#jesus holding your fave

[jesus-holding-your-fave]

A sockeye salmon 👀

Today, Jesus is holding:

A Sockeye Salmon

[isaacsapphire]

Uh, Fish, you might want to get out of there, that guy has been involved in a lot of fish being eaten.

hey guys does anyone know where I can find respite from the horrors

[levil0vesyou]

Thank you @jesus-holding-your-fave for the Oily Josh pix <3

[yeehawgeek]

wrecker girlies (gn) unite ✨

@sonicrainbooms @sunshinesdaydream @stars-n-spice @nerfpuncher @jesus-holding-your-fave (bc they’re a wrecker girlie apparently lmao)

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

[jesus-holding-your-fave]

Today, Jesus is holding:

this post

literally its so fun being abnormal about christianity and also being christian because i just said "id kiss judas with tongue" in front of my pastor and she squinted at me and went "do you need to be removed from council or are you going to be normal?"

[jesus-holding-your-fave]

Dovewing from Warrior Cats

Today, Jesus is holding:

Dovewing from Warrior Cats

[https-murdock]

gentle - matt murdock

summary: the way matt handles you shows you both sides of the same coin.

word count: 882

warning: SMUT MDNI - 18+ only - p in v, no direct mention of birth control (wrap it!), size kink a lil, dub con if you reaaaally squint?, reader can’t talk cause she’s so fucked out, rough sex, choking is mentioned but not detailed, one good girl - and my fave! … pussy pronouns :)

note: i missed writing and got some inspo from the new ddba pics however i imagined season 1 matt here if that helps :) just a short little one for u this time. love all u horny babez

masterlist

“oh, fuck-“ you cry, tears threatening to spill down your flushed cheeks, feeling the way his hands dig into your skin so harshly.

the was always something in the way matt handles you. so rough, so menacing and deep in the way he fucks you. yet somehow he always found time to be gentle, found time to listen to your heart beat softly behind its cage.

“thaaaats it, sweetheart…” he’s coaxing everything out of you, eyes somehow trained across your skin slick with sweat, each body rubbing against each other in the sheer humidity of his bedroom.

the smell of blood that ran across his skin was almost a permanent reminder of the evenings he was used to. even matt could smell it on himself while he fucked you so deep he could see the bulge across your lower stomach. “j-jesus…” he’s fully aware of the way he’s muttering to himself, he knows he’s fucked you too dumb to get a response from you - just a mere vessel for him to get his anger out on.

“h- hngh,” you’re mumbling unearth his grip, he’s barely aware but he knows you’re in another state of bliss, a cocky grin spreading across his face with pride.

his hands are holding your legs - spread out but pressing against your chest, holding you as open as he can and listening to the lewd sounds your pussy makes just for him, the wet spot on the bed growing with time.

“listen to the way she’s taking me honey, she’s so gentle with me,” he speaks, his voice softer than his actions and he knows it, knows his harsh touch and soft voice are the reason your panties became see through with slick before he even touched you tonight. “wraps so tight around me.”

“matt—“ you’re gripping onto all the attention he’s giving you, cheeks heating up and holding colour. you’re begging for more of his touch even with his hands running over any inch of skin he could imagine. “what do you want, honey? what is it?” he’s asking you and listening for any type of response you can give - and the way your fingers find his and move his hand near your mouth tells him exactly what you want.

he knows you’re always there to bend and ply to however he needs it. something in the way your breath hitches at the sound of his footsteps near his door after he comes home. the way he sees every inch, every curve and notch of your body underneath the red lights of his city. it made him want to release everything he holds onto, to open his chest for you.

yet still there was something inside him, buried so deep he never showed it to the other bodies that landed in his bed also in search of an escape. he wanted to care for you, he wanted you to hear his gentle voice even if his actions didn’t show you the same.

“hmmm you want my fingers in your mouth? that what you want?” he’s asking, ears searching for the response he knows he’ll get from your body.

your heart racing, rapid breathing has him listening. the way your blood pulses around each vein and he hears the way the beatings getting faster in your chest - his fingers reach right back, feeling the way he can hook into your throat and feel his cocks often resting place.

his hips are fighting forward, the way you feel wrapped around him, both pussy and mouth gripping onto the skin it’s found.

“n, oh-shit, need you to fill me up so bad.” you finally find your words, and part of matt is proud of the way you speak so confidently asking for what you need from him.

your mouth closes around his calloused skin again, he relishes in the feeling of your warm, wet pussy gripping him so tight while he can feel exactly how wet his hand is becoming with your tongue wrapped around it. “want me to cum inside you?” he asks purely for his own pleasure, listening to the strangled moan you let out as his hand moves around your neck.

matt knows you’re nearly there with the way you clamp around him like a vice, the pulsing in your pussy a feeling he would happily die with.

his other hand moves from its bruising hold against your hip to rub tight, wet circles over your clit - your legs twitching slightly in overstimulation, heart working in overdrive. “good girl sweetheart, let go for me.”

he’s hardly able to believe that it’s his body warped so closely to yours in the moment, the way you tense up and let out a strangled scream in your bliss, his smile finding its way back into its face as he knows exactly who you’ll be reminded of when you ache tomorrow.

he lets go next, basking in the light and the condensation dripping down his windows - hips keeping their pace drilling into you, slowing down only once he knows each drop of him has been inside of you.

part of matt wants to stay here forever, with you underneath his warmth and protected - and yet he knows he’ll wake up in the morning and only one side of his bed will be warm.

— tags 🏷️

@lambmurdock @parker-murdock @silas-aeiou @blushingrn @audreyclimbs @pupmurdock @millennial-birkin @poeticbookwormcat

[artinvain]

just read sub!top sevika and it was delicious. now i am here to beg and plead for sub!top abby 😭 (btw i love your work. you’re my fave writer on tumblr!! <3)

sub!top abby?!?!?!? men, minors, ageless & blank blogs DNI (thank u anon I luv u bb)

abby’s mouth is pressed to yours as she grabs and rubs your thighs and ass. “come on sweet pea sit on my cock,” she moans, “please, yeah fuck -“ abby whines as she watches you sink down on her, your pussy swallowing her strap as you sit.

you whine as you take her full and rotate your hips experimentally, “feels so good abby,” you tease, your hands massaging her shoulders. abby takes a hand and places it on her cheek, kissing the inside of your wrist, and you leaning forward to suck on your nipples.

abby steadies one firm hands on your ass, massaging and smacking before she spreads you open and lifts you up, her other arm wrapping around your hips and pulls you down on her strap,

“please baby ride me shit- yeah like that-“ abby moans as you start to bounce on her, she revels in the way your tits jiggle, the way you’re moaning and whining, gripping hard onto her, clawing at any part you can find. “feel good honey? you like being impaled on my cock don’t you ?” abby whimpers the question and you’re not losing your mind riding her, barely hanging onto words as she lays down to spear up into you.

“jesus fuck, you look so good taking me like this,” abby moans, groaning in response to your long string of curses,

“yeah, take it jus’ like that, little fucking slut,” abby smacks your ass bringing you down to lay on top her as you ride her strap, hips taking control again. abby smacks and squeezes your ass, soothing the pain by rubbing her hands over your soft cheeks.’

“y-yeah, fuck,” you moan into abby’s ear - your lips going to kiss and suck at her neck and under her ear as you whine - “so fucking full, you’re so deep abby - can’t ride please -“ you sputter into her ear, hips faltering.

“want me to fuck you baby? huh just fucking rail you till you’re crying?” she asks as you nod, cooing as she turns you over while you cling to her. mewling as she starts to rut into you.

“gotta gimmie one baby, please - want you to cum for me,” abby whimpers, as she angles her hips and rolls them in a way that makes your eyes roll back. abby kisses your forehead, her gentleness contrasting the way her hips snap deep and hard, your back arching as you mumble her name over and over. the sound of it like music to abby’s fucking ears.

“I know, baby, I know that must feel good, my cock so deep inside you — fuck you’re taking me so well,” she moans, gently holding onto your knee and kissing your mouth, “ah fuck need to cum inside you, fucking get deep and have you warm my cock,” she groans.

abby’s biting your shoulder to muffle her needy grunts as you moan, “close,” you whimper and abby reaches down to rub at your wet swollen clit, strumming the sensitive little nub, “can see it on your face you’re gonna cum,” she whispers — “you’re so pretty baby,” she adores the way you look blush coming upon your cheeks as you cum, gripping and holding her tight.

😅🏷️ @lesbian-useless @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @bimboprincezz @emiliabby

[jesus-holding-your-fave]

Today, Jesus is holding:

This post

thanks for the tag @jaydove-writes

I think I am safe from pm

[xx-like-a-villian-xx]

I'd Love To Watch

You’re forced to share a room with Noah and he wonders what book you’re reading.

This one is for all my dark romance reading babes, stay slay 🥀

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in anything upcoming posts, (I have so many WIPs)

CW: one bed trope (ugh my fave), mentions of dark romance, fingering, Noah is a MUNCH, squirting, forced proximity (let me know if I need to add any more)

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

“Are you kidding me?” You groan, staring at the second suitcase in the bedroom that you called dibs on when you arrived at the Airbnb. “Matt, who put their shit in my room?” You call out to your best friend and tour manager who walks towards you, a smug smirk on his face.

”Well Noah kept saying he would take the couch but there’s a California King in there so I told him he should just bunk in with you tonight.” He leans against the doorframe, grinning. “Call it team building.”

”Team building?” You scoff, exasperated.

All you want is one night to yourself without being stuck in a bus full of sweaty guys and Matt thinks it's funny to let the man you’ve been trying to avoid all tour share your room.

Noah doesn’t like you, it’s been clear since day one. Every time he talks to you he’s so patronising and cocky it makes your blood boil but it’s not like you can say much. You’re just their merch girl after all, replaceable. If it wasn’t for Matt you wouldn’t even have the opportunity so you keep your mouth closed and stay out of Noah’s way unless it’s important.

“Does Noah know that we’re sharing?” You fold your arms over your chest, staring at your best friend.

Matt chuckles. “More than aware, he actually seemed fine with it.” Your eyebrow raises in surprise and he laughs. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You watch Matt retreat to his room and get to work pulling your pyjamas out from your suitcase, locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for what you now know is going to be a hell of a long night.

While brushing your teeth you hear someone shuffle into the bedroom and you groan internally. Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, you gather your discarded clothes from the day and take a deep breath before opening the en-suite door.

Noah is lying spread eagle on the bed, wearing a pair of basketball shorts with no top, scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you put your things back into your suitcase. You roll your eyes, grabbing your book to sit in the window seat across from the bed for a while, quietly reading to yourself. The silence is thick and you can hear his heavy breathing, distracting you from your book.

Your eyes flick from the dark romance novel to the man on the bed, eyes trailing over the expanses of ink that cover his toned skin and you feel heat pooling in your core.

”Anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” His voice breaks you out of your trance and your eyes flick back to the words on the page.

You scoff. “I wasn’t staring, you just breathe really loud and it’s pissing me off.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart.”

The sound of movement reaches your ears but you daren’t look at him, lifting the book higher to hide your red face. Suddenly the novel is snatched from your hands and you scramble to grab it back from him.

”Heartless Heathens?” He hums, holding the book out of your reach as he reads the blurb then flicks through a couple of pages, eyes widening. “Jesus, Y/N. I didn’t realise you were into this kinky shit.”

Your face is tomato red, burning hot as you try to wrestle the book from his hands.

“Noah give me my book back!”

All he does is laugh, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads the page I had bookmarked. “Oh my god! ‘Does that tight pussy hurt when my fat cock stretches it out like this?’ Wow…”

His dark eyes meet yours and you squeeze them shut out of embarrassment, hiding your face with your hands.

”You like that shit, huh?” You can hear the amusement in his voice as steps forward, throwing the book down on the window seat. You want the ground to swallow you up when you feel him staring down at you.

You huff, removing your hands from your face. “Loads of people do, it’s just a book.”

“I mean, do you like that stuff? Guys talking to you like that in bed? Asking you if it hurts when they stretch you out on their cock?”

You laugh, he’s joking right? You look up at him and your mouth goes dry when you see his dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust.

”I don’t know,” you shrug. “I haven’t been with anyone for a couple of years, I don’t really have the time.”

Noah looks taken aback at your words and his lips turn up into a smirk. “A pretty girl like you? Surely you have guys begging for a chance in every state we visit.”

You chortle, crossing your arms. “Unlike most guys, I don’t need sex.”

He scoffs, picking the book back up. “So you just read this casually?”

”Most of the time.”

”And the rest of the time?”

The hot flush returns to your cheeks, reaching the tips of your ears. “That’s none of your business.”

He starts to flick through the pages again, humming as he reads. “Can I take a guess?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, go ahead.” You throw yourself down onto the bed, sitting against the headboard as he paces, reading.

“I think you like this Corvin guy most, I can imagine you getting all hot and bothered when you read his parts and you can’t help but find yourself fingerfucking yourself in your bunk when everyone is asleep.” His head tilts when he stops to look at you, his eyes searching for the telltale signs of your arousal, grinning when he sees your thighs clench together. “Am I correct?”

You shake your head in disbelief. What’s his game and why is he trying to get under your skin over some book. Your underwear feels damp from the wetness that is pooling at your core from his words and you have to stop yourself from lunging at him, to either punch him or kiss him…you’re unsure which one would be more satisfying.

”C’mon Y/N, tell me.” He sits next to you, pointing at a section where the main character is riding Corvin. “Is this what you get off to?”

You feel all too hot and bothered with him sitting next to you with his shirt off, tattooed skin taunting you as he tries to coerce the secrets of your alone time out of you.

”If I wasn’t in here right now is that what you’d be doing? Getting off over your little dark romance book?”

”What’s your deal Noah? Why do you want to know about all this?” You sit up straighter and he lounges back, eyeing you humorously.

He shrugs. “It’s just cute that you read this horny stuff. I never took you as the type to get riled up by it, is all.”

”You’d be surprised.” You mumble and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

”You read worse?”

”Oh shut up, Noah. It’s just dumb fiction, why are we even still talking about this?”

He turns to his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes burning into the side of your head. “Because I can tell how hot and bothered you are right now and it’s kind of sexy, I must admit.”

You gulp at his words, staring straight ahead in a conscious effort not to look at him or all of your resolve might falter.

”So tell me, were you so pissed about having to share this room because you wanted some special alone time tonight with your little smut novel?”

You can feel his smirk and the tension in the room thickens, turning into a storm cloud of lust.

”You can still do it, you know.”

Your eyes finally dart to his smug face and your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He shrugs casually. “You can still get yourself off, I could read to you if you want?”

Your swallow thickly, your core throbbing at his words. “No, that’s weird.”

Noah chuckles. “Masturbation isn’t we-“

”I fucking know that! What’s weird is you’re my boss and you’re offering to read to me while I make myself cum. Do you hear yourself?”

You can’t lie to yourself, the offer is almost too tempting. It’s not fair that the most attractive man you know is basically offering to help you get your rocks off but he hates you right? He’s always so moody and weird around you. Why is he being like this?

He sits up, scooting closer so your shoulders are touching and he leans close to your ear, his breath tickling the skin of your cheek. “Or I could tell you every wicked little fantasy I’ve had about you since you waltzed into the studio with Matt all those years back.’

Your eyebrows raise and you turn to him, his mouth just inches from yours. “You fantasise about me?”

He laughs, a smug sound that makes you want to punch him. “Oh yeah, my favourite is the one where I get to bend you over and rip apart those fishnets you love to wear, the ones with the lace flowers on.” His eyes darken as he reminisces over the lewd thoughts and your mind wanders.

How would it feel to have his hands all over you, tearing away those expensive tights that you adore? How would it feel to have him buried to the hilt inside you as he pushes your head into whatever surface he can find? Fuck its all too much.

”Noah, we shouldn’t talk about this stuff.” You try to reason with yourself but your resolve quickly disappears when his long inked finger trails up the bare skin of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your silky black pyjama shorts.

“Why? We’re both adults.” He smiles almost innocently.

”Because you don’t like me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Since when? Didn’t I just tell you that I literally think about how I want to bend you over?”

You roll your eyes. “You literally talk to me like shit the majority of the time.”

”I like watching you squirm.” His smile is cocky and it only sends more electricity to your core because he’s right, he does make you squirm and you like it too.

A lust filled silence lingers in the air as he stares into your eyes, a smirk plastered on his lips.

”So do you still want to get yourself off, I’d love to watch.” He cocks an eyebrow and there it is, the last of your resolve leaving out the window.

”Fine.”

He’s like a kid in a candy shop when he sits up, watching you lie down on the bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close your eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t there. You slide the silk shorts down your legs, leaving the black lace thong on and your hand travels over the soft fabric, running over the damp patch that is only getting bigger.

You gasp when you slide your hand between the fabric, fingers slipping between your slick folds, easily finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that's been begging to be touched since you walked out of the bathroom to find Noah sprawled out shirtless on the bed. Oh how you wanted to just climb on top of him, to sink down on his cock like you owned him.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips when you circle your clit, slowly teasing yourself to the images of Noah’s cock buried deep inside your cunt. You feel him shift next to you to get a better look at your movements, how your fingers move under the dark lace of your panties. You hear him take a shaky breath and it sends shockwaves to your sensitive core.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is deep, coarse in your ear and you whine out a confirmation, moving your fingers faster over your clit. “God, you don’t know how good you sound. Do you like it when I talk to you?”

”Y-yes.” You sigh and he chuckles.

”Such a good girl.” He whispers, breath tickling your ear. “Do you want me to tell you what to do, huh? Do you want to be good for me and remove your underwear so I can see how you touch that pretty little pussy? God, I bet it’s so perfect.”

You whimper, using your spare hand to push the lace down your thighs, kicking them off as you toy with yourself. Noah leans forward, a hand landing on your thigh to pull your legs further apart and a feral groan leaves his throat when you spread yourself open for him to see just how wet you are, fingers covered in wet slick.

”Oh fuck, you look so good sweetheart. Show me how you bury those pretty fingers in there.”

You push two fingers into your core, the wet sound reaching your ears. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. You hear Noah’s breathing quicken as he watches you fuck yourself with your fingers, soft moans leaving your bitten lips.

”Doing so fucking well for me.” The praise feels like heaven when it meets your ears and you speed up, curling your fingers upwards. “Fuck, what I would do to bury my own fingers inside you.”

”Please.” You whine, opening your eyes to look at him, your breath coming out in pants when his lust blown eyes meet yours.

“Please what?” He smirks, tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear as you find your clit again, rubbing your soaked fingers over the sensitive bud.

“I need your fingers inside me, please.” You’re so fucking needy and you can tell how much he gets off on it by how his smirk grows into a cruel grin and he holds his fingers against your plump lips.

”Are you gonna suck them for me? Get them nice and wet like the good little slut you are?” Your eyes roll back at his words and he gasps when your tongue swirls around the calloused pads of his fingers, soaking them with your saliva.

He pushes two long fingers into your warm mouth and you hollow your cheeks around them, staring up at him with innocent eyes that make his aching cock strain against his shorts. He pulls his fingers out with a pop and trails them down the valley of your clothed chest, down your navel to where your own fingers are still toying with your clit. Your eyes follow and your hand moves, giving him full access to where you need him most.

”You gonna watch me fuck you with my fingers huh?” He smiles sweetly, sliding his fingers up and down your drenched folds teasingly.

You nod, leaning up on your elbows to watch his slender fingers disappear between your folds, rubbing tight circles around your clit and you gasp his name, your mouth falling open at the immense pleasure. He chuckles, sliding them to your entrance to gather the wetness that pools there, moving back to your clit to play with it all too slowly.

”Please Noah.” You whine and he tuts.

”Be patient, I’ll get there. I want a better look.”

He moves to lie between your legs, pushing your legs further apart to get a good look at your glistening cunt. You can feel his breath hot against you and you could just cum right there without him even touching you, especially with how he looks up at you through those long lashes, eyes black and predatory like he wants to eat you whole.

“You’ve got such a perfect pussy, fuck.” He groans, pushes his long middle finger in, the dark ink disappearing inch by inch inside your cunt and you moan louder than expected, your hand flying to your mouth to keep yourself quiet. “Fuck, it feels so good, so soft.”

A second finger joins the first and he slowly curls them, finding that spot that leaves you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back, your head lolling back on your shoulders. His spare hand grips your inner thigh with a bruising hold and you're sure there will be bruises there tomorrow but you don’t mind, it feels like heaven.

”My mouth is so close to your pussy I can practically taste you.” He growls and your hips buck, pushing his fingers even deeper inside you. He chuckles darkly. “Do you want me to taste you?”

You sob, nodding enthusiastically.

”Use your words, pretty girl.” He hums, kissing your pelvic bone.

”Please taste me.”

He hums, his hot tongue dragging over your folds before his lips close around your clit, leaving you gobsmacked from how fucking good his tongue feels against you with his fingers fucking into you.

You’re close, you can feel that tightness building in your lower abdomen, so fucking close. His fingers curl faster, his tongue lapping over your clit like you’re the last water source on Earth and you’re falling. Your legs shake, a feral groan leaving your lips as your orgasm rips through your body like a fucking tornado. His fingers only move faster as his lips leave your sensitive clit and you're tipping over the edge again just as quickly, gushing around his fingers and the bed sheets below.

”Fuck, good girl!” He grins, lapping your sweet nectar from your thighs. “Think you’ve got another?”

You have no time to protest, he rises to slide between your thighs, fingers still buried deep inside your cunt as he stares down at you, curling them fast exactly where he knows he can drag another orgasm from you. His free hand covers your mouth when you cum again, screaming into his palm, soaking the front of his shorts where his leaking cock strains against them.

”Good fucking girl, well done!” He kisses your forehead, pulling his drenched hand away from your sensitive core to suck his fingers clean.

You stare at him in bewilderment when he smiles down at you. You’re in shock at how much you just came for a man you thought hated you half an hour ago.

”I think I need to catch you reading more.” He chuckles.

”Shut the fuck up.” You roll your eyes, pulling him into a searing kiss.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“So you two didn’t kill each other last night?” Matt smirks when you make your way downstairs in the morning, wearing one of Noah’s shirts with him freshly showered following behind you.

Folio storms past, looking a little worse for wear. “I would’ve preferred it if they did, I need to bleach my ears.” He groans, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

You blush bright red, throwing a grape at the drummer and Noah wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you into his lap.

”Guess my plan worked then.” Matt chuckles, popping a grape in his mouth with a grin.

[reignpage]

ok first of all hi reign !! how do u think the jjk men (in the eden u au) are about nudes? like do they send them, or would they only do so if reader asked, and if it’s not greedy enough for me to ask 😖 what kind of stuff would they send?

Gojo:

Bro has an album locked and loaded specifically for goth!reader. He saved his faves from the past and also made new ones where he wears goth inspired costumes with his abs on show and dick waving

Most of them are goofy. Like he does the helicopter thing, he does really cheesy overly pornographic moans and stupid lines because he can’t take himself seriously and he does it more just to be berated by goth!reader

When he is serious however, it’s only when he’s been driven to madness. Usually when reader is punishing him for being annoying by putting him in a sex ban or something

He’ll try to hold out as his own way of rebelling and standing up for himself but eventually, he can’t take it anymore, his knees are literally wobbling

Gojo sends a video and it’s the whiniest, most depraved, desperate, pathetic thing ever and he’s humping the bed whilst smelling a piece of clothing from reader and he’s all like, baby please -ngh- come on I’ve been good! I already said I’m -ha- sorry! Can’t you just sit on my -oh fuck- face? Just for a little bit? I won’t touch myself, I promise! Okay I lied fine, I will touch myself but you don’t even h-have to sit on my face, just show me your pretty face, and your pussy, but mostly your face!

Geto:

Very seductive nudes. He sends videos of him jerking off in low lighting, either at his desk in the office or in the garage, sat on his bike

Very aesthetic, doesn’t really go out of his way to make it so high quality and artistic, it just happens to be

Doesn’t ever send them out of nowhere. Really more for when the mood switches on text or something. He reads the room essentially

He does expect something back in return tho

Choso:

He starts sending after art!reader starts. Art!reader would drop hers randomly, just to tease him and drive him crazy, pushing him further and further until he tries to take revenge by sending a video of him aggressively jerking off, whimpering from the shame and embarrassment

Finds it generally uncomfortable to take nudes and send. And when art!reader encourages him, he’s not really sure how to do them, so they come off in weird angles, lighting, and poses

Has to ask his friends and cousin and they all give him terrible advice about how you just take a pic of your peen and let the ladies drool over it

He’s thinking, that doesn’t sound right

Will just ask art!reader how she likes it

Toji:

Boy is a nude EXPERT a connoisseur if you please

Man also has them locked and loaded. He’s taken them everywhere Jesus Christ. There isn’t a place on campus (and in adulthood) where he hasn’t taken them. If there’s enough privacy, he’s rubbing himself and fishing out his dick to snap a pic

But when he really wants to tease, really wants to get her wet and on edge, then he does pics that aren’t nudes, not really because they leave so much to the imagination

It’ll be shirtless pics of him in the gym, sweaty and shiny, and in his shorts is an unmissable hardness. He also sends videos but it’s in complete darkness, and all you can hear is his low breaths, groaning and a movement somewhere, the sound of rubbing, with just a little bit of wetness…and then reader’s name groaned just barely audible

Oh yeah, he’s an expert alright

Nanami:

Only starts sending after reader. He was very concerned with privacy and all of that. He even warned her not to send anything, especially not with her face in the picture/video. Eventually though, with just how many she sends, and often, he becomes frustrated and sends her one to silence her

It’s clumsy, blurry, terrible angle and lighting

But that’s what makes it so hot

He never sends out of nowhere, only when reader asks him to. And she always has specific requests like oh can you moan my name Ken? can you do it with my panties? ooh tell me some physics fact? narrate a chapter of that book you’re reading as you jerk off please please please

And he does as she asks

Every.

Time.

Sukuna:

Doesn’t send them. Neither does reader tbh. They both much prefer the real thing over nudes. Generally speaking, neither of them have much of a sexual appetite outside of each other, so it just doesn’t really happen

But if Sukuna did send nudes, they’d be very aggressive videos where he’s fucking his hand, imagining it’s her face, and he’s telling her, see what you did to me? you just gotta be fucking difficult, don’t you? this is what’s gonna happen to that pretty face when I get my hands on you

It’d be so scary highkey but reader would only smile to herself and think, what a piece of shit waste of space monster of a person, ugh he’s adorable

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

Alright! I've got all the matchups in place. This is going to be spread out between this post and 3 other reblogs of it to get around the mention limit. Maybe I'll render these all nice and pretty one day. Maybe...

Matches will be between the blogs next to each other. For instance, @hellsitegenetics and @orca-detector will be matched up, then the winner will go against whoever wins from the @postanagramgenerator and @amongus-text-detector match and so on. You get the picture. Any odd-numbered blog will be against the one below it, and any even-numbered blog will be against the one above it.

Side 1, Part 1

@hellsitegenetics

@orca-detector

@postanagramgenerator

@amongus-text-detector

@jesus-holding-your-fave

@stereosexuals-daily

@cookieclickercookieeater

@same-picture-of-a-rock-every-day

@reallybadblackoutpoems

@word-problem-posting

@cantheywinthehungergames

@official-boob-posts

@ofishal-fish-posts

@mammalidentifier

@latinare

@duothelingo

@doyoulikethissong-poll

@thoughts-of-eel

@colourpickingpride

@soniclesbianflags

@cantheykillmacbeth

@sealsdaily

@one-time-i-dreamt

@the-magenta-painter

@the-haiku-bot

@identifying-spacecraft-in-posts

@littleguysdaily

@can-they-lift-thors-hammer

@official-linguistics-post

@libraryofbabel-postlocator

@i-say-ok

@i-make-things-into-faces

[jesus-holding-your-fave]

yeah guys i don’t think @ohio-thestate has seen this yet

also have jesus holding ohio

[rodamned]

✨ Conclave (2024) @ao3org Fic Overview & AWARD SEASON – As of Feb 4, 2025✨

TOTAL FICS:

Conclave (2024) → 208 fics

Conclave - Robert Harris → 52 fics

Conclave RPF → 7 fics (the authors here are braver than the marines)

Fandom Shipping Report

We are a M/M hellhole (in Vatican? who’s shocked? not me) with 159 fics in that category. Gen (56 fics) is holding on like a Victorian child, and Multi (6), F/M (5), Other (2), and F/F (1) are basically cryptids.

Top Ships

Vincent/Thomas (98 fics) – Winning by a landslide. "I can fix him" meets "I can break him."

Aldo/Thomas (41 fics) – They’re divorced, they’re yearning, they’re devastating.

Vincent & Thomas (22 fics) – Oh, you don’t ship them? You just think about them 24/7? Okay.

Aldo & Thomas (11 fics) – Relying on the worst emotional support system imaginable. My boys...

Aldo/Goffredo (9 fics) – This one’s for the toxic, nasty little freaks (respectfully as I'm actively one of you)

Thomas/Raymond (9 fics) – …ok, og book shipers <3

Thomas/Goffredo (8 fics) – Why is Thomas collecting these flawed men like Pokémon?

Aldo & Vincent (7 fics) – YES & "We don’t talk about it."

Aldo/Vincent (6 fics) – Oh, but some of us do.

Aldo/Vincent/Thomas (6 fics) – So you want to destroy three men at once? Good. The Holy Trinity for real!

Ratings & Warnings

General (72 fics) – Congrats, some of you are sane.

Explicit (54 fics) – And some of you really, really aren’t.

Teen & Up (52 fics) – Angst hours.

Mature (17 fics) – "I could make this smutty, but what if I made it devastating instead?"

Not Rated (13 fics) – The wild west. No rules, just vibes.

Warnings:

No Archive Warnings (142 fics) – We are a people of peace.

Chose Not To Use (60 fics) – You don’t want to spoil the suffering.

Major Character Death (7 fics) – But when it hits, it hits. (RIP)

Graphic Violence (7 fics) – Vatican MMA when? 👀

Rape/Non-Con (3 fics) – ...

Character Leaderboard

Thomas Lawrence (172 fics) – Poster boy, poor little meow meow, king of suffering.

Vincent Benítez (138 fics) – Beloved. I will haunt you even in death.

Aldo Bellini (84 fics) – Doing so much and nothing at the same time.

Goffredo Tedesco (36 fics) – Problematic fave, menace behavior, probably gives people ulcers.

Raymond O'Malley (30 fics) – Short king <3

Sister Agnes (24 fics) – "Guys, can you be normal for five seconds?"

Cardinal Sabbadin (11 fics) – Our 🇬🇪 king of "I have three scenes, and you’re gonna make it your entire personality."

Joseph Tremblay (11 fics) – Exists. Oh Canada. Alexa play 'Money Money Money'.

Original Characters (9 fics) – Love a good self-insert. Or just any sorts of unhinged creativity!

Joshua Adeyemi (8 fics) – Sir, you are so underwritten, but we got you.

Top Tropes & Tags

What’s the Conclave fandom obsessed with?

Post-Canon (29 fics) – "So anyway, what happened AFTER?"

Character Study (27 fics) – Read: brain rot with love <3

Hurt/Comfort (20 fics) – It’s never just hurt. We need a little fix-it.

Pining (20 fics) – They will NEVER be normal. They swore not to after all. Collars and all...

Angst (17 fics) – The pain is the point.

Fluff (12 fics) – You’re lying to yourself, but okay.

Pre-Relationship (12 fics) – 40k words of slow burn eye contact.

Pre-Canon (11 fics) – "Before the disaster, before the trauma…"

Religious Imagery (10 fics) – Bible study, but make it ✨gay✨

Religious Guilt (9 fics) – These numbers feel low, honestly.

Longest Fics (Congrats, You (We) Win at Word Count)

Some of y’all (us) are writing entire novels.

1. Crown of Thorns (183,786 words) by rodamned – An actual brick. A thorn in my ass (disrespectfuly).

2. 21 Syllables (49,116 words) by Piersanti - “I have nothing to grieve for.” 👀 I'm still speechless here.

3. Everything’s Alright (44,016 words) by rodamned – No, it’s not <3 Jesus Christ Superstar reference, whoo?

4. Divine Revelations of Love (27,606 words) by Piersanti - We are kept all as securely in Love in woe as in weal, by the Goodness of God. - Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love 🥹

5. Stories from the Vatican (25,602 words) by Lost_In_Ace – Fic drabbles but make it THE saga 🫶

Most Beloved (Kudos Kings) 👑

Fanart Collection (Kudos: 601) – 1848/YOSB owns us all and we're grateful <3

Canticle (Kudos: 546) – Marie (VampireSpider) supremacy.

Like a Heathen Clung (Kudos: 467) – unrealshrike is making everyone insane.

Oldest vs. Newest ⌛🕰️⏳

📜 Oldest Fic:

Uncertainty by funnybabyvideos (Nov 11, 2024) – They were first, respect, love, thoughs and prayers!

🆕 Newest Fic:

Iliw (longing) by A_Retired_TimeTraveler – We love fresh pain.

🏆 CONCLAVE (2024) AO3 WINNERS (so far) 🏆

🏅 Most Popular Ship (aka ‘Fandom’s One True Pair’)

🏆 Vincent Benítez/Thomas Lawrence (98 fics)

You guys saw two old men making intense eye contact, one (1) single date by the turtle fountain, and collectively decided this is a love story now. Good.

🥈 Runner-Up: Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence (41 fics)

The divorced vibes were too strong for you to ignore. The ultimate work husbands. The blorbos of the year!

🔥 Most Unhinged Ship (aka ‘Why Are We Like This?’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco (9 fics)

Oh, so we looked at Aldo Bellini, the most emotionally repressed man alive, and said “give him a nemesis with unresolved tension”? Okay.

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco (8 fics) – same thing, different font.

Special mention to:

Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco/Sister Agnes (one fic) - literal perfection 🫶

😭 Most Devastating Tag (aka ‘Fandom Pain Olympics’)

🏆 Pining (20 fics)

Half this fandom is just writing 30k of two men not touching.

🥈 Religious Guilt (9 fics)

No one is enjoying their romance here. They are suffering through it.

💀 Most Tragic Fic Trend (aka ‘How Many Times Must A Man Die’ Award)

🏆 Major Character Death (7 fics)

Seven people said, "this isn’t sad enough."

🎭 Most Likely to Be an Accidental Bible Study

🏆 Religious Imagery & Symbolism (10 fics)

"Oh, it’s just Vatican aesthetics!" No. You’re writing 4,000 words about a man standing under a stained-glass window, questioning his faith and his love for another man. This is Bible study.

📈 Fastest Growing Ship (aka ‘The Dark Horse’)

🏆 Aldo Bellini/Thomas Lawrence

Started from the bottom, now we’re here. This ship DOUBLED in the past month. Aldo/Thomas truthers are rising. Hi :)

🥈 Thomas Lawrence/Goffredo Tedesco

I don’t wanna ask why, but I feel like I should. I have some reading to do.

🫂 Most “Just Kiss Already” (or don't) Pairing

🏆 Aldo Bellini & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (11 fics)

These fics are like "they are JUST FRIENDS," but also, he looks at him with tears in his eyes.

🥈 Vincent Benítez & Thomas Lawrence (Gen) (22 fics)

I know what you’re trying to do, but it’s still fruity (respectfully).

⬇️📚📈

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Conclave%20(2024)/works

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home V

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 14.6k

Bucky Barnes has always been a man of few words, but his silence is starting to sound like goodbye. You’ve felt the shift—his touch still lingers, his kisses still steal your breath, but something is missing. Something unspoken. Nights spent tangled in his sheets aren’t enough to silence the question that haunts you: Is he staying because he wants to, or because he doesn’t know how to leave?

You love him. You’ve loved him since the beginning. You’ve given him every piece of yourself, waiting for the moment he finally stops holding back. But love alone has never been enough to keep him. And if you ask for more—if you finally demand an answer—will he give you his heart, or will he give you an exit wound?

Trigger Warnings: emotional distress, angst, and relationship struggles, jealousy, and abandonment issues, emotional withdrawal, implied PTSD and survivor’s guilt, explicit sexual content (light dominance, possessiveness, overstimulation, and loss of control), moments of mental and emotional turmoil.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: WELL, that only took fucking forever, huh?! I was stuck with this one cause I didn't wanna put my babies through this, so I'm warning you in advance: it's a sad one. There is a happy ending and there will be more to come tho, cause they are my faves and I already wrote most of the next part. Let me know what you think! B xx

--

The absence of warmth against your side was what pulled you from sleep. It wasn’t a noise, not the creak of the floorboards or the shuffle of movement—just the missing weight of his vibranium arm draped over your waist. Your body instinctively sought his, reaching out into the space where he should be, but all you found was the lingering heat he left behind.

Blinking groggily, you turned your head, the edges of sleep still clinging to your vision. Bucky stood in the middle of the bedroom, bathed in the dim glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. His broad back was to you, muscles shifting as he pressed his hands to his hips, scanning the room like he was searching for something.

He hadn’t noticed you were awake.

Burrowed in the covers, you let yourself watch, a slow, lazy smile tugging at your lips as you took in the sight of him—naked and utterly unbothered. The smooth expanse of his back, the flex of his arms, the curve of his ass—God, the man was a work of art. And he moved so quietly, his steps barely making a sound as he finally zeroed in on what he was looking for: his clothes, strewn carelessly across the floor from the night before.

You held back a disappointed sigh when he picked up his boxers, sliding them on with quick efficiency, hiding away what you had been thoroughly enjoying. The words left your mouth before you could stop them, still thick with sleep.

“Nooo…” you whined, the sound stretching out lazily as you buried your smile into the pillow.

Bucky startled, turning sharply toward you, his brows lifted in surprise.

You grinned, eyes half-lidded, voice teasingly slow. “I was enjoying the view.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Jesus, you’re such a perv.”

“And you’re depriving me of my morning entertainment,” you pouted dramatically, propping yourself up. “Can’t a girl ogle you in peace?”

Bucky scoffed, slipping into his sweatpants as you openly mourned the loss of his skin. He closed the distance, stopping right in front of you, his warm hands finding your bare shoulders, thumbs brushing over your collarbone as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

“There’s nothing to ogle,” he muttered, feigning modesty.

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, reaching up to cradle his face, fingers tracing along his stubbled jaw. “There’s so much to ogle. And I’m not just talking about your ass…”

Bucky groaned, shaking his head, but the way his lips twitched betrayed him. You could feel the heat blooming across his cheeks, and it made you grin. He was adorable when he got flustered, like he still wasn’t used to the way you looked at him.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but his hands betrayed him, sliding down your back in slow, lazy strokes. His palms ghosted over your waist, your hips, before settling at the curve of your ass, squeezing just enough to make you hum in contentment.

“And yet, you keep groping me.” You arched a brow, biting your lip to contain your grin.

“I’m a weak man,” he admitted, pressing his forehead to yours. “You make it too easy.”

You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your bodies pressed close in the stillness of the night. But there was something different about the way he held you. It was still warm, still affectionate—but it wasn’t as effortless as before.

Bucky was pulling away.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a way most people would notice. But you had. You felt it in the hesitation of his touch, the way his fingers brushed over your skin like they were memorizing instead of claiming. The way he would hold you like this, then seem to remember something—something that made his grip loosen instead of tighten.

You told him you loved him, and he hadn’t said it back. Not in those words.

He’d said he cared. He’d said he felt the same. But the words never passed his lips, and the longer they lingered unspoken, the heavier they became, like stones sinking between you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your steady breaths and the faint rustling of fabric as he absently played with the ends of your hair. His fingers traced slow, idle patterns—distracted. Elsewhere.

“Were you sneaking out?” you murmured.

His exhale was slow, measured. “No.”

You hesitated, tilting your head slightly to catch his gaze. “Am I allowed to ask where you were going, then?”

Bucky hummed against your skin, lips skimming along the side of your neck in an unhurried, open-mouthed kiss. It was a distraction—one that might have worked if you weren’t already searching for the cracks forming between you. A pleasant shiver ran down your spine, making your fingers tighten in his hair, but it didn’t ease the hollow ache settling in your chest.

“Just out for a call,” he said, voice low and warm.

You huffed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. “To who?”

“Sam.” Another kiss. Another distraction. “He wants to talk about a trip to D.C.”

Your body stiffened. Just like that, the haze of warmth and sleepiness vanished, replaced by something sharper. Bucky must’ve felt it, because he pulled back, brow lifting slightly as his hands skimmed over your sides in a soothing motion.

“D.C.?” you echoed, your voice sharper now.

His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “Relax. It’s not for a mission. I don’t know any details yet. Something to do with Sharon.”

Sharon.

You forced your face into something neutral, but the name sliced through you like a blade, leaving something raw in its wake. Sharon Carter.

You didn’t like her. Hell, you didn’t like the idea of Bucky flying off to see her, but you knew better than to voice it.

Saying it out loud would only make you sound… ridiculous. Petty. Jealous. Desperate. And while all of that was true, it wasn’t something you were ready to confront.

So, instead, you exhaled slowly, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw, willing yourself to let it go. “Go on, then.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you back into his warmth. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You forced a small smile, curling deeper into the covers. “I’ll be waiting.”

But even as you said it, you knew the unease twisting in your chest wasn’t going anywhere.

Sleep eluded you. No matter how many times you shifted, flipped the pillow, or tried to will your mind into silence, it didn’t work. So you gave up.

With a sigh, you pushed back the covers and padded out of the bedroom, your body heavy with exhaustion but your thoughts too restless to let you sink back into unconsciousness. The apartment was quiet, the air still carrying the remnants of Bucky’s warmth.

A note sat on the kitchen counter, the edges curling slightly as if time had already started to wear it down. His handwriting, neat but with the occasional jagged letter, spelled out: Went to grab breakfast. Be back soon.

You stared at it, the words lodging themselves somewhere deep in your chest. Too short. Too impersonal. Something about them felt off, but you shook your head and set the note aside, forcing yourself not to spiral.

This was ridiculous. Everything was fine. Bucky was fine. He wanted confirmation of your feelings, and you had always given him space to process his. Him not saying it back didn’t mean anything—or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But lately, you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Without him here, you opted for a long shower, letting the hot water chase away the remnants of a sleepless night. By the time you emerged, towel wrapped around you and steam curling in the air, the front door swung open.

Bucky walked in, looking so unfairly good that you almost forgot how to breathe. His hair, slightly longer now, curled at the edges, damp from the morning mist. His blue eyes seemed even brighter against the navy Henley he wore. A pink bakery bag dangled from his vibranium fingers, a Starbucks tray balanced in his other hand, and his phone was pressed to his ear.

“When do you think it’ll happen?” His voice was low, distracted. He kicked the door shut behind him without a second thought, already making his way toward the kitchen where you stood, sipping on a glass of water.

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but the pause stretched long, filled with faint static. You leaned against the counter, watching him as he nodded along to whatever was being said.

“I can make it happen,” he finally murmured. “I’ll catch a flight out Wednesday so I can be there after she signs everything.”

Something inside you curled in protest. You turned away, setting your glass in the sink with deliberate care, masking the frown tugging at your lips. You stared out the window, watching the slow trickle of people making their way down the street.

Bucky’s presence warmed your back before you even heard him move. His lips brushed your shoulder first, then a firm squeeze at your waist—his silent way of saying 'hello'. But there was something absent in the gesture, something automatic.

“Hold on a minute,” he said into the phone, pulling it away just far enough to duck down and steal a kiss from your lips. You could taste the chill of the morning on him, the scent of his aftershave lingering. “Got you a bacon, egg, and cheese—and an Americano.”

Your chest squeezed at the ease of it all, because it somehow felt fake. Like he was holding onto a script, playing a part. Ever since that night you had finally cracked, finally told him you loved him, something had shifted. Even the world seemed to be giving you a reprieve—missions were slower, danger a little more distant. Sam had gone home for a bit, and Bucky had been content to let you drag him furniture shopping, helping turn his space into something lived-in.

And yet, you noticed. As much as he seemed to fall into a rhythm, his affections never wavering, he’d become significantly more introspective. You had caught him more times than you’d like to admit staring at you, but not with the soft affection you were used to. It was something else—something heavy. Impersonal. Like he was calculating some kind of risk before he noticed you had seen him and schooled his features back into something resembling the Bucky from before. 

Before, you had been too honest. Before, you had let your heart speak before your head could stop it. Before, you had let yourself believe that love—spoken aloud, undeniable—would be enough to keep him steady, to keep him here. But now, you weren’t so sure.

Because ever since that night, something had shifted. He held you close, but there was a hesitation, a quiet space between his words where something unnamed lived. And when he looked at you, sometimes—just for a second—it was as if he was trying to memorize you, as if he was preparing for something neither of you had spoken into existence. Like he was calculating a risk. 

Which is why you hated whatever was taking him to Washington. Because deep in your bones, you felt it creeping in—the moment everything changed. The moment he pulled too far away to reach. And you weren’t ready to let him go.

Bucky’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. “Yeah, she’s here. No, she hasn’t had her coffee yet.” He chuckled at whatever was said on the other end, then shot you a teasing glance that made your heart squeeze. “If you wanna risk it…”

You narrowed your eyes as he extended the phone toward you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He wants to talk to you.”

You let out a long-suffering sigh but took the phone anyway, pressing it to your ear. “Morning, Sam.”

“Mrs. Barnes.” His voice dripped with amusement, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

Your nose scrunched and you turned away from Bucky, the weight of his gaze overwhelming. “Don’t start.”

“We both know it’s inevitable. Anyway, listen, Bucky’s flying out here on Wednesday, and I was thinking—why don’t you come with him? Make it a little trip.”

You tugged at a loose thread on your towel, staring into the white of the fabric until your eyes crossed. You weren’t quite sure this was a good idea. “To D.C.?”

“Yeah. I figure if I have to suffer through Barnes brooding about being away from you for more than forty-eight hours, might as well nip it in the bud before he starts sighing dramatically into the phone like a lovesick teenager.”

A snort of laughter escaped you before you could stop it, disbelief making itself known. “I doubt that’d happen.”

“Oh, it’d happen.”

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering to Bucky, who was busy unpacking the food with a neutral expression you knew was entirely fake. He was listening. He was always listening.

“I mean, I could… I’m just not sure if Bucky would agree,” you offered.

“Agree to what?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard every single word.

“Sam wants me to come with you to D.C. Something about you brooding too much over being away from me,” you smiled, but it didn’t hold as you watched him nod.

On the other side of the line, Sam’s voice caught your attention. “Also, if you do decide to come, I would offer my place, but Sharon’s staying with me for a bit and I’ve only got the one guest bedroom.”

Your brows lifted. “Sharon’s staying with you? As in Sharon Carter?”

“Yeah, just until she can figure out her move back to the U.S. She’s getting her pardon, but things are still a bit messy for her.”

“Things are always messy for her,” you muttered, unable to resist the dig. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s brow lifted at that, but he stayed silent.

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, don’t make it weird. I’m just trying to be a good friend here.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Anyway,” Sam quickly continued before you could push any further, “Come with him. Just book a hotel, and I’ll send you a list of good areas to stay in. Easy.”

You hummed, mulling it over. “I’ll have a chat with him.”

“Pfft, don’t chat. It’s decided, you’re coming.”

“Sam—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. See you Wednesday, Mrs. Barnes.”

You sighed, defeated, as you hung up and tossed the phone onto the counter.

Bucky was already watching you, arms crossed. “So you’re coming?”

“Only if you want me to,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

“I want you to.”

You weren’t so sure you believed him. –

By the time you landed, Sam was waiting in the parking lot of the airport, arms crossed, that signature smirk already in place. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, a fitted T-shirt, and a lightweight jacket—but his eyes gleamed with mischief as they landed on the two of you.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Sam drawled, pushing off the pillar and strolling toward you. “My favorite couple. How was the flight, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?”

You groaned as Bucky immediately stiffened beside you, his grip tightening around the handle of your suitcase. His reaction was barely noticeable—maybe no one else would have caught it—but you did. Lately, you caught everything.

“Really? We’re starting this now?” you sighed, forcing a lightness into your voice you didn’t quite feel.

Sam shrugged, grinning. “What? I’m just sayin’, y’all are real cozy these days. Ain’t it about time you made an honest man out of him?”

Bucky let out a low grumble but didn’t bother correcting him. He just exhaled, set his jaw, and rolled your suitcase forward without another word, completely ignoring the knowing look Sam shot him.

Something in your stomach twisted. The old Bucky—the one before you’d told him you loved him, before this quiet distance settled between you—would have had a snarky comeback, maybe thrown an arm around you just to make Sam roll his eyes. But now? He just let the comment hang in the air, unchallenged, unacknowledged. Like it didn’t matter.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, past the doubt creeping into the spaces he was leaving behind.

“You’re hilarious, Wilson,” you deadpanned. “Truly, a comedic genius.”

Sam placed a hand over his heart. “I do what I can.”

The three of you made your way out of the airport, Sam and Bucky falling into their usual rhythm—bantering, teasing, Bucky pretending to be exasperated when you could tell he secretly enjoyed it. Except, this time, there was something off. His laughter didn’t reach his eyes the way it used to. His voice was lighter, but not in the effortless way you loved—it was careful. Controlled. Like he was playing a part.

You slid into the backseat of Sam’s truck, the leather cool beneath your fingertips. You weren’t even sure when Bucky had last looked at you, really looked at you.

“So, what do you think?” Sam glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his smirk still firmly in place. “Dinner at mine?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the seat, sounding almost relieved at the change of subject. “Sounds good to me. Doll?”

You nodded, turning your gaze to the window as the streets passed you by.

There was no escaping it. Whatever this was—whatever had shifted between you and Bucky—it was following you. 

–

You had tried to keep yourself together. You really had. But by the time Sam dropped you both off at the hotel, the weight in your chest had solidified into something unbearable—cold, heavy, and unrelenting. No amount of forced smiles or easy conversation could shake it.

After a shower to wash the grime from the plane ride, you slipped into bed, exhaustion clinging to you in a way that had nothing to do with the flight. You had hours before dinner at Sam’s—hours you could be spending with Bucky. Exploring the city, tangled up together in bed, finally stealing a moment just for the two of you. No missions. No distractions.

The thought of pulling him down beside you, of pressing your lips to his until he remembered what this was supposed to feel like, nearly broke you. Maybe if you kissed him hard enough, if you touched him the way you used to, you could undo whatever this was. Maybe you could take it back. Tell him you’d been wrong. That there was no love, only lust. That it had never been deeper than that. That way, he could stop retreating into himself, stop looking at you like he was waiting for something to break.

But you couldn’t lie to him. And worse—you couldn’t lie to yourself.

So instead, you curled onto your side, clinging to a pillow as if it could hold you together. The sting behind your eyes was relentless, tears slipping free despite how hard you tried to keep them in. You pressed your face into the pillow, muffling the shaky breath that escaped.

The sound of the bathroom door opening barely registered.

“Tired?” Bucky’s voice was rough, a little hoarse from travel, but it still sent something deep inside you twisting painfully.

“Yeah,” you murmured, keeping your back to him. Normally, you would have turned around, let your eyes roam over the sight of him fresh from the shower, hair damp, towel slung low on his hips. But tonight, you stayed still. Because if he saw your face, he’d see your red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks on your cheek, the truth written all over you.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Is everything okay?”

It was the hesitation in his voice that gutted you the most. The way he asked like he already knew the answer but didn’t want to hear it.

“Sure,” you whispered, nodding stiffly, gripping the covers tighter and pulling them up to your chin. “Just tired from the plane.”

You felt him linger, standing just behind you, close enough that you could hear his steady breathing. But he didn’t push. He didn’t press. He just stood there, silent, before the mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of the bed.

And it hit you all over again—he was right there, but somehow, it still felt like you were miles apart.

–

You should’ve known walking into this was a mistake. You should’ve stayed at the hotel, let whatever happen, happen. Because this? This was torture.

You sat at the table, Bucky to your left, Sam to your right, and Sharon directly in front of you—the perfect storm. You barely touched your food, your grip tightening around your wine glass as they laughed and reminisced, trading stories like they were fond memories instead of fragments of lives torn apart. Steve Rogers. A dingy old car. A kiss. Then Madripoor—how Sharon had ‘saved their ass.’

And Bucky was smiling.

Not the small, weary smiles he’d been giving you lately. This was different—effortless, unguarded. All week, he’d been wound tight, withdrawing, keeping you at a distance. But now, here, with her, he looked… at ease. Like she was giving him something you couldn’t—an understanding, a comfort in the language of battle that felt like home to him, a refuge from the weight of whatever expectations he thought you carried.

You gripped your wine glass tighter, the delicate stem pressing into your palm as you took another sip, focusing on the sharp burn of the alcohol rather than the sound of Sharon’s laugh. It was light, effortless—too damn familiar as she reached out, nudging Bucky’s vibranium arm like she had every right to.

Your jaw locked, a pulse of irritation tightening in your chest as your already crossed legs stiffened further. You were vibrating with anger. It wasn’t even his skin, and still, the sight made something hot and ugly coil in your stomach.

You wanted to slap her hand away. Wanted to tell her to back off. Wanted Bucky to move—just an inch, just enough to show that he felt the weight of her touch the way you did - unpleasantly, unwelcome.

But he didn’t.

“You were such a terrible undercover,” she teased, eyes bright with amusement. “You couldn’t even play a convincing criminal.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I got us in, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and almost got us killed,” she shot back. “I swear, if I hadn’t stepped in—”

“Oh, please,” Sam cut in, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again. Sharon, you act like you were some hero. We handled it.”

“Handled it?” She snorted. “If it wasn’t for me, you two would still be running from bounty hunters in the gutters of Madripoor.”

Bucky smirked. “She’s got a point.”

Your chest tightened.

Bucky’s distance had already been gnawing at you, a slow, relentless ache, and now—watching the easy way he spoke with her, the warmth in his voice—it was too much. Every low chuckle, every lingering glance, every casual brush of Sharon’s fingers against his arm sent another splinter through you.

He’d made no effort to show you were here together since you arrived. No arm around your waist, no glance in your direction, no subtle acknowledgment that you weren’t just someone in the room—you were his. Instead, you felt like an afterthought. Like a shadow. Like a lost puppy trailing behind him, desperate for attention that he wasn’t offering.

It fueled something ugly inside you, something you hated but couldn’t suppress. You weren’t the jealous type. You weren’t petty or insecure. But tonight, with the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs, your anger and resentment tangled together, twisting into something sharp and unrelenting.

So you stayed quiet. You sipped your wine, kept your eyes down, forced yourself to pretend this wasn’t getting to you. Forced yourself to swallow the lump of frustration in your throat and ignore the irrational sting in your chest.

But the universe had other plans.

“How’s life been treating ya?” Sharon’s voice cut through the air, her lips curling around your name like it was something bitter. “Heard you got promoted to assisting these two. You’ve come a long way since your S.H.I.E.L.D. days.”

Your smile was thin, lifeless. “It’s been fun. I can’t complain. They’re good partners, even though they get on my nerves.”

“I always thought you’d end up in the field eventually. Why haven’t you?”

There was something pointed in her tone, a sharp edge hidden beneath the surface, a provocation instead of a genuine question. You set your glass down with deliberate care, leaning back in your chair, arms folding over your chest. “I prefer research. It’s where I thrive. I can do more for them that way.”

“Guess not all of us are made for the action, right, Buck?”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

Instead, you pushed your glass toward Sam with a curt nod. “Top me up?”

Sam, to his credit, didn’t hesitate. He poured more wine without a word, his eyes flicking between you and Bucky like he could feel the shift in the air. You took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in your throat, trying to drown the simmering anger clawing its way to the surface. But it wasn’t enough.

The irritation was already there, curling under your skin, waiting—begging—to spill over.

“How about you, Sharon?” you asked suddenly, slicing clean through whatever bullshit story she’d been spinning. Your gaze flicked down, zeroing in on her hand resting so casually against Bucky’s wrist.

You hadn’t touched him in hours.

The realization hit like a gut punch, leaving something raw and exposed in its wake.

Sharon blinked, caught off guard for a split second before recovering with a practiced ease. “It’s been alright. I got my pardon, so I’m sticking around for a while. Trying to reconnect with family, settle things.”

“Only family?” You tilted your head, your voice deceptively sweet. Dangerous. “No boyfriends, right?”

Sharon hesitated. It was brief, barely noticeable—but you caught it.

“N—”

“Oh, that’s right.” Your smile was slow, deliberate, razor-sharp. “Last time you had someone, it was your aunt’s sloppy seconds.”

The second the words left your mouth, the air changed. The words landed like a gunshot. The silence that followed was suffocating and the tension went from an undercurrent to a crackling, undeniable force, stretching taut between all of you.

Bucky stiffened beside you. Sam let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face. And Sharon? For the first time all night, she had nothing to say.

Sam muttered a quiet “Damn” under his breath, glancing between the two of you like he was watching a bomb tick down.

You barely registered any of it. The only thing you saw was Bucky reaching for you—his hand shifting under the table, hovering just above your thigh, hesitating, then pulling back, his fingers curling into a fist. 

The sting of it reverberated through your whole body. 

Sharon, to her credit, recovered quickly. She let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. “Didn’t realize we were getting into cheap shots tonight. I would’ve brought popcorn.”

You tilted your head, giving her an easy, sharp smile. “I figured you’d be used to it by now. Considering all that time in Madripoor.”

Her eyes flickered, just for a second, before she smirked. “Well, someone had to get their hands dirty while you sat behind a screen.”

“Right. And exactly how dirty did you get?”

Sam exhaled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Alright, we are dangerously close to turning this into a bar fight.”

Sharon waved a hand, looking far too pleased with herself. “Oh, relax, Wilson. Just catching up with an old colleague.”

You picked up your wine glass, turning to Sam instead. “You’re right, Sam. This has been fun, but I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Bucky’s head turned toward you, brows furrowed. “Doll—”

Downing the last of your wine, you pushed your chair back before he could finish, grabbing your purse. “I’ll head back to the hotel. You guys enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Before he could stop you—before he could reach out and make you stay—you walked away, because if you stayed one more second, you weren’t sure you’d be able to breathe.

–

You were out the door before you could second-guess yourself. Coat and purse clutched in one hand, phone gripped tight in the other, you tapped your foot furiously against the pavement, buzzing with too much—anger, jealousy, frustration, and that awful, gnawing ache in your chest. The street was quiet, the air crisp, but all you could hear was the rush of your pulse as you stared down the road, willing headlights to appear.

The door creaked open behind you. Voices drifted through the night, but only one set of footsteps—or rather, the absence of them—told you exactly who was coming after you.

Bucky.

His presence was unmistakable, looming at your side even as you refused to look at him. The warmth radiating from him was just close enough to feel, but not close enough to touch.

“You should go back inside,” you said, your voice not nearly as steady as you wanted. You reached up quickly, swiping at the stray tear that betrayed you, the other hand gripping your phone like a lifeline.

“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice measured, calm. Too calm.

“No,” you corrected, jaw tight. “I’m leaving. You can stay.”

He let out a slow exhale, the kind that meant he was reigning himself in. “Come on, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” You finally turned, eyes burning into him.

“This,” he said, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in. “Storming out, making a scene. You didn’t have to go after Sharon like that.”

You barked out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I hurt your girlfriend’s feelings. Not like she didn’t diminish my work right in front of you and you said shit.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” His jaw ticked, his voice sharp, but controlled. “And you’re being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable?” Your head snapped toward him, eyes flashing. “Right, of course. Because I’m the problem. Not the way you’ve been acting. Not the way you let her—” You stopped yourself, swallowing down the lump in your throat, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Let her what?”

You scoffed, looking away. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” His voice was steel now, an edge that would’ve made anyone else back down. But not you. Not when you were already burning.

You turned back to him, fire in your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

For a moment, you were locked in a silent battle that felt heavier than any argument. The weight of his stare pressed into you.

The sound of an approaching car broke the moment, and relief flooded through you so fast it made your legs weak. Without another word, you turned away, your feet dragging as you made your way toward the curb, toward escape.

Then, behind you, the front door creaked open again.

“Buck, you forgot your—”

Sam’s voice cut through the night, but you barely registered it. You didn’t stop, didn’t look back.

The second the car rolled to a stop, you yanked the door open, slid inside, and slammed it shut.

You didn’t wait for Bucky.

You didn’t give yourself the chance to.

–

Your body felt impossibly heavy, weighed down by grief, regret, and something even darker that you didn’t dare name. You sank into the chair by the window, your limbs stiff with exhaustion, your chest hollow with the ache of knowing you might’ve just lost him.

The city stretched before you, lights flickering against the glass, a world moving forward while yours stood painfully still. The fancy bedspread, the romantic bathtub, the room with a view—none of it mattered now. It was all just a cruel backdrop to a moment that felt like the beginning of the end.

You would’ve told yourself I told you so if it didn’t feel so vicious, so mercilessly cutting. But you had known. Of course you had known. It was almost laughable, the way your own heart had resisted, the way your mind had screamed at you to be careful when he first asked for this.

He had wanted it. Begged for it.

Something real, something solid. Something to hold onto when the nightmares came, when the weight of his past became too much. And like a fool, you had given it to him, convinced—desperate—that it would be enough to keep him here. To make him stay.

It hadn’t been.

And worst of all, you couldn’t even be angry at him for it.

He had warned you. So many times.

He was scared—of your devotion, of your belief in him, of the way you saw a man worthy of love when all he saw was a ghost of who he used to be. He was scared of your forgiveness, of your patience, of your kindness. Scared that one day, you would wake up and realize he wasn’t enough.

He had told you. God, he had told you. And you hadn’t listened. Because you were naive enough to believe that love—your love—would be enough.

And now, here you were. The irony of it all nearly made you laugh. The first time you ever truly fought felt like it would also be your last. You had feared this moment from the beginning.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your tired eyes, trying to stop the spiral before it completely consumed you. Stupid. Stubborn. Naive. You never should’ve let him convince you. Never should’ve let yourself believe he wouldn’t run the second things got too real.

The soft click of the hotel door unlocking shattered your thoughts, sending your pulse hammering against your ribs.

You held your breath.

You didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the city outside, watching the world move on like your heart wasn’t currently breaking into a million sharp pieces. The lights of D.C. flickered and blurred through the film of tears gathering in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not in front of him.

Bucky’s footsteps were slow, measured, like he was testing the waters. Like he knew the wrong move would shatter whatever fragile thing was still holding you both together.

For a long, painful moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—his voice rang out, rough and low. “You left.”

It wasn’t accusatory. Wasn’t even angry. Just... dejected. 

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your pants, nails biting into your palm. “Yeah,” you said, barely above a whisper. 

"You didn’t have to," he argued, softer this time.

A humorless laugh scraped its way out of your throat. “Right. I should’ve just sat there while she took her little digs at me, while you let her.”

In the window’s reflection, you caught the subtle furrow of his brows. "I didn’t—"

"You didn’t stop her," you cut in, voice sharp with hurt, shaky fingers pulling at the loose thread on the arm of the armchair. "You didn’t say a damn thing."

Bucky exhaled, dragging a hand down his face, but even that felt controlled—too careful. Like he was holding something back. “I wasn’t taking her side.”

"Sure felt like it," you muttered, voice thick with emotion.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to argue, but he hesitated. Searching for the right words. That flicker of doubt was enough to send a fresh wave of anguish crashing over you. Your chest ached so deeply, you thought it might cave in.

Letting out a sharp, shaky exhale, you wiped at your cheek, but the tears wouldn’t stop now. Hot and relentless, they spilled over, carving burning trails down your face. You hadn’t even noticed they started falling.

“I’m tired, Buck,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I—I’m sorry I put this on you. All these feelings, all these expectations—” Your lips trembled, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to steady, to breathe. "You told me this was a lot. I should’ve listened. This is not on you.”

“Doll—”

“I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have taken all of this space. In your life.” Your chest ached as you forced the words out, each one a sharp-edged truth. “It’s my fault we’re here.”

Here you were, absolving him again. Letting him off the hook, as if that would dull the sting, as if it would fill the hollow ache spreading inside you. You had wanted—desperately—to prove to him, to yourself, that you could be good for him. That you could be enough. And you meant it. You never wanted to add to his burden.

But your heart didn’t care about intentions. It had its own plans.

“But you shouldn’t have forced me,” your voice cracked. Your breath hitched as the truth clawed its way out. The emotion swelled, sharp and raw, spilling out like an open wound. 

Your head dropped into your hands, fingers digging into your scalp, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. “You shouldn’t have asked me to tell you I loved you when you weren’t sure you were ready for it.”

A sharp sob tore through you—too sudden, too raw to contain.

Humiliation burned beneath your skin, prickling hot and unbearable. Unraveling in front of him, breaking in front of him—it was too much. Your body trembled with the sheer effort of holding yourself together, of not crumbling completely under the weight of it all.

“Can you—” You gulped, suddenly unable to sit still. The walls were closing in. The air felt too thick, your skin too tight. You shot out of your chair, stumbling back like distance could somehow lessen the hurt. “Can you leave, please?Can you stay with Sam? I don’t… I don’t want you to see this again.” Your hands swiped furiously at your wet cheeks, as if that could erase everything he had seen. 

Still, you hadn’t looked at him. But you saw his boots—motionless. A few feet away. Unmoving. Like he was rooted to the spot.

“I’ll get you an Uber,” you offered numbly, your voice hollow. “Or I’ll get you a room, they have my card at the front desk.”

“No.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, your shoulders caving in under the weight of his refusal. “Please. I want to be alone.”

“No.”

The second time, it was firmer. Unyielding.

Frustration cracked through the grief. You snapped, voice shaking, “Bucky. I’m begging you. It’s hard enough to keep myself together as it is.”

“Then don’t.”

Your breath hitched.

For the first time, you turned to face him fully.

His jaw was clenched tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides like he was physically stopping himself from reaching for you. His whole body was wound so tight, he looked like he might snap in two if he moved the wrong way. But it was his eyes—stormy, tortured, desperate—that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was like they were begging. Like something inside him was splintering apart right in front of you.

“Don’t?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t what?”

His throat bobbed, his fingers flexing at his sides. The words weren’t coming easy—like he had to force them past whatever wall had been built between you.

“Don’t keep yourself together,” he rasped, voice hoarse and raw. “Don’t hide it from me.”

Anger burned its way through the hurt. You hadn’t meant to fight him—not really. You didn’t want to surrender to the ugliest part of yourself, the part that wanted to scream at him, to tell him how unfair it was. That he made you love him. That he let you have him, only to pull himself away.

You didn’t want to say it.

But the words came anyway.

“Is that something you need?” you bit out, blinking hard against the wetness in your eyes, surprising even yourself with the venom in your voice. “To see me in pain because of you? Does it help?”

Bucky flinched like you had struck him, but he didn’t turn away. Instead, he shook his head, something breaking through the torment in his expression as he whispered, “Don’t—don’t push me away.”

You laughed. Hollow and tired.

"I’m not! I am holding on for dear life. But you’re here, right?" Sarcasm oozed from your words. "Just like you’ve been for the past few weeks? Just like you were tonight, when I needed you?"

Guilt flashed across his face. But you didn’t let him interrupt. Not this time.

"You haven’t been here," you accused, the words raw and painful. "Not really. And I don’t know if you even want to be."

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

No reassurances. No denials.

Just silence.

A fresh stubborn tear slipped down your cheek, and you hated yourself for it.

"You don’t even see it, do you?" Your breath trembled. "How you keep me just close enough to feel like I matter, but never close enough to be sure. You show up, you sleep in my bed, you kiss me like—God, like you want me, like you care—and you touch me like— like you own me. Like you’re mine.”

Your voice broke.

Bucky’s hands, flesh and metal, twitched violently. His fingers curled, then released. Like his own goddamn body was screaming at him to touch you. To reach for you. To hold on. And he wouldn’t let himself.

"But then I see you looking at me," you continued. "Like, you’re trying to figure out when your window for leaving is. When our time is up."

Bucky inhaled sharply, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His entire body jerked forward.

Like he almost reached for you.

Like he forgot.

"I—" Shaking his head, frustration flickered in his stormy eyes. "I don’t know how to do this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "How to… be happy. Settled."

"Is that why you pulled away? Because you feel guilty about being happy?"

His silence was answer enough.

"Why?"

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the floor, jaw clenching. You saw it—the moment his shoulders caved, as if the weight of everything he’d ever carried had finally grown too heavy.

"Because… because it feels like I’m moving on from everything." His voice was barely there. "From Steve, from… them. The people I hurt. The ones I lost.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. You could see his lips were dry, clinging to each other as he spoke. "It feels like I’m leaving them behind. Like being happy with you is—"

"So you think being miserable is some kind of penance?"

The truth settled uncomfortably between you.

"That’s not what I’m doing—"

"Isn’t it?" you asked, softer now. Not even when it hurt you, could you truly be angry at him. "I can see you torturing yourself. Like this somehow balances it all out. Like it pays some stupid karmic debt you think you owe to the universe."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. His hands were trembling at his sides, and you ached to go over. To close your hand around them and soothe the storm. You didn’t.

"Do you… do you even care about me?"

His head snapped up. The sharpness of his gaze was cutting, the blue burning like fire.

"How could you ask that?" Bucky rasped, but his voice cracked, like it was breaking him open just to say it. He pressed forward, his hands lifted—hovering near you—but instead of touching, he dragged them roughly through his hair. "I do—God, I do, doll. I care so fucking much—"

He sucked in a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling erratically. "Then why are you treating that like it’s a crime?"

Bucky shook his head, his breath hitching as he took one step back—and then another, like he couldn’t trust himself to be near you.

"Because what if I mess this up?" His voice was a whisper now, rough and ragged. "What if I let myself have this—have you—and then I fuck up?”

His hands were shaking. His entire body was tense, rigid. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, like he was physically trying to hold himself together.

"Look at you," he choked out, his voice breaking. "You’re already hurt, and it’s my fault.”

“I am not made of glass.”

Bucky laughed, bitter. “Look at my history. Every relationship I’ve ever had has ended in disaster. I either outlive people or they leave or…” His breath caught. “Or I hurt them. Like I’m hurting you now.”

"Bucky… Love isn’t just the good parts. Love… really fucking sucks, most of the time. Because it hurts when the person you love is gone, it hurts when they don’t love you back, it hurts when they don’t want the same things as you. You, of all people, should know that."

Hurt flashed across his features, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. “That’s not fair.”

You shook your head, a fresh tear slipping down your cheek. “What’s not fair is that I told you I loved you, but I still don’t know if you love me back.”

His entire body stiffened. Like the words hit him somewhere deep. “Loved?”

“Nothing’s changed,” you smiled through the tears. “I don't think it ever will. I’m… not even sure I can even love anyone else. You can rest assured there'll always be someone out there who loves you. But... I don't want to be another burden in your already heavy load. If this... if this is over—” you inhaled sharply, too tired to fight back your tears, “then at least let me cry about it without thinking I've added more to your hurt.”

“Over?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it. A warning. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“What is there to break up?” Your shoulders lifted, tension pulling you up by the spine, keeping you tightly coiled. “We never even started. It's been months and I still don’t know what this is. Look, Buck, it’s okay. Really. We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to make it worse than it already is. You’re… you’re free to go if you want. I won’t hold it against you—”

Bucky shook his head, stepping closer, his hands twitching to grab you but wasn’t sure if he had the right. “Quit talking like you’re leaving and sparing me from something.”

The sharpness in his voice took you by surprise, and you flinched, arms coming up to wrap around yourself.

The movement seemed to snap something in him. Before you could retreat any further, his hands shot out, grabbed your arms, his grip strong, grounding and he pulled you closer until you had to tip your head back to look at him. “You think I don’t love you?”

You exhaled shakily, eyes darting anywhere but his eyes. His lips, his temple, the cut of his jaw… anywhere but the blue that seemed to pull you in. “I don’t know.”

"I don’t—” His voice broke, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was trying to force himself to hold it together. "I don’t know how to love someone without being terrified that I’ll lose them.”

His hand left your arms and hovered over the sides of you. He hesitated and then finally both hands slid down the sides of your head until he could cup your cheeks tightly, thumbs brushing over the tracks of tears. "But don’t you ever—ever—think for a goddamn second that I don’t love you."

The words ripped out of him, shaky and uneven. His fingers swiped under your eyes, his breath coming fast and heavy—like the weight of saying it out loud was too much, too real.

Your breath caught in your throat and he searched your face, looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t voiced.

Bucky’s grip tightened, just enough for you to feel the desperation in his touch. “I love you, okay? I love you in a way that scares the hell out of me. I love you so much it makes me sick thinking about what happens if I mess this up. If I lose you.” He swallowed hard, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “I know I’ve been distant. Shit, I know I’ve been a coward. But don’t walk away from me, doll. Please.”

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, and Bucky watched you, his own eyes glassy, his breathing uneven. “If you need me to say it again, I will. I love you. I love you.”

You let out a choked sound, a sob mixed with a disbelieving laugh. “Then stop acting like you’re just waiting to walk away.”

Bucky seemed to stop breaking.

Before before he could think, his arms slid down and around you in a tight, bruising hug—pulling you toward him so fast it made you gasp when you collided with his chest.

One hand cradled the back of your head, the other locked around your waist, anchoring you to him. His cheek pressed against the crown of your head. His grip was desperate. 

When he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion. “Please, don’t give up on me. I will fight for this. For you. Just—just tell me how. Tell me what I need to do.”

You swallowed hard, your whole body trembling, the cage of his arms not enough to settle the cracks in your foundation. “I don't want you to fight, Buck. You've done enough fighting for a lifetime... I just want you to stop running.” 

His breath came unsteady, uneven—like he was grasping for control, like your words had struck a chord buried deep, like you had unearthed a truth no one else had ever dared to see.

You shifted, pressing your cheek to his chest, feeling the warmth of him, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. His lips found the top of your head first, lingering there as he breathed you in, like he was grounding himself in your presence. 

Then he moved—feverish, desperate—trailing downward. A firm press to your temple, a slow drag of his mouth along your hairline, the heated imprint of his lips brushing over your cheekbone. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t careful. Every kiss landed like a silent plea, a confession woven into the way his lips chased your skin.

His mouth pressed to your cheek, then lower, grazing the curve of your jaw, the column of your throat. A shudder ran through him, his breath hot and uneven as he mapped a frantic path across your skin, like he could make up for every moment he’d hesitated, every time he’d pulled away.

And then—his hands framed your face, tilting your head up, and before you could take another breath, his lips crashed into yours. There was nothing hesitant about it. No slow build, no caution. Just raw, unfiltered hunger. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers, like he needed to feel you, to claim you, to prove to himself you were still here.

His kiss deepened, insistent, tongue gliding into your mouth with a possessive quality, as if he was trying to consume you, body and soul, with the force of it. His hands, still gripping you with a desperation that bordered on frantic, slid down your sides, tightening around your waist. Every kiss, every brush of his lips against yours, was a silent plea, a confession he couldn’t put into words.

Hands to his chest, you could feel the tension in his body, like he was fighting to control something inside himself. His mouth never stopped moving against yours, as if he feared losing the taste of you. His thumb grazed the edge of your jaw, his touch tender but desperate, his other hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

The heat between you both intensified, every moment stretching longer, heavier. His lips trailed down to your neck again, kissing you with the same urgency, and you could feel the tension in his grip, the way his body tightened.

It was a desperate kind of connection, raw and unguarded. His mouth tore from yours, just for a second, long enough for him to drop lower, hands finding the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in, his grip possessive. The metal arm coiled around your neck, not in restraint, but as if anchoring himself to you—like letting go wasn’t an option. With effortless strength, he lifted you, your legs instinctively locking around his waist as your breath hitched.

“Bucky—” His name barely left your lips before he stole it, kissing you again, harder, needier, swallowing the sharp gasp you made when your back hit the wall.

His face buried against your throat, breath ragged, lips finding the curve of your collarbone before trailing lower. The scrape of stubble burned in the best way, and when his teeth grazed your skin—testing, teasing—you trembled. 

Heat pooled low in your center and you welcomed the bruising grip of both his hands. It was the roughest he’s ever been with you–like finally, after all of your attempts at showing him, he realized he could really hold on to you. It was glorious. Overwhelming. Life-changing.

“I want—” he rasped, his voice rough, before he gulped down the words.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, the sound vibrating against your chest. “What?,” you breathed, encouraging him to continue. “Tell me.”

His metal hand slid beneath your shirt, the chilled vibranium skimming your ribs. The contrast of heat and cold sent a shudder through you, and you arched into him, chasing his touch. He made a sound, almost guttural, and pressed closer—like he could crawl inside you if he just tried hard enough.

“I want you closer,” he confessed, hips pressing forward against your center and you choked, swearing under your breath. “Can’t get close enough,” he cried out, voice tortured, and you felt it—his desperation, his need, his devotion seeping into every frantic touch.

“Inside,” you gasped between kisses, a whiny, pathetic little sound escaping when you felt how hard he was under his pants. “Get inside me.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he hesitated, forehead pressing to yours as if grounding himself. “Okay,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut, his hand leaving your body to find the back of your neck. “Okay. Hold on to me.”

You felt his fingers tighten as he held you close to him, your breaths mingling. Then, with a groan, he moved—metal arm securing you against him as he moved with purpose toward the bed. 

The world tilted as he laid you down, your back hitting the mattress before he followed you down like gravity itself pulled him to you. His metal hand spread wide over your ribs as he settled beside you, grounding you, while his flesh fingers traced a slow, reverent path up your thigh, leaving fire in their wake.

“Undress me,” you urged him, impatient, the emptiness between your legs, where he was supposed to be, growing heavier the longer he stalled.

“Maybe we should slow down,” he shook his head, hovering above you, six feet of super soldier clouding your vision, pressing you down, invading your senses. You could feel his hand, teasing the edge of your pants, and you wanted him to rip it. “Let me– let make love to you.”

“Is that what you want?” You asked, seeking his mouth for a searing kiss, and he had to wrap your hands around your neck to force you to break it, both of you breathless and panting. “If that’s what you want then I’ll let you take your time. Is it? Do you want it slow?”

“I don’t know, I don–” Bucky said through his teeth. “No. No.”

Your hand reached for the one of his that hovered hesitantly over the buttons of your pants and you dragged it between your legs, where you were sure he could feel your warmth. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth pulling his bottom lip into his mouth like he was waging a war inside him, trying to decide between going slow, being careful, and something else, something he hadn’t allowed himself with you yet.

The sound that tore from Bucky’s throat made every hair on your body stand on end. It was raw, primal—like he was barely holding himself together, barely restraining the violent desperation thrumming through his veins. And then he was on you, crawling over your body, pressing you down into the mattress, his knee shoving between your thighs, forcing your legs apart.

The weight of him, heavy and warm, sank into you, stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes fluttered shut, chest rising and falling in a rapid, uneven rhythm as you tried—tried—to keep yourself from splintering apart beneath him. Maybe if you closed your eyes, if you didn’t look up at him like this, you could pretend you weren’t already coming undone.

Bucky leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, voice nothing more than a husky rasp. “Wanna know what I want?”

A shudder racked through you at the way his knee pressed tighter against your center, the friction making your hips roll up to chase the sensation, fingers twisting into his shirt.

His hands were already at your jeans, fingers working the zipper down, slipping beneath the waistband as he dragged the fabric lower. “I wanna ruin you.”

You stopped breathing.

“I wanna—” He faltered, his voice hoarse, almost pained.

“Yeah?” Your voice was barely a whisper, hoarse with want. Your fingers twisted into his shirt, yanking him closer, but no matter how much of him you took, it still wasn’t enough. You were drowning in him, and it wasn’t nearly enough.

His eyes, dark and consuming, burned into yours, the blue almost swallowed by blown-out pupils. “So you never want anyone else. So you never leave.”

The words sent a violent tremor through your core, your entire body aching with the sheer intensity of him, the possessiveness in his voice curling around you like a vice.

His hands tightened, wrapping around the waist of your jeans, yanking them down in one firm pull, the fabric dragging off your heated skin. The cold air of the room hit you all at once, raising goosebumps, but the way Bucky’s hands followed the path of your exposed skin, warm and reverent, made you forget everything else.

His touch was possessive, reverent, like he was worshipping the way you fit against his palm. The next thing you knew, your shirt was gone, your bra undone, and you followed every nudge of his hands without question, arching when he needed you to, pliant beneath his ministrations.

His touch burned—traced the plush curve of your ass, the dip of your waist, the soft swell of your breasts. You felt stripped bare under his gaze, not just physically, but completely, like he was seeing you through to your soul. His hands roamed, memorizing, before his fingers brushed over your nipples, metal and flesh teasing over the sensitive peaks, sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

You were speechless. Mute, save for the sound of your own labored breathing. No teasing. No back and forth. No playful banter to lighten the moment. Just him, devouring you with his touch, his eyes, his sheer presence. This wasn’t the usual rhythm you’d fallen into with him—this wasn’t the flirtation, the teasing, the game of pushing each other to the edge before finally breaking.

This was different. He was different.

Uncharted.

You had been with Bucky before, had laughed with him in bed, teased him until he lost control, pushed each other until you were both teetering on the edge of pleasure—but this? This was a different version of him. Of you. This was Bucky taking. Claiming.

There was something unrelenting about the way he looked at you, something single-minded in his focus. Like nothing else existed outside of this room. Outside of you. It was unnerving. It was intoxicating.

You barely noticed when the last of your clothes disappeared. When his followed. When you were suddenly maneuvered further up the bed, his hands firm, taking what he wanted, what was his.

His skin was hot, firm, pressing against every part of you. His hands were less gentle now, rougher, gripping, kneading, owning. A fresh wave of need pulsed between your legs, slick and desperate, and you gasped his name, reaching for skin, needing more of him.

“James.”

He didn’t answer.

He was already moving down, kneeling in front of your bent knees, reaching for a pillow. His metal fingers wrapped around your ankles, the grip possessive, guiding them up until they rested on his shoulder.

“Keep them up, sweetheart,” he ordered, voice thick with command. Your stomach twisted, anticipation and nerves tightening low in your belly as you obeyed, trembling when his vibranium hand ran over the smooth skin of your calf, all the way to your ankle.

“What’s happening?” you rasped, reaching out, your palm smoothing over the firm muscle of his thigh. You could see him now—see all of him. The strong cut of his shoulders, the sculpted lines of his chest, the hard planes of muscle leading down to his waist, the deep v-line that framed his cock, thick and aching between his thighs.

You were so distracted—so consumed by the sight of him—that you barely processed what he was doing until his hands gripped your ankle and pulled you up, lifting you, shoving the pillow beneath you.

Realization hit you like a lightning strike.

“Wait, Buck—”

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” His voice was deeper now, raspier like gravel. “As far as you can.”

The way he tapped your hip—gentle, coaxing, but expectant—sent shivers rolling down your spine. He’d never been this firm with you before, never this authoritative. You hesitated for only a second, nerves fluttering in your belly as you shifted, knees starting to close on instinct.

Bucky waited. He didn’t push, didn’t rush—just watched. Jaw tight. Eyes dark. Waiting. Patient. Certain that you would listen.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to relax, to give him what he wanted. And when you finally opened up, when your thighs parted, wide and willing, he breathed—like he’d been waiting for you to give yourself to him like this.

Your own breath stuttered when his gaze zeroed in between your thighs. You clenched around nothing, your body already reacting to the sheer intensity of his attention, to the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

You hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected him to be like this. This wasn’t just sex. This was ownership in a way he never had before. 

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, reverent. “All for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed, breath coming in short gasps.

And then—

His mouth was on you.

The first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, a firm, unrelenting glide over your slit that made your entire body jolt. A sharp noise tore from your lips, your hands flying to his hair before you even realized what you were doing.

Your back arched off the bed.

“Bucky—”

Your thighs instinctively snapped shut, a desperate moan tearing from your lips at the unexpected shock of pleasure.

He pulled back, and the sound that followed—the filthy, wet pop—made your jaw drop. You barely restrained yourself from rolling your hips up, chasing his mouth, already desperate to feel more.

Bucky hummed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the vibration making you shiver.

“James,” he murmured against the inside of your thigh, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there, his tongue soothing over where his teeth had nipped. His voice was low, commanding, sinful. “Your James when I’m between your legs, remember?”

Your breath hitched, chest heaving. His voice alone had you unraveling—low and dark, smooth as silk, dripping in authority.

“Y-yes, yes, I’m sorry—”

“Open.” His vibranium fingers tapped your hip, patient but insistent.

You hesitated, your heart hammering.

“Wait, wait, give me a second,” you stammered, shaking. “I—I wasn’t ready…”

You weren’t.

Of all the times you had been with Bucky—hot, desperate, overwhelming—you had never done this. He had never taken you apart like this. You had felt his hands, his cock, the sheer force of his body claiming yours. But his mouth—

His mouth on your cunt—

It was too much.

Bucky pulled back just slightly, brows furrowing, the intensity in his eyes softening. “Should I not…?”

“No, no, that’s not—it’s not that,” you rushed out, shaking your head, your entire body already aching for him again. “Please, I want it, I just—fuck.” 

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting. The words felt thick in your throat, raw, real in a way that sent another pulse of heat between your legs. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

That he was going to do it. That he even wanted it.

His expression darkened, something possessive settling over him like a storm rolling in.

“You didn’t know? That I want you?” he murmured, voice a breath away from a growl. His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, slow, deliberate, hooking under your knees. He urged them open again, spreading you wide for him. Your cheeks were ablaze. His gaze never left yours, watching, waiting, demanding.

“That I wanna make you mine?”

Your breath caught, your nails dragging over the back of his head, gripping, needing.

“I am yours,” you whispered, voice breaking over the truth of it.

Bucky exhaled sharply, the words hitting something deep inside him, something unshakable.

“Not in every way.” His nose brushed against the slick heat of your slit, and you whimpered, your hips jerking, your legs trembling in his grip. “Not yet.”

Then he pressed his mouth fully against you, the flat of his tongue dipping into your soaked entrance, unrelenting. Your entire body seized, pleasure slamming through you like lightning, sharp and searing, robbing you of breath.

Bucky groaned—deep and wrecked—like the taste of you was something sacred, something he had been starving for. His hands flexed against your thighs, gripping harder, holding you still.

“But you will be,” he murmured, words slurring against you, breath hot, tongue teasing.

One slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit. Your thighs twitched, but his hands tightened, keeping you spread open for him.

His tongue flicked over you again, this time more insistent, more focused, more intentional.

“It’s inevitable, sweetheart,” he mused, his voice a low vibration against your core, before dragging his tongue over you again, dipping into you, savoring.

You gasped, fisting the sheets.

“Made for me,” he murmured. His grip on you tightened as he buried himself between your legs, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking, teasing, owning. “Every part of you.”

You sobbed his name, back arching.

“That’s why I had to know,” he said, voice thick, ragged, vibrating against you, filling every space inside you.

“How you taste. How you feel.” Another slow lick, another deep groan from him, another whimper from you. “Because it’s you and me, isn’t it?”

Your whole body was trembling now, breath shallow, eyes unfocused.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours,” he rasped. 

You didn’t know how long he stayed between your legs.

Time ceased to exist, reality blurred at the edges, and all that was left was him.

His arms were locked under and around your thighs, strong and unyielding, pulling you closer, keeping you pinned beneath the relentless heat of his mouth, working you through your second peak, then your third—dragging it out until you were wrecked. The pillow beneath your hips tilted you just right, letting him feast on you without resistance, without space, without break. He worked you over with a hunger that bordered on obsession, like he was determined to know every shudder, every whimper, every broken sob of his name.

Every flick of his tongue, every slow, sinful suck at your clit was answered with a different noise—your gasps, your hitched moans, the choked-off pleas that melted into incoherence. Your hands were tangled in his hair, fingers tightening, pulling, but it only spurred him on. The deeper you buried your nails in his scalp, the deeper he pressed into you, dragging his tongue through your slick heat, slow and ravenous.

When you finally unraveled—violently, desperately—you didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the damp heat of your own tears on your cheeks.

“B-baby,” you sobbed, wrecked beyond recognition, voice cracking on the plea, your legs kicking uselessly against his iron grip. Your back arched off the mattress, your body twisting, shaking everywhere, lost in the intensity of it, your thighs clamping uselessly around his head as he refused to let you go.

He hummed, the vibration of it making your body seize.

“Please, please, James,” you called his name, hoping it’d snap him out of it. “Bucky, come on, please—”

He groaned against you, a filthy, starved sound, and his lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking, tongue teasing, pressure building and building—

You came so hard your vision blanked.

Everything inside you shattered, pleasure so sharp and deep it broke you.

Your body couldn’t take anymore. You were spent, overstimulated, your mind blank, floating between pleasure and exhaustion. The release had hit you like a tidal wave, and it hadn’t stopped, pulling you under, drowning you in sensation, your limbs shaking violently beneath his grip.

“F-fuck, stop, stop, s-stop, please!” you begged, foot pressing weakly against his shoulder, trying to push him off.

He finally relented, coming up with a gasp, like he’d been underwater and he’d finally managed to climb to the surface.

It dawned on you, then, that this wasn’t about pleasure. He wasn’t just tasting you for the first time. He was consuming you.

Mapping every inch of you with his tongue, etching himself into you, branding you from the inside out. And you hadn’t realized—hadn’t even noticed—that he was just as lost in it as you were.

You didn’t see the way his hands were shaking, how his shoulders trembled from the force of holding himself back. You hadn’t registered the choked, wrecked groans spilling from his throat every time he buried his tongue deeper, pressing into you, like the taste of you was breaking him.

Not until he finally pulled back.

Not until he crawled over you, dog tags dragging over your skin and raising goosebumps along the way.

That was when you saw it—the way he was shaking just as bad as you were, his lips kiss-swollen and wet, his pupils blown wide and wild as they raked over you.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth was on yours—hot, deep, claiming.

And oh, god—

You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Bucky groaned, pressing impossibly closer, his body covering yours, his cock heavy, leaking and pressing between your aching slit, sinking you into the mattress like there would never be enough of you to sate him.

“Baby—” you murmured against his lips, dizzy, trembling, still trying to recover, but he swallowed the sound whole, kissing you harder, his hands tangling in your hair, tilting your head back so he could take more.

You barely recognized him like this.

Wild. Uncontrolled.

Starving.

He braced himself on his elbows, his nose brushing yours, his mouth still wet with you, his breath hot as it fanned across your lips. He was vibrating with barely contained energy and you could see it, deep in the blue of his eyes, there was something else, something he hadn’t gotten a handle on, clawing its way up to the surface.

His thumb wiped at the tear tracks on your cheeks and you swallowed hard, reaching up to wrap a hand around his wrist, trying to soothe his and your own tremors, still struggling to catch your breath, still spinning, your body too weak to do anything but let him devour you with his gaze. Your thighs, weak, pressed against his sides.

Your hands trembled as they slid over the slick rigid curve of his back, across the unyielding strength of his shoulders and down to his chest. His heart was hammering under your palm, thundering like a war drum, wild and unrelenting.

“You’re shaking.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching as he gulped in air, like he was drowning. His vibranium hand clenched against the crown of your head, fingers twisting into your hair, holding on like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Can I—” His voice was strained, like he barely had the air to form the words. He grinded against you, needy, and you shivered.

“Yes,” you whispered before he could finish. The word was soft but firm, a reassurance, a promise. You shifted beneath him, wrapping your legs fully around his waist, pulling him closer. One arm curled around his neck, your other hand still pressed firmly over his heart.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, voice hoarse.

You obeyed, though it took everything in you not to look down as he reached between your bodies. The first nudge of his tip had a gasp spilling from your lips, the slow, aching press of him sending a shiver down your spine.

His forehead dropped against yours, breath uneven as he eased in, the slickness of your wetness and his tongue making it effortless for his cock to split you open.

“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, his jaw clenching so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. “Look at you. Always take me so well… made for me, weren’t you, doll?”

“F-fuck, yes, yes,” you gasped, your head pressing back into the mattress.

With the pillow beneath your hips, the angle felt different—deeper, somehow, like he was carving himself into you, and it made your mind swim.

“Yes what?”

“I was made for you,” you nodded, head thrashing as your hips rolled up to meet his. His whole body shuddered.

“Wha the fuck, how are you’re so deep,” you sobbed, overwhelmed. “Holy fuck, I’m–”

Bucky let out a sharp exhale, pulling back and pressing in again, slow, deliberate, pushing deeper inch by inch until he bottomed out. The stretch of him filled you to the brim, stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs, every thought from your head, until there was nothing but him.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, shaking, nails scraping his scalp. You forced your eyes open, desperate to see him—

And the sight wrecked you.

His pupils were blown wide, his expression stricken, like something inside of him was breaking apart piece by piece. His body taut like a bowstring about to snap, his breath labored, rattling like it was hurting him to hold it in.

He thrust into you, deep and sharp, hard, his hands gripping at your waist, your thighs, anywhere he could hold onto. His rhythm was frantic, uneven, like he was chasing something he couldn’t catch, something just out of reach. Every drag of him against your walls, every wet slap of skin on skin, every sound ripped from your lips only seemed to unravel him further.

He was gone.

“J-James—” you called, swallowing against the lump in your throat, but he wasn’t listening.

His head dropped against your shoulder, lips pressing into your throat, his breath ragged, body trembling. He pushed your leg up, pressing it to his shoulder and you yelped when he thrust again, and then again, and again, the force behind it pushing both of you up the bed, skin slick with sweat gliding, his movements stuttering—

“Tell me something,” he ground out, his voice cracking like he was holding onto something fragile, something slipping right through his fingers. “Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“You want me?”

“Yes, baby–”

He needed something from you.

Something more than just this.

This wasn’t just about needing you physically—it was something clawing at him from the inside out. He needed proof. Reassurance. A vow sealed in the way your bodies tangled, in the words you breathed against his skin.

“You won’t leave again?”

“I didn’t–”

“Don’t leave m–” And then he thrust so sharply—quick, deep, pushing the air from your lungs, making your whole body tighten beneath him.

Then again.

And again.

Each movement came with a noise, a sharp exhale, a choked-off sound, something fractured, something beyond his control.

Bucky let out a sound—something low and strangled, you felt it in your bones. His hands were shaking, his grip bruising. 

You knew it before he did.

His whole body locked up, chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow gasps. His eyes were wild, unfocused, his lips parted, but no air seemed to be enough. He was panicking.

You felt the tremors wracking through him, his grip on your hip bruising now, his cock twitching inside you, his thrusts growing frantic, desperate, like he was fighting to stay here, in this moment with you, fighting against whatever storm was raging inside of him.

He had lost himself in you, and now he was spiraling.

“Bucky—Bucky, stop,” you gasped, voice urgent.

You cupped his face, your touch firm but gentle despite the chaotic energy rolling off him in waves, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones, coaxing him back to you, back to himself.

“Baby, James,” you called, louder, pulling him to the surface. “Look at me. Come back to me. Come on, honey, come back to me.”

His whole body shook. He sucked in a stuttering breath, his chest heaving, and finally—

His eyes flickered open.

And god, he looked so lost.

Blue eyes wide, glassy, unfocused, his lips parted like he was about to speak, but no words came out, only a shaky exhale.

“Bucky,” you whispered, relieved, tilting his chin until he was fully looking at you. “It’s okay, ‘you’re okay. You’re not alone,” you whispered, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones, over the curve of his jaw, soft, grounding. “I’ve got you. I’m right here, Bucky.”

His breath hitched.

You pressed your forehead against his, noses brushing, keeping him anchored to you, letting him feel you, letting him hear you. “Breathe with me,” you murmured, voice gentle, coaxing.

One breath in.

One breath out.

His chest rose sharply, fell again, but you held him there, hands warm, voice soft, whispering his name like a lifeline, one after the other until he exhaled.

His grip loosened, his muscles uncoiling one by one, his weight settling over you, solid and real, no longer fighting, no longer lost. You felt the moment he let go, the moment the tension bled from his body. You wrapped your arms around him, threading fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, soothing, comforting.

“You’re safe,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his temple, his cheek, the damp skin of his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

For a long time, he didn’t speak. He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t pull out, the mess between your legs sticky and uncomfortable even though he hadn’t finished and by the time he finally moved, bracing his weight on unsteady forearms, you were sore.

When he looked at you, something inside of him had shifted. You swore you could see it. The way he was looking at you, like you were something sacred, something steady, something he never thought he could have. Like home. And now you were it for him.

His fingers trembled as he reached for your face, brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek, tracing the curve of your lips as if he needed to convince himself you were really here.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse.

You turned into his touch, catching his palm in yours, pressing a kiss to the center of it. “I’m here.”

His throat bobbed again. His forehead dropped against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he exhaled, slow, measured, steady.

“I—I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice barely there.

“It’s okay.” You shook your head, your fingers tracing slow, comforting lines down his spine. 

A sharp exhale. A quiet, broken sound that he swallowed down before it could form into something more. His hand tightened around yours.

"Will you do something for me?" You reached up, brushing the damp hair from his forehead before your fingers found the familiar chain around his neck. His dog tags. He hadn’t taken them off. You could still feel the sore spot on your chest, where the weight of him had imprinted them into your skin. Branded you. You were sure his name had somehow found its way into your skin like a tattoo. The thought made your breath hitch, made something twist in your stomach.

Your fingers closed around the tags, feeling the warmth of the metal against your palm. "Tell me your name?"

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t question you.

"Bucky," he breathed. His lips were dry, sticking together until his tongue darted out to wet them.

"Full name. Please," you coaxed, fingertips dragging along the chain.

He swallowed, the movement thick, but his gaze remained steady. "James Buchanan Barnes."

"Good," you murmured, leaning up to brush your nose against his, the tight squeeze around your heart easing slightly. "Your rank."

His jaw clenched. "It’s not—" He shook his head, frustration flickering through the blue of his eyes. "It’s not like that anymore. I’m not—"

"I know, my love." Your thumbs caressed his cheeks, grounding him, guiding him. "I’m not worried about that… I’m trying to help. Your rank, please."

A slow inhale. A heavy exhale.

"Sergeant James Barnes."

"Good," you whispered. "And where are we?”

“Washington.”

Pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, you squeezed him into a hug. “You're here. You're with me. You’re safe."

His arms wrapped around you then, pulling you in, holding you close like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing, whispering reassurances against his temple.

"What happened?" you asked gently.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I don’t... I don’t know,” he rasped, his voice unsteady. “I just—” He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “I couldn’t get close enough. I tried, but it wasn’t— I don’t know how to explain it. It was like my chest was too tight, my head too full, my body—fuck, my body wouldn’t settle. I just... I got lost in you.”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his voice, at the way he trembled against you. You cradled the back of his head, anchoring him, holding him steady. “I think you got overstimulated,” you said gently, your lips brushing against his hair. “Too much sensation all at once.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt his small nod against your neck, his breath still uneven.

“We should maybe talk about it later,” you offered. “Find a way to help ground you when it happens.”

A long silence stretched between you before he finally murmured, “Yeah. Yeah, that might help.”

Your hands traced gentle patterns along his back, feeling some of the tension still locked in his muscles. “There’s something else,” you said, shifting just enough to meet his eyes. “Buck... is there something you need from me, baby? I don’t want to trigger you, but—” You hesitated, searching his face. “—you were trying to do something to me, get something, and I’m not sure what.”

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, you thought he might shut down. But then he took a slow breath, his eyes dark and heavy with something unspoken. “You told me once this was something you couldn’t walk away from. But you left,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “At the house, you left. And I thought... I thought you realized I wasn’t worth it. I thought I lost you. Then, when we talked, it felt like no matter what I said, I couldn’t hold on to you. You were the only person who ever chose me, scars and all... and I was losing you.” He exhaled, long and slow. “I was scared. And I think—I think I was trying to make you stay. To... I don’t know. Brand you as mine. If you were mine, then you couldn’t leave. Something like that.”

His words cracked you open, and emotion crawled up your throat, thick and suffocating. There had already been too many breakdowns tonight, too much emotion spilling over, but you couldn’t stop the way your chest ached for him.

“Bucky,” you mumbled, shifting slightly, your leg sliding up the back of his thigh, needing to ground yourself in him. “I’m gonna say something, and you can take your time with it, okay?”

He nodded, silent.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “When I left, it wasn’t because I wanted to. It was because I was hurting. I was so scared I was losing you—to your fear, to that fucking bitch Sharon—” he huffed out a laugh, and you pinched his waist. “—that I couldn’t even think straight.” You shook your head, fingers tightening in his hair. “You were pulling away, and I wasn’t sure if... if loving you would be enough. For you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and wounded, but you pressed on before he could interrupt, blinking up at the ceiling, too afraid to look at him. “But I want to be your person. I want to be yours for the rest of our lives if you’ll have me. I really do.”

His breath hitched, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “So this is the part you can't get scared about, okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes. “I’m talking stupid-ass marriage and babies if that’s what forever means to you. Or any other version of it. Not now, because we have so much to figure out still, but… this is it, for me.”

“And I don’t ever want to force your hand. I will never force you into anything, do you understand that?” You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble. “I will ask for what I need, I will lay it all out, but I will never demand something from you that you’re not ready to give.”

You couldn’t help the next part, the jealous part of you still shaken from earlier. “And if you wanted to leave me for that bitch, I’d call you a dumbass and probably punch you and cry myself to sleep for the rest of my life, but if it truly made you happy... I wouldn’t stop you.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours, his breathing uneven, the hint of a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “Stop talking about Sharon while I’m still inside you.”

“Fine.” You shifted, huffing, annoyed, and he groaned. “Ignore everything I just told you and focus on that.”

He finally laughed then, and you felt yourself relax a little, relieved. “We’re so fucked up,” you breathed out, a mixture of a laugh and a sob, and you squeezed him, your body a cage around his. “Truly, it’s amazing we even got this far.”

“Well, you chose to fall in love with a brainwashed assassin,” he accused, and you laughed again, this time a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Former assassin. Current traumatized hunk. And I did, god, I really did,” you nodded, nuzzling his neck. “And I’d do it again. And again, and again.”

“Good thing there’s only one of me. And only one of you. Only have to go through it once.”

“As many times as it takes, Bucky.”