts and likes him. It's important if he wants to prove to him that the world is unchangeable, and humanity irredeemable.

And because of that, it's not the 'look of love'. Case closed?

Well, no.

Because there is so much nuance and depth that you're failing to explore, if a look can only mean one thing.

Because why does In-ho bother? Why is Gi-hun worth his time and interest? In-ho - via the games - has access to resources that far far outweigh the money Gi-hun won. He could prevent him from finding the island forever. He could just have him shot tbh. He's not really a credible threat - at most, he's a minor annoyance, because people need to be paid off every so often to prevent him getting too close.

Just through this detail, we can deduce that In-ho cares, in some way. He is interested enough to want to change Gi-hun's mind, when it would be so much easier to... not. Is it love? It's certainly fascination. And I don't think it can be argued that he brought him back for the VIPs' entertainment and not his own, because Gi-hun was searching for three years before In-ho let himself be found. And even when he's found, it's Gi-hun who suggests going back into the games.

So these stares - yes, he's testing him, but he's doing it because he wants to. They denote genuine interest. How did this guy retain his hope and faith in humanity? How can I prove to him that my view is correct?

And I'm very much not saying that a romantic interpretation is 'correct', because fiction should be interpreted however the audience sees fit, but what is love (in all its forms) if not wanting to know someone and be known by them?

This is even more compelling to me when we take into account In-ho's backstory, which we learn a bit more about in season 2. Because he and Gi-hun are so similar, except in the way they've used their trauma to interpret the world. Which just adds to the evidence that In-ho would be fascinated by this man, be determined to know him and to change his mind.

What I'm saying with all this isn't that 457 is canon, and that anyone who says otherwise is media illiterate. What I'm saying is that the real immature interpretation is one that's surface level, be that interpretation 'uwu he loves him' or 'he's PLOTTING evil things'.

#squid game #seong gi hun #hwang in ho #squid game meta #inhun #457 #btw uwu he does love him AND he's plotting evil things #if you even care

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mrsmangi · 1 day ago

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black dahlia ! <3

denial - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: black dahlia - lie - meaning: symbolic of betrayal and sadness ♡ w.c.: 2.4k ♡ a/n: wrote this sick af. angsty. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

It began with a fleeting look. Luigi never meant to linger, to observe, to hold his glance for just a second too long; but you had a way of drawing people to you, like moths to flame.

Luigi convinces himself that his attraction to you is harmless, that there’s no real damage in observing the details that make you who you are. He tells himself it’s not a crime to notice the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re bored or how the corners of your eyes crinkle into crow’s feet when you laugh. Those things were small, he reasoned–details anyone could notice, nothing out of the ordinary. He tells himself he’s just being attentive, but the more he notices you, the harder it is to pull away.

There’s safety in silence, in pretending he doesn’t see what’s so plainly in front of him. Luigi has always been measured with his words, careful not to betray anything more than what’s expected of him. He’s an expert in deflecting, in shifting the conversation to avoid focusing on himself for too long. He offers vague smiles and light-hearted quips that leave questions at bay to his friends–to you. When you ask him about his day, he chooses his answers with precision, giving you just enough to keep the conversation alive, but never enough to come within arm’s reach of him.

“How was work?” he recalls you once asked, leaning against the counter as he fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Fine,” he replied quickly. “Busy, but you know, the usual.”

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. “You say that every time. Is it really always the same?”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Pretty much. Routine keeps the place running, I guess. Not too much room for excitement.”

You chuckled softly, letting the conversation drop, but he noticed the way your eyes lingered on him. How your smile had faltered at the edges, like you were waiting for him to say something else. Luigi noticed, and he felt the weight of it–your expectation hanging in the air, but said nothing. Instead, he shifted slightly, breaking eye contact like the moment didn’t matter; as though the silence between you didn’t carry all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Just like that, the moment slipped away, like it had never existed at all.

Some moments, though, aren’t so easily brushed off.

It’s a Thursday evening when you ask Luigi a question he isn’t ready to face. The sun has already set, and the two of you sit across from each other. The faint sound of cars and incoherent conversation passes outside. You’re relaxed, leaning back slightly, but your expression is steady when you speak.

“Luigi?” you call.

“Yeah?” he replies, looking up from his phone, eyebrows lifting slightly.

There’s a pause as you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, gathering your thoughts. You lean forward, gaze meeting his. “Do you ever think about us?”

For a moment, Luigi stares at you, his brow furrowing as though he doesn’t quite understand the question. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice light, nearly playful, as if you’ve just told him a joke he doesn’t fully get.

You don’t waver. “You know what I mean, Luigi.”

He blinks, tilting his head as if he’s searching your face for a clue. “Are you asking if I’ve ever thought about us like…more than friends?” He keeps his tone casual to distract himself from the weight of the question.

“Yes,” you answer, plainly.

Before he can help it, he lets out a short, breathy laugh–the kind that sounds more like discomfort than humor. “What?” he says, brows knitting together as he leans back. “You mean, like us? Together?”

You nod, expression calm but insistent, and Luigi shifts in his seat. “I mean,” he stares, trailing off as he scratches his head, forcing out another quiet chuckle. “I don’t know, I haven’t really…thought about it.”

He’s lying. He knows it, even as the words leave his mouth. He keeps going, keeps up the casual façade because he can’t tell if admitting the truth would make things better or worse. “We’re just good the way we are, right?” he adds, his voice a little too light. He really hopes you’ll just agree and let the conversation die, just as you have so many other times before. But you don’t. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, watching him with an expression that makes it clear you’re not buying into his act.

“You’ve really never thought about it?” you press, your tone soft.

Luigi’s heart gives a sharp twist, but he keeps his face neutral, or at least he tries to. “Not really,” he says, forcing another shrug. His smile feels thin, stretched, like it might just snap under the heaviness of his words. “I just… I guess it’s never crossed my mind, you know?”

Lie. Lie, lie, lie. It’s a flimsy excuse, and he can see the way your face changes–how your lips press together, the way your eyes narrow, and how your nose scrunches in disbelief. He’s convinced you’ll call him out on his bullshit, but you only nod, sitting back a little.

“Right,” you say simply, but your voice holds an emotion he can’t name.

Luigi isn’t ready to carry the weight of the silence that follows. He taps his fingers against his knee, movements precise and practiced, as if he’s trying to convince himself he’s unaffected. Every second that you hold his stare feels like another crack forming in the wall he’s spent so long building. He shifts again in his seat, glancing at the door, the table, anywhere but you, because he knows if he looks at you for too long, the truth will slip out before he can prevent it.

Have you already figured it out? Have you noticed how his voice falters when he says your name or how he catches himself glancing your way even when there’s no reason to? Maybe you’ve been keeping a record of the times he’s brushed you off in conversation, every moment he’s chosen his words carefully to avoid giving himself away.

His knee bounces once, then twice, and he forces himself to stop, planting both feet firmly on the ground. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t help or ease the tension coiling in his stomach. He knows he should say something, anything, to break the silence, but every word that comes to mind disappears before he can voice it.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, and Luigi’s stomach twists at the way your words cut into him.

“Yeah,” he replies quickly. The sound of his own voice feelings foreign, like it doesn’t belong to him. He forces another laugh, but it doesn’t sound convincing. “I just wasn’t expecting this conversation, that’s all.”

Your eyes linger on him, and he swears he can feel them peeling back every layer he desperately tries to keep intact. Can you hear his heart pounding? See the way his hands are clenching to keep himself from fidgeting?

“I didn’t mean to throw you off,” you say softly, and your voice is so honest, Luigi finds it harder to keep up the charade.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. The only thing he can think about now is how much he simply wants to tell you the truth, how much he wants to admit he thinks about you more often than he’d like to admit, how much it kills him to act like you don’t mean more to him than you should.

It’s for the best, he thinks as you finally look away. He says nothing. Your attention shifts to something else and Luigi tells himself that keeping his distance will protect you–the both of you–from the complications of what could be. The space between you feels wider than it ever has before, and Luigi knows it’s his fault. He’s created this distance, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

“Thanks for your honesty,” you add, though the words sound hollow.

He wants to say more, to explain himself, to pull you back from the space that seems to have opened between you at that moment; but Luigi only watches as you smile–polite, but not warm. You shift back slightly, to create distance from him, even as he sits with you in the same room.

After that, things change.

Luigi notices the way you pull back, the way your laughter becomes less frequent around him, the way you seem to hesitate before starting conversations you once dove into effortlessly. He hates it, hates himself for putting that distance between you. Still, he tells himself it’s what’s right, that keeping you at a distance spares you both from destruction. He can’t stop himself from having moments of weakness.

A few days later, it’s a late afternoon when the two of you end up on a park bench, although neither of you is entirely sure why you’re there. You had sent Luigi a text earlier in the day, asking if he wanted to get some fresh air. He hesitated, staring at the screen for longer than he should have before replying with a simple, “Sure. Meet you at the park.”

There wasn’t a plan to say anything heavy–it was supposed to just be a walk, casual, quiet conversation to fill the gap that had been growing between you. As the two of you meandered through the trails, the silence felt heavier than usual. Every lighthearted comment you attempted to make seemed to fall flat, and Luigi couldn’t help but give clipped, almost distracted responses.

When you spot a bench tucked beneath the shade of an old oak tree, you gesture to it. “Want to sit for a bit?”

Luigi glances at you, observing you, before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”

So, here you sit, side by side, the quiet stretches on. Neither of you speak for a while, and it’s only when the silence finally becomes unbearable that Luigi breaks it. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, voice soft, but his words carry an unrecognizable edge.

“Have I?” you ask plainly, your foot nudging a stray leaf.

“Yeah. Feels like…you’ve been pulling away,” he nods, exhaling a breath.

You don’t respond, tracing the grooves of the bench’s armrest with your fingertips. Your lips press together before you finally speak. “Maybe I am,” you admit.

Luigi’s stomach turns. He forces himself to look at you, brows furrowing. “Why?” he asks, even though there’s a knot in his chest that tells him he already knows the answer.

“I’ve been so stuck, Luigi,” you say, looking at him. You hold his gaze longer than you have in weeks. There’s a look in your eye that he can’t place–one of hurt, maybe, or resignation. “I’ve been standing still in the same place for days, weeks…and you’ve already made up your mind.”

He opens his mouth slightly, as if he’s about to argue, to tell you that you’re wrong, that he hasn’t decided anything, but no sound comes out. The truth–messy, tangled, and heavy–lodges itself in his throat, impossible to force past the weight of the lie he’s been holding onto: he doesn’t have feelings for you. Instead, he looks at his hands, jaw clenching.

“You know, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” you continue after a beat, gently. “I’m not trying to…force anything, but it’s hard to keep pretending everything’s fine when it feels like you’re not being honest with me, Luigi–or with yourself.”

He knows he should give you an answer, something solid. A part of him wonders if this is the point of no return–if saying nothing will just make you drift further away from him. His mind churns with half-formed thoughts, excuses he doesn’t even believe, but all that slips out is a weak, “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize it felt that way to you.”

Luigi hears your sigh. From the corner of his eye, you shift slightly, leaning away from him on the bench. As much as he’d like to reach for you, he stays in place, hands interlocked together in his lap.

“Um,” you begin and pause. You sigh again, leaning back against the bench. “I think I need a fresh start.” Your voice is tinged with sadness, and Luigi suddenly feels uneasy for a reason he can’t explain. “Somewhere new. Different.”

Luigi feels his chest tighten, stomach falling at your words. He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s a finality in your face that he isn’t ready to confront. He manages a small nod, voice strained as he mutters, “That makes sense.”

You gaze at him, softly and with resolute, and then glance down at your shoes. “My mom has been asking me to come stay with her for a while,” you confess, sounding uncertain. “She thinks a change of scenery might be good for me. She’s in California now, close to the coast, actually. She’s been saying I could take some time to figure things out, you know? Clear my head and whatnot.”

Luigi says nothing. He should say something–ask you not to go, tell you that you don’t need to figure things out on your own, he’s here for you–but he only nods again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That sounds nice,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “I think it might be what I need. It’s not forever, just a little while, but it feels like the right thing to do.”

His heart sinks further at his words, and he watches as your gaze drifts, your mind clearly elsewhere. Maybe you’re daydreaming about the possibilities of what a fresh start could mean for you. Luigi wants to tell you that he’s sorry, to apologize for the reason you’re feeling lost, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, you stand, movements slow as if you’re preparing to leave something behind. Leave him behind. “Take care, Luigi,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Then, without another word, you turn and walk away, footsteps light.

Luigi stays on the bench, rooted to his seat, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he watches you disappear down the path. As the sun dips lower and the world around him continues to move, Luigi remains frozen on the bench, clinging to the fragile hope that this isn’t the end—holding on to denial, even though deep down, he knows you’re already gone.

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grapejuice32 · 9 hours ago

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can you do a rafe x reader where he has been ignoring and neglecting her, cancelling plans, and they haven't had sex in a while so she gets really upset and stops trying to make plans after he cancels on a date again bc she thinks he doesn't want her anymore. Then he realizes that she was really the only one putting in effort and he feels so bad and brings her flowers and stuff and apologizes and spends the whole night worshipping her and making her feel good

Enough for you

Rafe x reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Notes: thank you for the request! I hope this is what you wanted anon <3

It had been weeks since Rafe had paid attention to you like he usually did. You could understand it, to a certain extent anyway, you could understand he was working and all, but it had gotten to a point where he would barely even touch you anymore, and that hurt. It was starting to affect you, more than you'd ever admit out loud, you felt as though he did not want you anymore. It led you to wonder if he no longer found you attractive anymore, you had started to pick out more flaws in yourself than you usually did when you looked in the mirror.

But despite this, you still continued to plan nice things for the two of you to do, days out on the weekend, movie nights, dinner out at his favourite restaurants. All of which achieved nothing, in fact, it only made you feel worse than you already did. Why? Because he would cancel on you last minute over a short text, sometimes he would grace you with some sort of pathetic excuse, and if he didn't cancel, he was barely present, half listening to what you were saying, not offering the input he usually would. So, the dates you planned slowly lost the thoughtfulness you usually put into them, but no matter what you did, you just felt worse and worse. You had ended up taking a day off of work so that you could stay home and cook Rafe's favourite meal, setting up the table with candles and dressing up nicely, but half an hour before he was supposed to come home for dinner, he cancelled on you, again. So instead of spending the romantic night you'd planned with him, you spent it alone, accompanied only by a bottle of wine as you ate alone, leaving his cold food out on the table along with your half empty plate and the dirty serving plates. If he wasn't going to put in any effort, neither were you, clearly it meant nothing to him anymore. You'd run a bath and had sat in there until it went cold, and when you got out, you left the empty wine bottle and glass on the floor next to the draining bathtub.

Days had passed and his behaviour towards you remained the same, you couldn't help but wonder if it was you that was the problem, the two of you had been living together for a year and he'd only been acting this way for the past couple of months. Maybe he'd grown bored of you. Maybe you weren't pretty enough anymore. Maybe there was someone else. Maybe him and Barry had finally gotten together. The lack of effort you were now putting into the relationship became more than just that, it became a lack of effort in everything you did. At work you were only half present, being too tired to give you undivided attention to the task at hand due to sleepless nights caused by overthinking. Had Rafe even noticed? Clearly not. Were you not enough for him anymore?

There you lay, one night, watching his peacefully sleeping form beside you, he lay on his back, an arm behind his head, barely out of the clothes he had left the house in that morning. His shoes and trousers were thrown carelessly on the floor. He had come home while you were in the bath, you'd barely spoken to him before he went to bed. He'd come into the bathroom and pressed a kiss to your head, leaving before you'd even had the chance to ask how his day was, not that you were sure you really wanted to know anyway.

When the rays from the sun started to peak through the gaps in the curtains, marking yet another sleepless night, you threw yourself out of bed, not caring to even check the time as you lazily got dressed and left the house to walk along the beach.

By the time you came back home it was about three in the afternoon, you’d completely lost track of time watching the waves break against the shore while listening to music, that and you hadn’t been sure if you were ready to come home and spend the rest of your Saturday alone like you had the past few weeks. When you got home, you were fully prepared to dedicate the rest of the to yourself by running a bath, opening some wine and lighting some candles. What you were not expecting was to come home and see Rafe sat on the couch watching tv and drinking a beer. “Rafe? What are you-“ you began, only for him to cut you off.

“ ‘s Saturday, ‘s date night.” He stated in a tone that said everything he didn’t, isn’t it obvious? How could you forget? What have you got planned? You could only sigh as you walked over to him, stopping to stand by the armrest of the couch, placing your palm on it to lean on.

“Um, I’ve actually got plans tonight,” you mumbled knowing full well that you had no plans beyond a bath, yet you didn’t feel up to telling him you had not bothered to plan a date under the assumption he wouldn’t be there, not that he didn’t deserve to hear it.

A small frown lined his brows, “Oh, right. I’ll jus’ uh,” but he then shook his head, not ready to drop it yet, “but y’always plan something for us t’do on date night.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t this week!” You couldn’t help but snap at him, his lips parted as though he was at a loss for what to say, not knowing how to respond to that, so he just nodded, his eyes trained on your form as you turned to go upstairs before returning his attention to whatever he’d been watching on tv. He found himself unable to concentrate though, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he thought back on the past few weeks, how he’d been acting towards you and sighed, knowing he’d messed up.

The next day you’d gone about your morning as usual. You’d woken up to Rafe’s side of the bed empty as you had done for the past couple of weeks and occupied yourself by reading while sat outside soaking up the sun. You didn’t expect Rafe to be home till much later considering it was a Sunday, therefore it was a golf day, and he never missed a golf day. So, when you heard the front door opening, you were surprised to say the least, to be completely honest, you had thought it was someone breaking in at first. You had walked inside to see who was there, when you stepped into the kitchen you were met with a sight you hadn’t been expecting, a massive bouquet of lilies, pink and white ones. The sensation of Rafe’s warm hand being placed on your lower back caused you to jump, and you placed a hand on your chest when you glanced over your shoulder it see it was him, “you scared me!”

He didn’t address your exclamation, instead he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, “D’you like them?”

“Yeah, they’re very pretty, thank you.” You nodded, slightly confused as to the complete 360 in his behaviour, “Thought you had golf today.”

“I did, but I skipped,” he shrugged as if it was nothing, placing a kiss on your neck, but you didn’t buy it, he had rarely skipped golf on a Sunday for as long as you could remember.

You could only frown, “But you never skip golf.” He sighed and you bit the inside of your cheek, worried he was going to disappear now that you’d addressed his odd behaviour.

“Look I-“ he sighed again and you could tell he was struggling to formulate the words he wanted to say, “ ‘ve not been great, the past few weeks, an’ I wanted to apologise. ‘ve jus’ been really busy workin’ y’know, jus’ ‘m tryn’a take care’f business.

“And I get that, I do. But it’s been weeks, and honestly one apology isn’t going to fix everything.” You spoke calmly, trying to ignore the tears you could feel attempting to escape.

He let go of you and stepped back, allowing you to turn and face him, “Look I, I know that, aight. ‘m jus’, ‘m tryn’a fix it, so can y’let me take you out f’dinner tonight or somethin’?”

Maybe you were being dramatic, but it didn’t feel that way, not with how awful his actions had caused you to feel about yourself, “I’m sorry but um, I’m not really in the mood. Just gonna read and go to bed, thank you for the flowers though.” You offered him a tight-lipped smile and tilted your head up, placing a kiss on his cheek and leaving the room, going back outside through the open porch door to continue your book.

That night you’d gone to bed earlier than you usually would, not that you were anywhere near falling asleep, so instead you were just doomscrolling in the comfort of your side of the bed, which was a lot more cosily decorated than Rafe’s. The door creaking open signalled Rafe’s entrance, you didn’t look away from your phone as you felt the bed behind you dip. His warm palm found home on your waist, slipping underneath the hem of your( his)shirt that you were wearing.

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbled, placing a kisses to your exposed collarbone, his large short hanging off of your shoulder and baring your skin to him, “ ‘m so sorry, baby, ‘ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

You nodded, struggling to keep your eyes on the screen of your phone, not even taking in the contents of whatever video was playing but still did your best to try and ignore him. “Can y’let me make it up to you? Hm?” He continued to place soft kisses to your skin, sucking lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder, you were unable to stop the small sigh that escaped you, your eyes now closed, your phone discarded on the bed besides you. Rafe’s hand remained on your bare waist, the cold ring on his finger a stark contrast to his warm skin, is thumb brushing back and forth in a comforting manner. “Ran you a bath. Gonna come in with me?” His words came out in but a mumble, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, and despite your anger at him, you could tell he was truly sorry, so you nodded.

A hum left your lips as the warm, bubbly water of the bath surrounded you, your bare back making contact with Rafe’s bare chest. You closed your eyes, leaning back into him, your head resting against his broad shoulder. The room, though silent apart from the steady hum of the exhaust fan, was a peaceful one. The steady silence disturbed by the sound of Rafe’s voice, “I love you, so much. ‘m sorry it hasn’t seemed like that for a while.”

“You hurt me, Rafe.” You weren’t going to lie to him no matter how much you struggled to voice things like this, not when the opportunity to try and fix things had presented itself to you, “I thought that maybe there was someone else.”

“Oh, baby.” He sighed upset, though it was clear it was directed at himself and not at you, “ ‘m sorry, I- there’s no one but you f’me. I jus’, ‘ve been so caught up in work, not that ‘s an excuse but I, um, was jus’ really caught up tryn’a live up t’my dad’s expectations, y’know?”

“Rafe,” you sighed, “why didn’t you just talk to me? I’d have understood, you know that.”

You felt him nod once, his breathing deeper than it had been before, his hands slid down from where they had previously been placed on your waist to your hips, his grip tight as if he was afraid you’d leave. “Can y’let me make it up t’you?” He asked as he began to trace light patterns on your skin and began placing soft kisses on your neck, “Please? Wanna make you feel good.” You exhaled and moved your head away from him, exposing more of the skin of your neck to him and nodded. One of his hands left its spot on your hip, his fingers trailing down to brush your clit causing a sharp gasp to leave you at the sensitivity from not being touched for so long. “Shit, can’t believe ‘ve gone so long without touchin’ you, missed all your pretty noises.” Two of his fingers slid into you and he began to move them with practiced eased, knowing how to please you better than you knew how to please yourself.

“Fuck, Rafe.” You breathed, your head falling further back against his shoulder. You could feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, “That feel good?” You nodded, “It’s so good.” He only hummed and his thumb began to rub circles on your clit causing your back to arch, your hands gripping his wrist and bicep. As you grew close, you began to squirm where you were sat on his lap, and in return his hand on your hip moved to hold you down to stop you escaping his hold, your nails digging into the skin of his arm, only moans and whispers of his name leaving you.

“Y’close?” He mumbled, his skilful fingers moving faster, brining you over the edge properly for the first time in weeks. But he didn’t stop moving his fingers causing you to whine and writhe in his hold, “C’mon, give me one more, yeah?”

One more turned to two, to three until the bath water was cold and you were trembling in his hold while he carried you out, drying you and taking you to bed. He slowly brought you down, coaxing you out of your state of euphoria with praise, his voice soft as he pressed kisses to your slightly damp skin.

“I love you,” you whispered, content in the safety of his arms around you, your head resting on his bare chest.

“And I love you, more than you could possibly imagine,” he murmured into your hair and pressed a firm kiss to your temple. You fell asleep, finally at peace, back in the arms of the man you loved.

Please lmk what you guys think, I'd love to hear from you! I'll also be happy to try and write any requests you may have <3

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