#millennial door

[valerioeliogabalotorrisi]

3/4 Bath Bathroom in Austin

The large cottage's bathroom Bathroom design with 3/4 white tile, medium tone wood floor, and brown floor, a two-piece toilet, white cabinets, black walls, a console sink, and quartz countertops.

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

Hoagie & Wally definitely the type of parents who use slangs wrong to tease their kids, like mixing early 2000s slangs with 2020s slangs

Are they doing it on purpose… or do they really think that’s how YOUTH speaks?

Bonus:

They had to be prepared.

[powerpointpartygirl]

[tootalltech]

okay. i feel like theres still Some People who may check the land of stories tag on here the way i occasionally do i know theres some fans of the series here at least. since a while back i wrote out an entire paragraph to briefly explain why im insane about lloyd bailey to my friends who dont know tlos, i figure, WHY NOT POST IT ON HERE where people who also know the series (and therefore this character) might see it <3 its at least a little funny to see how i try to explain things in tlos like the hall of dreams briefly with little to no details. this is also kind of like a brief summation of everything we know about lloyd AND JOHNS childhood which is interesting. see below.

sits down. let me set the scene. lloyd bailey is the younger son in a set of two. his mother is a very powerful fairy (#fairygodmother) who’s kind of like the chancellor of an entire kingdom. lloyd and his older brother john both very much have magic in their blood because of this. lloyd’s father dies when he is very young. he is “not the same” afterwards. he thinks his older brother john, who handles his fathers passing arguably “better”, is the favorite child. john is happy and cheerful and everyone loves him. lloyd sits in his dark room and reads books like the iron mask all day. lloyd’s mother does not know how to get to him. she figures out how to make a potion that can bring books to life, since he likes to read so much. she offers it to him. he turns her down. she goes into this magic little hallway (infinite space) where she can see what people truly desire. lloyd the 11 year olds desire (i don’t know how old he is.) is to take over the world. hm. a bit concerning. his mother takes him out into the forest on a nice walk, chains him to a tree, and drains his magic from him. lloyd is not a fan of his mother for this. he tells her that she never would’ve done this to john. his mother considers her action stopping him before he wreaks havoc on everything. lloyd considers this having his “birthright” stripped from him for “a crime [he] never committed” (direct quote). lloyd despises his mother. he runs away from home not long after. he considers the potion his mother made his. he only comes back home to try and steal it. he fails. he is sentenced to life in prison. his mother gives him a mask to wear so no one knows he’s her son. john moves to the otherworld and starts a family. lloyd rots in prison. lloyd’s son who he doesn’t know about is born. lloyd rots in prison. john dies. lloyd rots in prison. his mother loves john’s children and starts to train one of them in being her successor. this could’ve been lloyd. lloyd rots in prison. he doesn’t escape until his niece and nephew are teenagers and his niece is about ten times more powerful than him. because she has the gift that was ripped out of his hands. lloyd hates the world he lives in and its people and seeks to destroy it as soon as he’s out. i wonder why. in conclusion. im normal about him.

[selfishpresley]

I can’t believe that I’m sexualizing a 34-year old athlete that’s under 6’0”

[onemomentaryremembrance]

Freshman year. Book 2. Pages 10-11.

*This post contains non-original work. Lyrics from Love Me Two Times (1967), performed by The Doors

[eshabeautyblogs]

The Best Personal Finance Books You Need to Read

The Best Personal Finance Books You Need to Read Personal finance books serve as valuable educational resources, providing insight into fundamental financial principles.Understanding key concepts like budgeting, investing, and debt management empowers individuals to make informed decisions about their money.Informed individuals are better equipped to navigate complex financial scenarios,…

[the-almighty-gob-john-langley]

Language, Gen X, LGBTPQRS - whatever!

Having already lived through 'ist' and 'ism' being tagged to almost everything by the millennials, my awareness of just how much our language has become diluted - When familiar terms misappropriated so as to become a catch-all, rather than being specific to origin became luminously apparent. This degeneration of a generation appears to have continued as if hereditary, with terms such as 'hatred' and 'hate speech' now having the broader translation of disagreeing by means of simply feeling offended, which, in itself, can mean all things to all people, as if, somehow, feeling offended is mandatory.

The fact that we were all born with free will and the ability to make choices seems to have been conveniently bypassed in favour of feelings towards something, or someone, and plain common sense that we would normally apply in such circumstances is bordering on non-existent nowadays. If I happen to strongly disagree with a female's perspective on something for example, then another catch-all term comes into play - 'misogyny,' and I'm somehow prejudiced against women. Utter bollocks!

I've also noticed quite starkly how nowadays it's become almost de rigueur for people to take it upon themselves to be offended on behalf of another, without realising just how patronising that can be in practice, with white, middle-class, young people engaging in a BLM march and it becomes all about them, and how they feel, when bizarrely they outnumber those who are black, as just one example. The overbearing sense of entitlement by Gen X in particular, from one point of view could be argued that it reflects a sense of freedom of expression and confidence in belief. Although conversely, there is also the perspective of this being more of an underlying insecurity in an increasingly less secure world Notice how terms such as 'crisis' and 'emergency' have become popularised so as to yet again be attributed to anything where 'situation,' or 'challenge' would otherwise suffice.

You see, going back a generation, or three, the pre-millennials were, by and large, brought up to be more robust, resilient, and stoic because pre- World War two it was almost embedded into the bloodline that nothing was handed down on a plate, there was no bank of mum and dad, parents were parents - and not 'friends' to their children: and nothing in life came easy. Now, while I'm no advocate for war, I cannot help but think that maybe another widescale war would hit the reset button. Because as things stand right now, if there was a war Gen X would be lining up to buy adult nappies off the shelves, so to speak.

It's become a very selfish world, I've noticed. A world of self-entitled, me-me's. None potentially worse than that faction of the LGBTPQR whatever movement: and more particularly the 'T' element. Now, to set out my stall from the get-go, I have absolutely nothing against trans people per se, for several years I had around 180 trams (MtF) friends who were regular visitors to my home and would come and stay for days at a time. On occasion, I've administered their hormone injections when asked and offered advice when relevant questions that would further enable and empower their journey forward were put to me.

To all intents and purposes, these were chics with dicks, and despite them all having received breast implants they were always very vocal as to still being male through bone density, pelvic shape, and muscular strength. Yet, see them in the street and you would absolutely believe that they were female in every sense. So, it came as no surprise that their comments towards what we see as Gen X, 'faux' trans, scruffy appearance wannabees, with facial growth while wearing a dress kind of gender centaurs, were less than favourable in content. Do people have the right to dress as they choose? Absolutely! It's arguably just their seemingly visual indolence that sets them apart from the 'real' trans people. So, if anyone chooses to dress like a female, good on them, just at the very least put some bloody effort into it because, generally speaking, women, for the most part, take pride in their appearance, wash their hair regularly, and don't go out looking like a WTF!

This, and other factors when it comes to Gen X heavily suggest a general malaise towards life where it's believed through learned helplessness, that self-entitlement is the magical key that opens the door to nearly everything, and in its naivety of such belief, the Gen x trans faction has created a degree of toxicity towards itself. Why? In the main because their entire world appears to be all about 'me'. Now, this is where we get down to 'brass tacks' interesting because it reverts back to language and how it's been manipulated to whatever collective narrative suits at that time, and it it doesn't fit people will soon find a way to shoehorn it in. So, people choose to 'identify' as …………

The keyword here is 'identity,' and identity is something we assume based on, for the most part anyway, the immediate environmental influences that we accept as most resonating with us as we grow through the various stages of our lives. So, as a for instance, when I was a child I clearly remember playing various roles as a doctor, fireman, soldier, and cowboy because those were the roles I identified with, largely due to television, and as I grew older my identities evolved again, and again, and again to where I am now as an older adult. However, identity does not make us who we are because identity is a construct: an idea or theory containing conceptual elements, and therefore entirely subjective because there is no empirical evidence to support it, other than it being someone's fantasy world: and based on life being a big stage in which we all play a part, the Gen X trans would be there in costume, and possibly look like something between the audition rejects of the Rocky Horror Show, and a drag queen's worst possible nightmare. Basically, the misfits.

Now, remember when I referred to the Gen X trans faction creating a "degree of toxicity towards itself"? Well, It will come as no great surprise that the reason for this is due to their mission creep to manipulate the law into believing that their concept is real. So, from that, my question is how can an entirely fictional concept ever be regarded as affording people equal rights, and the politicisation of such? Because if it does we're suddenly finding ourselves in a never-never land where the law of this country is concerned.

Let's say that tomorrow I decide to identify myself as a dwarf, and change my name by deed poll to 'Mini-Me.' Now even though I'm a little over six feet tall, as this would now be my legal identity, if anyone dared to challenge that I would be within my legal right to claim that I'm being discriminated against under the Act, and put forward an argument to say that compared to those who are far taller than me I'm dwarfed by comparison, because there is no counter-argument against that. It's an incontrovertible fact.

Okay, while I fully accept that was a random example straight off the top of my head while typing and there are far better examples of the point I'm making, you'll be intelligent enough, I hope, to envisage where I'm going with this.

There are people around the world who have paid thousands and thousands, if not their entire life savings to look like their favourite celebrity, and they'll walk, talk and adopt every possible mannerism of that person. Does it transform them into their favourite celebrity? Absolutely not.

Again, it's entirely conceptual. So, while I'm not in any way uncomfortable with people living the life they choose to live and for them to be happy with it, the message is for Gen X to check their egos and not get carried away with their delusional selves. Out of all the genuine trans people I've known, not one of them has ever made a big deal about it, would never dream of politicising it; or expecting some kind of special treatment by being trans. In fact, they are predominantly the most confident and happiest people among those I've met from all walks of life.

[bairenalenko]

Since I'm ancient to Tumblr standards let me tell you that this wasn't just a 50's thing. In the pre-internet 90's this is how I also got my hands on gay erotica in my youth.

I'd go to any place that sold magazines (book stores, convenience stores, etc.) and buy a muscle magazine. Not all fitness magazines were just about fitness like they are today, there were some that had a lot fewer fitness articles and a lot more spreads of nearly naked men.

Most importantly on the last few pages there were ads for video cassettes you could order through the mail about "fitness" (which were guys oiling themselves up or completely wet and flexing), dramas about an unforgettable summer that just happened to have two men on the cover, or even medical tapes about "men's heath" (read: masturbation) that taught you things like how to use a condom correctly.

Magazines and tapes like these were the first gay porn and gay stories I ever saw even though most of it was soft core stuff (the actors were having sex but nothing x-rated was shown in the frame). The only erect penises were from the "men's health" videos, you know, for scientific purposes.

Alan Parker, Joe Leitel and Bruce Reed Ben-Hurry (1959) dir. Richard Fontaine

[terribly-late-for-tea]

Aaaand Retrokid.ca is about to rob me blind... again...

[eversnark]

Shut Up I'm Talking: Dan and Phil Patreon highlights

Weird fan interactions: Fans lurking outside Jack's neighbor's house by accident. People waiting for Tommy in his local park. Dan and Phil staying at an Air B&B where the owner asked them to keep the door unlocked so her daughters could say hi (they just left). Phil’s new therapist having watched his videos before, they decided not to continue therapy together.

Tom, Jack, and Dan are basic names. Martin Lester = M.(o)Lester 

Tom and Dan and standup vs Youtube

Explaining twink death to Tommy. Tommy is still a twink, Jack is more twunk. Jack can’t grow a beard, Tommy shaves daily.

Phil hated being told what to do on the BBC “It felt like raising someone else’s child” “No regrets, but I wouldn’t do it again”

Dan called Phil babe (?) in the context of a squirrel bite

Phil’s parents were always supportive of his weird career

Phil keeps fixing Dan’s mic position

Dan knows nothing about the Dream drama, Phil watched Tommy’s newest video. They are both Team Tommy even thought they don’t understand the lore

Tom and Jack like to have nice long chats

Jack had a dream that he and Timothee Chalemet were friends so now he calls him Timmy

Dan thinks Nosferatu is hot. Tommy judges him severely. Phil was scared

Favorite movies: Dan says Kill Bill v.1, Phil says that’s his as well so one of them has to pick v.2. Jack has only seen v.1. Tommy’s favorite movie is UP

The Lion Guard trauma. Jack voiced 3 lines of a video game

Tommy comes back 5 minutes later to argue on behalf of UP

Dan calls Tommy an old soul

Being tall, mention meeting Ranboo

The people that live with Tommy are called the G-squad bc they all have Godzilla pants from Japan. The flat is called the G-spot

Dan’s Mario Kart rating is 12,000

Tommy is terminally offline and gets all his slang from Harry. He doesn’t know who the Rizzler is.

Jack is supportive of Dan and Phil for having Millennial humor.

[vunblr]

Wounds and Walls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Millennial!Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. A little angst.

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Word Count: About 12k.

note: Revised version. It is the first fic I wrote after many years away from writing and I wasn't entirely happy with the result, so here we are.

Before the government officially recognized Bucky as a victim of Hydra’s manipulation and mandated his participation in Dr. Raynor’s therapy program to avoid prison or other legal consequences, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already stepped in. They proposed a more unconventional approach, enlisting Y/n, a mutant with the extraordinary ability to heal not just physical wounds, but mental and emotional scars. Her mission was clear: stabilize Bucky to reintegrate into civilian life, ensuring he posed no harm to others or himself.

At first, he resisted any form of help from her. His reluctance wasn’t just about pride; it was rooted in years of distrust and the unshakable belief that he had to face his past alone. The idea of a “quick fix” only made him more skeptical, feeding the suspicion that she might be just another tool for the government to keep him under control, another reminder of how he had been manipulated and weaponized as the Winter Soldier.

The Blip had taken an even greater toll on him. The sudden shift in society forced him to adapt to yet another unfamiliar world, one where even the tiny constants he relied on were gone. Steve’s departure cut deeper than he wanted to admit; Bucky had thought they’d face this new world together, brothers in arms like always. Instead, Steve had abandoned him, leaving him to shoulder the weight of his demons alone. It was a wound Bucky hadn’t even begun to process, and one that made accepting help from anyone feel impossible.

Despite his initial resistance, her patient and steady approach began to wear down his defenses. Bucky clung to his reserved, cynical attitude, but he grudgingly allowed himself to cooperate. Slowly, the barriers between them started to lower. Eventually, once it was determined on paper that Bucky was stable and no longer posed a threat, the government had the justification it needed to loosen its grip and adopt a more lenient approach to monitoring his progress. His sessions with her came to an official end, and he was granted a conditional release, with the requirement that he continue regular therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor.

As part of his reintegration, Bucky was “strongly encouraged” to take up temporary residence in a carefully selected apartment building. It wasn’t long before he made a startling discovery: Y/n “coincidentally” lived in the same building, and even more “coincidentally,” in the apartment next door. Bucky couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone had orchestrated this arrangement, placing her nearby as a subtle, silent support system.

She hadn’t expected to see Bucky in the hallway of her apartment building. It had been a perfectly ordinary afternoon until she spotted him, effortlessly carrying what looked like bags of clothes in one hand while balancing a microwave over his opposite shoulder like it weighed nothing. When their eyes met, she caught the fleeting shock on his face before he quickly masked it, his expression slipping into something more neutral.

Curious and more than a little suspicious, she approached him with raised eyebrows. They exchanged awkward pleasantries—Bucky, ever the man of few words, offered a brief explanation: the government had rented the apartment for him as part of his continued reintegration.

It felt almost too convenient. Her thoughts immediately flickered to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she couldn’t help but suspect they’d had a hand in this arrangement. Maybe someone wants me to work for free, she mused with a wry smile

Their mismatched schedules during the week meant they rarely crossed paths, and for a while, their lives remained parallel but distant. Sundays, however, became the exception—though not intentionally at first. It started one rainy weekend when the power went out in the building, and she’d knocked on his door, flashlight in hand, to check if he needed anything. She’d half-expected him to brush her off, but to her surprise, he opened the door and invited her in, muttering something about “safety in numbers” as he gestured toward his couch.

They spent the evening with candles flickering between them, sharing the leftovers she’d brought over and exchanging stilted small talk that eventually gave way to a more comfortable quiet. He didn’t share much, but he didn’t seem to mind listening as she filled the gaps with anecdotes and idle chatter.

The next Sunday, she knocked on his door to ask for sugar for a cake she was baking, half-expecting him not to have any. To her surprise, he did. When she mentioned the cake, she noticed a flicker of interest in his usually blank expression. Feeling a little bold, she offered to bring him a slice as thanks. He doubted but eventually nodded, admitting that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food.

Later, when she knocked again to deliver the cake, he opened the door looking awkward, but unexpectedly offered her coffee in return. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. He was watching a documentary about the '90s, and as they sat with their mismatched mugs, the screen played a segment on music. The first notes of Step by Step by New Kids on the Block filled the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh, confessing that she used to love the song as a kid and would dance to it in her living room at five years old. He let out a barely-there smile, the kind that vanished almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t much, but it felt significant, like the first stone in a bridge being laid.

Over time, Sundays became their unspoken ritual. Sometimes they’d watch movies or documentaries. Other times, they’d just sit together, her talking while he listened, occasionally nodding or grunting in response.

She never pressed him to talk, and he appreciated the lack of expectation. Her presence was steady, unobtrusive, and comforting, like the soft hum of a fan on a hot day, something he hadn’t realized he needed until it became a constant.

As time passed, something shifted between them, and Bucky began to open up, little by little. The cracks in his walls revealed glimpses of the man beneath the brooding exterior, and she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes. His shoulders seemed less tense during their Sunday hangouts, and he started to relax more on the couch. Occasionally, there was a slight uptick in his voice when he shared a rare observation or commented on a movie. Though he wasn’t exactly chatty, she could tell he was trying. His words were sparse but deliberate, and as he grew more comfortable, he began to contribute to their conversations in his understated way. A dry comment here, a thoughtful observation there, his eyes met hers more often, and the silences between his responses felt less heavy, settling into something warm and companionable.

As the weeks turned into months, she realized her feelings for him were beginning to shift too. Thoughts of Bucky started to linger beyond their casual Sunday hangouts. It wasn’t just the time they spent together that stayed with her; it was the way she found herself worrying about him on the days they didn’t cross paths, or when he seemed more withdrawn during their conversations. Her mind wandered in unexpected ways, catching herself stealing glances at him that were far from innocent.

It was hard to ignore just how handsome he was, how effortlessly he made her heart skip a beat. The way his blue eyes glimmered on the rare occasions he smiled, or the way her breath hitched when he stretched on the couch, offering a fleeting glimpse of his lower abs, left her feeling like a schoolgirl with a serious crush.

-----

One Friday night, piercing screams shattered her sleep. The sounds were raw and anguished, cutting through the stillness of the apartment. They were coming from the other side of the thin wall—Bucky’s place. She froze, her heart pounding as she recognized the unmistakable signs of a nightmare. But this wasn’t like the restless murmurs or muffled groans she’d overheard in the past. These screams were different, drenched in pain and terror.

Her stomach knotted with worry as she quickly got out of bed, moving toward the balcony the two apartments shared. A low, weathered wooden fence separated their spaces, and she hesitated for only a moment before climbing onto a flowerpot, swung one leg over the fence, and then struggled to follow with the other, cursing her pathetic fitness level as she landed awkwardly on the other side, graceless and unstable.

Peering through the glass of the sliding door, she saw him on the floor, tangled in his sheets, tossing and turning violently. His movements were frantic, his face contorted in fear and anguish as he thrashed against whatever demons haunted him.

“HET!” he cried out desperately, the guttural sound ripping through the room. “Pozhaluysta, prekrati!”

Her heart clenched at the sight. This wasn’t just a bad dream, it was a vivid, visceral reliving of some past trauma. She had no doubt it was connected to his time under HYDRA’s control.

Without thinking, she opened the door and stepped inside. Moving carefully, she approached him, the floor creaking softly beneath her feet. His screams ebbed into harsh, labored breaths, but his body remained tense, caught in the grip of the nightmare. Slowly, she knelt beside him and, with a tentative hand, brushed his hair back from his damp forehead.

As she touched him, she sent a gentle wave of healing energy through him, hoping to ease his turmoil. Her powers couldn’t erase memories, but they could soften the edges of his distress and dull the sharpest parts of his anguish. His breathing began to slow, the lines of tension on his face gradually easing as the energy worked its way through him.

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re not there anymore. Wake up,” she murmured, despite the ache in her chest.

As her hand rested gently on his forehead, Bucky’s piercing screams subsided into soft, pained whimpers. “Bol'no...” he mumbled incoherently, his voice heavy with anguish. Despite her whispered reassurances, his body remained restless, his movements erratic and desperate as the nightmare held him captive.

“No... don’t...” he murmured weakly, his voice trembling with fear and conflict. His legs began to shake, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. She hesitated, her mind racing with the risks of waking him in this state, he could lash out instinctively, putting her in harm’s way.

Swallowing her fear, she made up her mind and knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You’re safe,” she murmured again, as she transferred more healing energy into him by force.

The contact seemed to calm him. His movements grew less frantic, though his body still flinched now and then, as though reacting to something particularly disturbing in his dream. Still, the nightmare’s grip seemed to weaken, her presence slowly chipping away at the fear and pain that had consumed him.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as confusion clouded his features. He looked disoriented, his breathing uneven as his gaze swept the room until it landed on her. For a moment, he just stared, his expression shifting from alarm to recognition. His shoulders sagged slightly as relief washed over him.

“You…” His voice was hoarse as he ran a hand down his face, piecing it together. He looked at her sitting on the floor, with her hair tousled and an old nightie that kissed her knees. Her expression was a mixture of concern and awkwardness. “...woke me up.”

She nodded quickly, her hands fiddling with the hem of her clothes. “You sounded like you were… trapped in something bad,” she said softly. “And you were about to wake the entire neighborhood. I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

Bucky pushed himself upright, with slow movements, like his body weighed more than usual. The exhaustion clung to him in every line of his face, and his voice came out quiet and raw. “Thanks… and sorry.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, big guy. You were suffering.” She shrugged, trying to downplay the moment, but her next words came tumbling out unbidden. “Um… do you want me to stay? You know, for the rest of the night? In case…” Her stomach tightened immediately. What made her think he’d want her to stay?

To her surprise, he paused, considering her offer. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Actually… yeah,” he admitted, still tinged with weariness. He shifted slightly. “If you don’t mind staying close. Just for a while.”

For a beat, she just stared, startled. Quickly regaining her composure, she nodded. “Not at all. I mean, look at your state. Where uh… do you want me?” Her cheeks flushed the second the words left her mouth, and she wanted to die of cringe. That could’ve been phrased better.

Bucky didn’t seem to pick up on the unintended innuendo, or maybe he just didn’t care. He tilted his head slightly, motioning toward the makeshift bed on the floor. “Close is good,” he said simply. “Just… lean against me or something,” he added, curling up into a somewhat protective position as he waited for her to settle in next to him..

Swallowing her nerves, she laid down beside him, her body angled carefully so as not to crowd him. Tentatively, she rested a hand on his side, her palm finding the steady rise and fall of his ribcage. “Like… this?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more unsure.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like a mixture of relief and resignation. “Yeah,” he murmured, his hand briefly brushing hers in an unconscious gesture. “This is good.”

As the silence settled between them, she stayed still, attuned to the warmth of his body and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. He didn’t say much after that, but the way his tense shoulders gradually relaxed spoke volumes. Whatever nightmares had plagued him earlier, they seemed a little further away now.

Exhausted from using her powers at such a high level for the first time in ages, she had finally allowed herself to relax, succumbing to the pull of sleep almost instantly.

-----

When she woke, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains, signaling it was late morning. Something big and warm was pressed against her, enveloping her in heat and security. Still caught in the haze of sleep, her eyes fluttered open slowly. She became aware of the steady rise and fall of breathing against her back, and then of the arm draped snugly around her waist.

Her heart skipped a beat as she registered the sensation of someone instinctively pulling her closer, his hold firm yet unconsciously gentle. He let out a low, sleepy grunt, his nose brushing against the sensitive crook of her neck as he nuzzled deeper, inhaling softly. His breath, warm and even, tickled her skin, and a quiet hum of contentment escaped him.

As the events of the previous night filtered back into her mind, realization struck her like a slap. She remembered where she was, and more importantly, with who.

Wide awake now, her senses sharpened, and noticed with increasing alarm that he was still nuzzling her neck, his face burrowed against her as if drawn to her scent. A traitorous warmth spread across her cheeks as his arm tightened slightly, and she could feel the firmness of his chest against her back.

Panicked but trying not to disturb him too abruptly, she whimpered pathetically under her breath and began tapping his bare shoulder with hesitant fingers. “Bucky,” she whispered urgently. “Bucky, wake up.”

Her soft taps and whispered plea had no effect. In fact, he murmured something incomprehensible and -oh no, oh no, oh no- his hand slid just slightly lower along her side, his fingers twitching as if seeking something in his sleep. Her heart thudded in her chest, her face a furnace of mortification.

Desperate, she abandoned subtlety and swatted the back of his head with just enough force to jolt him.

“Guh-!” he startled awake, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the remnants of a dream. His eyes, half-closed and unfocused, darted around. “Huh? What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

It took a second -or several- for the reality of the situation to register in his brain. As he shifted slightly, his gaze landed on her, and the proximity of their position. The arm draped around her, the way their bodies were pressed together. The faint warmth lingering where his face had been tucked into her neck.

“Oh. Oh,” he breathed, his entire body stiffening. A faint flush began creeping up his neck, spreading rapidly to his cheeks. He immediately withdrew his arm, sitting up fast. “Sorry.” he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I was… dreaming. I didn’t even realize-” He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at her. “Are you… okay?”

She nodded quickly, trying to mask her flustered state. “Yeah, I’m fine.” To distract herself, she stretched her arms lazily above her head, the motion easing the lingering tension in her muscles.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bucky glanced around the room as though looking for something else to look at. The awkwardness between them lingered until finally, he addressed her. “So, uh… Saturday. What plans do you have for today?” he asked casually, though the faint edge of self-consciousness was impossible to miss.

Grateful for a change of topic, she stood up, smoothing her old cotton nightgown and brushing at imaginary dust particles. “Actually, I’m heading out to buy some clothes with a coworker. She invited me to go out to a nightclub with the gang tonight. It’s been years since I’ve been to one.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression caught somewhere between intrigue and skepticism. “A nightclub? That sounds… interesting,” he commented dryly, the hint of sarcasm poorly masking his curiosity. “So I take it you’ll need some new threads first?”

“Yup,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’ve got a decent sense of fashion, but I have no clue what’s in style for places like that anymore. Honestly, I don’t pay attention to what people wear when I see them stumbling home after a night out. I’m usually just walking my dog in old sweatpants or something.” She smiled wryly. “So, she’s helping me look sexy for tonight.”

“Right,” He frowned inadvertently.

“Right,” she echoed, eyeing him for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, since you seem… more than fine now, I should head out. I’m sure you’ve got a packed day ahead, like watching paint dry or maybe finally returning some of those missed calls from Sam.”

She gave him a quick wave and turned toward the balcony, her steps light but deliberate.

Still sitting on the floor, Bucky tracked her movements, his gaze lingering longer than it should on the gentle sway of her hips. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the silhouette of her body through the thin cotton gown, and his jaw clenched before he managed to pull his eyes away. Then he noticed where she was heading.

“The door is that way, in case you didn’t notice,” he said with a faint smirk, gesturing toward the proper exit.

“Oh, I know,” she shot back. “But mine’s locked. I had to channel my inner Cirque du Soleil to get over the balcony and into your place last night.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You climbed the fence?”

“Yeah, and I’d really rather not do it again. Especially with an audience this time.” She paused, turned back to him, and gave him a pointed look. “So, how about you repay me by brushing up on your rusty espionage skills and opening my door without wrecking the lock?”

A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, “You’re serious?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Come on, you’ve got the skills, big guy. Don’t tell me they’re all gone now.”

He let out a low chuckle, pushing himself off the floor. “Alright. Let’s see what I can do.”

------

Later that afternoon, she returned to her apartment with a couple of bags filled with casual clothes, as well as the evening’s potential attire tucked into the mix. She rummaged through them, pulling out the items she thought might work for the nightclub. Objectively, she wasn’t thrilled about the outing -it wasn’t exactly her scene- but she knew she needed to socialize more, to build connections, and maybe, just maybe, find someone to distract herself from the growing attraction she felt toward her grumpy neighbor and friend.

A neighbor who, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware of her feelings.

He didn't seem interested in her that way, and the prospect of him discovering her little crush was mortifying. Also, she knew he had been attempting to date lately, surely encouraged by Dr. Raynor.

Her mind wandered back to that evening when she’d seen him leaving his apartment with a fresh flower bouquet, heading off to meet the chirpy Asian bartender from down the street. Or the time she’d spotted him in the hallway with a single rose wrapped in flimsy paper, his sharp casual-formal attire making him look infuriatingly handsome. When she raised an eyebrow at him, his only response was a gruff, “Tinder,” before disappearing out the door.

He never shared much about that part of his life, and honestly, she didn’t want to know. The thought of sitting through a conversation about his undoubtedly gorgeous dates, smiling and pretending to be happy for him wasn’t her idea of fun.

Before her thoughts could spiral any further, she patted her cheeks with both hands, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She had clothes to choose and a night to prepare for.

-------

After some deliberation, she narrowed her options down to two outfits but found herself hesitating. Against her better judgment, she decided to ask for his opinion. Complicated feelings aside, Bucky was still her friend. And once upon a time, he’d been quite the ladies’ man. Even if he wasn’t that guy anymore, his insights could still prove useful.

She marched to his door and knocked three times. “Bucky, are you home? I have a favor to ask.”

After a moment, the door swung open, and without missing a beat, she held up two hangers, shaking them slightly for emphasis almost against his face. “I can’t decide what to wear tonight. Can you help me figure it out? I’ll pay for Sunday’s pizza if you do.” She presented the options: a short black dress with a daring neckline and a red blouse paired with a matching miniskirt. “What do you think?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed briefly before he managed to mask his reaction with a neutral expression. The black dress was sleek, bold, and undeniably sexy -too sexy if he were being honest with himself-. The red blouse and miniskirt weren’t much better, the skirt’s length leaving little to the imagination.

He knew she was asking for his advice as a friend, but something twisted in his chest at the thought of her wearing either outfit. The idea of her going out in them, surrounded by strangers who didn’t know her like he did, made him uneasy.

His grip on the hangers tightened slightly as a faint, irrational pang of jealousy bloomed before he could push it away. Who else is going to see her like this? Who are these work colleagues, and how many of them are guys? But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was protectiveness, too.

Bucky had spent so much of his life guarding himself from the world that the idea of her stepping out there, dressed like this, left him feeling restless. It wasn’t about the clothes, not really. It was about her. The thought of anyone getting too close or treating her as anything less than she deserved made his stomach turn.

Clearing his throat, he gave her a measured look. “Depends on what kind of vibe you’re going for.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her expression. “Vibe?”

“Yeah.” He held up the black dress. “This says you want to stand out, make a statement. Maybe too much of a statement.” Then he switched to the red blouse and skirt. “This one’s… playful, but honestly, are you sure it’s comfortable?”

Her lips twitched as she fought back a grin. “Are you saying they’re too much?”

He shrugged, his gaze steady but warm. “I’m just saying you don’t need all that to look good.”

Her cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment, and she crossed her arms. “You’re not exactly helping me choose here,” she noted with a playful huff, snapping him back to reality.

Bucky had to admit, the idea of her going out dating, dancing, or doing anything that a single woman her age might do besides spending Sundays on the couch with him, had never truly crossed his mind. Somehow, he’d stupidly taken for granted that she’d always be there, maintaining the easy status quo of their relationship. Ad infinitum.

But now, the possibility of her stepping out of that unspoken bubble between them hit him, and hard.

Was he ready for something else? Not likely, not when he still felt so damn broken. And the idea of ruining what they had for a failed attempt at something more profound, was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her because he couldn’t get his act together.

So, he forced himself to remain calm, even as his emotions clawed at him. The last thing she needed was his unresolved mess clouding her chance to have fun.

He took a breath, keeping his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “The black dress makes an impact,” he admitted truthfully. “It’s bold, sexy…” His gaze shifted to the red ensemble. “This one’s daring too, with the shorter skirt, but…” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he finished, “If you’re looking to turn heads, I’d say go for the black dress.”

He handed the clothes back to her, with a composed expression, though his thoughts were anything but. He plastered on a faint smile, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “You’ll look great, no matter what.”

She accepted the hangers with a small smile, clearly unaware of the turmoil behind his response. "Thanks, Buck. I owe you a pizza," she said with a soft smile, and before thinking twice, she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

The brief warmth of her lips caught him completely off guard. He stiffened, his body betraying him with an instinctive flinch, as though his mind couldn’t immediately reconcile the tenderness of the gesture. “No problem,” he murmured, his voice low and almost distant, eyes tracking her as she quickly retreated toward her apartment.

Once her door clicked shut, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His fingers brushed against the spot where her lips had landed, lingering there like he could somehow preserve the fleeting warmth. For someone like him, feelings were a minefield, buried deep and marked off-limits, hidden alongside memories he refused to revisit. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. At first, she had just been his neighbor, someone who stubbornly broke through the walls he tried to keep fortified.

But over time, things had shifted, quietly at first, like the subtle tug of an undertow, until suddenly it felt like he was drowning.

He sighed deeply, his gaze locked on her door as if it held all the answers. What the hell are you doing, Barnes?

------

On the other side of the wall, she closed her door with a thud, leaning back against it as her stomach twisted in knots. She replayed his flinch in her mind, dissecting it with a mix of confusion and frustration.

Last night, he had wanted her to stay in his makeshift bed after the nightmare, and, for fuck’s sake he even snuggled against her neck in the morning like it was the most natural thing in the world. Asleep, but he did. And yet now, a simple kiss on the cheek had him recoiling like she’d crossed some unspoken line.

Her heart clenched. This is why you need to stop. Whatever feelings she was developing for him, they had to go, and fast. He wasn’t interested in that way. She needed a distraction, something -anything- to pull her away from this spiral.

Fueled by a mix of determination and frustration, she shoved aside his suggestion of the black dress. When the time came, she defiantly slipped into the skimpy red miniskirt and blouse instead. The choice wasn’t just about looking good; it was about reclaiming control over herself, and her emotions. Bold cat-eye makeup followed, along with a slick of glossy red lipstick. Grabbing her purse, she stormed out of the apartment with purpose.

Bucky had just returned from the store, whiskey in hand, when he heard her apartment door open. He turned just in time to see her step into the hallway. His breath caught.

She walked toward him with an effortless sway, the red miniskirt hugging her curves, the glossy lipstick gleaming under the hallway’s dim lights. She looked every bit like a woman who was about to turn heads, and Bucky felt like a deer caught in headlights.

She smiled at him, breezing past with a casual wave. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said brightly, not even sparing him a second glance.

“Have fun tonight,” he managed to say, his voice tight and strained, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.

The elevator doors closed behind her, leaving him frozen in place, nearly dropped the bottle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his face as though trying to rub away the image burned into his mind.

That moment, seeing her like that -knowing she was going out dressed like that-sent his thoughts into a tailspin. He had been trying, desperately, to keep things platonic, to see her as the friend and neighbor who had stumbled into his life at just the right moment. He had tried to distract himself by diving again into the waters of dating after… he can’t even remember how much time, to no avail. But the truth was impossible to ignore now: he wasn’t just fond of her. He wasn’t just grateful for her company.

He wanted her.

And it scared the hell out of him.

-------

Just as she was about to exit the building, the rusty main door lock jammed. Great.

After several increasingly aggressive attempts -rattling the knob, shaking the damn thing, and even delivering a few half-hearted kicks- she finally surrendered. She knew who could help her and grimaced. After managing that catwalk exit showing him indifference, now she needed to crawl back to him for assistance.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned around and knocked on his door. It creaked open on its own, poorly shut. Inside, Bucky was slouched on the couch, whiskey in hand, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of a soccer game.

“Hey,” she called softly, trying to sound casual, hoping to mask the awkwardness of her reappearance. “Are you in the mood to roleplay a locksmith?”

He didn’t startle, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he turned to face her. He took a deliberate swig straight from the bottle before responding, “Again? Don’t you have other neighbors to disturb at this ungodly hour?” he asked a dry tone.

His words were sharp, but she noticed his gaze briefly drop just for a second- skimming her legs before returning to the bottle. The tiniest flicker of frustration crossed his face, like he was annoyed with himself for looking at all.

Her stomach flipped, but she trampled the thought before it could take shape. She was not going to that place just minutes before going out “Come on, Buck. It’s getting late. I’ll make you those garlic snacks you like for tomorrow’s movie night, deal?”

She clasped her hands together, bowing slightly in mock pleading, only to instinctively adjust the hem of her skirt as she straightened. She saw his eyes flick down again, lingering just long enough on the exposed skin of her thighs to make her heart stutter.

Clearing his throat, he tried to sound unaffected. “And you’ll buy me a six-pack. The expensive kind.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Want me to clean your windows too? You know what, give me that.” She took three steps, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and took a generous swig of liquor. ‘Screw it. If he’s going to act all tough, so do I.’  She felt his eyes on her again as she tipped the bottle back, and the weight of his gaze, combined with the burn of the whiskey, made her feel bold, maybe a little too bold.

He clenched his jaw as the amber liquid caught the light, the movement drawing his eyes to the curves beneath her blouse. A heat surged through him. Frustration, arousal, and something raw he didn’t want to name.

“Sure,” he said gruffly. “Help yourself.”

She smirked, handing the bottle back. “What’s with that frown? I thought we had already cleared the phase of that staring thing of yours. Besides, sharing is caring.” She cleaned a stray drop on the corner of her mouth and winked. She fucking winked at him.

Bucky grunted, playing off the moment with a scowl. But his mind was racing by the way she waltzed back in, drinking his whiskey completely unfazed by his presence and ready to go out with some random people to do whatever in a club. He tried to reprimand himself. She was his friend, his neighbor. They had a dynamic: a light-hearted, sarcastic friendship that worked. And now, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to just reach out, close the space between them, and…

“It's nothing,” he lied. “Just thinking about stuff I have to do with Sam.” Suddenly conscious of how closely he was observing her, Bucky forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

She noticed the stare this time but decided to let it pass. “If that’s the case, that door’s not going to open itself, so move your firm 106-year-old ass and open it, will you?” she quipped, her voice carrying a playful edge. It was the kind of comment that would normally pass between them without much weight, but this time... she felt it hang in the air a little longer than usual.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a second, something playful sparked in his blue eyes. “Firm, huh? Seems like someone’s been staring.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She cursed herself for slipping, but quickly waved it off with a flick of her wrist. She wasn’t about to let this turn into any kind of flirting after all that self coaching about auto-preservation. “Tic-toc, Bucky,” she said, keeping her tone nonchalant as she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the hallway. She added a little authority to her voice, more for her own sake than his. She had to steer the conversation back to normal.

The spark dimmed at her response. He nodded stiffly and brushed past her, tensing his shoulders as he headed toward the door. Guess I read that wrong. He told himself it was for the best. Safer.

As Bucky knelt to inspect the lock, she couldn't help but glance at his broad back. The way his muscles flexed under the thin fabric of his shirt was almost hypnotic, her gaze briefly drifting lower before she caught herself. Stop it, she mentally scolded, forcing her eyes to a safe, innocuous spot: a blank patch on the wall that suddenly seemed fascinating.

With a screech of protesting metal, Bucky shoved the old lock using his vibranium finger. The door creaked open, and he stepped back, making a dramatic flourish with his arm. “There you go,” he said, almost indifferent. “If you don’t need anything else, I’d like to get back to watching the soccer match.”

She smiled, hoping to keep things light, even when feeling a weird tightness in her chest. Without thinking, she quipped, “Well, go watch your soccer, then, and wish me luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone!”

Bucky’s hand, still resting on the doorframe clenched slightly, the wood almost creaking under the pressure. The pang of jealousy was immediate and sharp, a wave of possessiveness that he had no right to feel hit him hard. He swallowed, forcing himself to play it cool. “Good luck,” he responded tersely, managing a strained smile on his lips. It was a pathetic attempt to mask the truth. Luck had nothing to do with what he wanted for her that night. He wanted her to return home alone and unclaimed, just as she had left.

------

Alone in his apartment, with the TV long forgotten, Bucky paced restlessly on the old wooden floor. Each step echoed the growing anticipation and anxiety eating him from within. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more painful than the last. He could almost picture her with some faceless guy, laughing, dancing, maybe even kissing him. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, he knew that. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Across town, she stepped into the club, momentarily overwhelmed by its sheer size. Neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy bass, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The whiskey she’d downed at Bucky’s apartment warmed her blood, taking the edge off her nerves.

She grinned, letting the electric atmosphere seep into her. Liquid courage, she thought, ordering two tequila shots when she reached the bar.

The sharp burn of the tequila was quick and welcome, igniting a spark of confidence. She laughed with her coworkers, the energy of the room infectious, and allowed herself to be pulled onto the crowded dance floor.

The music thumped through her veins, the bass so loud it felt like a second heartbeat. For a while, she let herself go, the weight of her thoughts about Bucky -about them- fading into the kaleidoscope of lights and sound. Each rhythmic beat seemed to push her farther from the strange tension that had been lingering between them, leaving her free to revel in the moment.

Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, his strained smile lingered like a ghost she couldn’t quite shake.

------

Bucky found himself awake, staring at the ceiling, restless as he checked the time on his phone more often than he’d like to admit. The thought of her out there -dancing, laughing, maybe already with someone else- had him teetering on the edge of something raw and unrelenting.

Finally, he sat up from his nest on the floor with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck it." Patience wasn’t his strong suit on the best of days, and tonight was no exception. He wasn’t about to sit there letting his mind spiral, conjuring images that made his chest tighten and his teeth grind.

He stood and grabbed his jacket, moving with a quiet, focused purpose. He wasn’t being possessive, he told himself; he was just concerned. Nothing more. He’d check on her, make sure she was okay, and leave. That was it. No ulterior motives.

The cool night air bit at his skin as he slipped out of the building, heading straight for the club he knew she had gone. The monstrous neon-lit structure came into view, its pounding bass audible even from the street. Bucky melted into the shadows as naturally as breathing, years of training guiding his steps.

This wasn’t a mission. He wasn’t stalking a target. He was just... checking in. ‘Just to see how she’s doing’, he repeated in his mind, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Inside, the club was a sensory overload: pulsing lights, bodies moving in sync to the beat, and a sea of unfamiliar faces. Bucky’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd, his chest tightening as his search dragged on longer than he’d expected. Then, finally, he saw her.

Her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair told their own story, a story that stirred something primal within him. His chest tightened as he watched her throw herself into the rhythm of the music, her body swaying effortlessly to the heavy bass, her face lit up in carefree abandon. Bucky's gaze lingered, drawn to her in a way that he couldn't fight anymore. The pulsing lights of the club flashed around them, but his focus was solely on her, everything else fading into the background.

The pull was undeniable. His feet moved before he could think better of it, closing the distance between them until he was standing just inches behind her, his tall frame looming over her smaller form.

She sensed his body immediately, a presence that seemed to engulf her. Startled, she opened her eyes, prepared to spin around and tell some stranger to fuck off. But when she turned, her heart skipped a beat.

"…Bucky?"

Her voice was a mix of confusion and something else, relief, maybe? It broke through the haze clouding his thoughts.

His breath hitched as he took her in up close: the flush of her cheeks, the strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. And then there was the feel of her under his hand. His gaze dropped to where it had landed instinctively: on her hip.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, and then reality crashed over him all at once, releasing her as if burned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes darted away, scanning the crowded room as if it held an answer. “I just... needed to make sure you were okay,” he admitted. His voice was low, rougher than he intended. The excuse felt hollow even to him, but it was all he could offer.

Despite the awkwardness hanging in the air, her heart warmed. Bucky had actually left his apartment, and crossed the city, just to “check” on her. Maybe her situation wasn’t as hopeless as she sometimes thought. Either that, or they were due for a serious conversation about boundaries.

She smiled, trying to ease the tension. “That’s sweet of you, Buck, but completely unnecessary,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. “That’s a new one for me.”

He exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening before he spoke again, slower this time, as though weighing every word. “Look, it’s... complicated. But the truth is, I couldn’t stand the idea of you being here, alone, in a crowd like this.”

His voice carried a rawness that caught her off guard, the admission revealing more than he likely intended.

Her teasing smile faltered for a moment as his words sank in. There was something unspoken lingering just beneath the surface, and it was enough to make her heart ache. "Well," she said softly, her tone shifting, “I’m not alone… but if it bothered you that much, why didn’t you just ask me to stay?”

Her question hung between them like a challenge, and for a moment, their eyes locked. His stormy blue gaze held hers, and she saw it, the conflict, the walls he’d built so carefully starting to crack. He wanted to say something, to let her in, but the fear of rejection or exposing too much kept him frozen.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped before he could muster a response, his defenses kicked in. His expression closed off, and he abruptly turned away, as if running from the crushing weight of his feelings.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she watched him pull back, the sudden distance between them far more than physical. ‘No. Don’t shut me out now.’  Before she could stop herself, she reached out, wrapping her hand around his gloved metal one, the cool leather stark against her warm palm.

“Wait.”

He froze, every muscle in his body going taut. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t turn around, didn’t even breathe, it seemed. He stood there, caught between the magnetic pull of her touch and the ingrained instinct to retreat into the safety of solitude.

“You came all the way here just to startle me like some creep and then leave?” she joked, her voice light as she tried to break through his stoic exterior. Her hand tightened around his, grounding him, pulling him back into the moment. He didn’t move, but the tension in his body was undeniable, the silent battle raging inside him clear from the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

A long, awkward silence stretched between them before Bucky finally spoke. “Look, I don’t want to make things weird between us,” he said, his voice low and earnest, with just a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually controlled stance. "But… promise me one thing.” He turned slightly toward her, leaning in closer, close enough that only she could hear what came next. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with intensity. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid while I’m not around, okay?”

His closeness overwhelmed her senses. The scent of cedar, leather, and something undeniably him filled the space between them, making her pulse quicken. Heat flushed through her skin as she felt the full weight of his presence, intoxicating, magnetic. She cursed herself for how easily he affected her. Her resolve, the careful wall she’d built to keep things casual between them, was crumbling. At that moment, it was impossible to pretend she didn’t want something more. "Actually, Buck…” she started, “Since you’re here… I’m getting tired, and I want to go home. Will you take me?” Her words hung in the air, simple but heavy with unspoken meaning.

Bucky’s gaze widened her suggestion. The offer was unexpected, yet in the charged atmosphere between them, it felt inevitable, like the tension that had been simmering for too long was finally bubbling to the surface. "Alright then,” he murmured. “Let's get you out of here.” Without hesitation, he slid his arm around her waist, his touch was firm but cautious, as though he were testing the waters. The warmth of her body against his heightened his awareness of every subtle movement she made.

“Ready for the ride home?” he asked, his voice huskier than he intended as he raised his hand to hail a cab. His fingers brushed lightly against her side, an unconscious gesture that felt more like reassurance, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was meant for her or himself.

She nodded, and without another word, Bucky guided her toward the waiting car, his hand still resting on her waist as if that physical connection between them had become essential, something he wasn’t willing to break. Once inside, he slid in beside her, their thighs pressing together in the tight confines of the backseat.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as he turned slightly toward her, “what exactly did you have planned for tonight before I crashed the party?”

She tilted her head back against the seat, eyes closing as though she were unwinding from the pulse of the club. A soft, wry smile played on her lips. “Dunno,” she began, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath the casual tone. “Getting loose, maybe meeting someone... and feeling wanted, for a change.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, her words hitting him in a place he didn’t want to acknowledge. Feeling wanted? The thought of her searching for that validation in someone else sent another surge of possessiveness through him.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone, “considering how much trouble I’ve caused tonight already...” His fingers, tentative but bold, trailed slowly along the curve of her thigh, the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her skirt. His touch was deliberate, slow, igniting something raw and unspoken between them. “...you’d better believe you’re wanted right now.”

The weight of his words, paired with the slow, burning sensation of his fingers against her thigh, made her bit her lip. He wasn’t just saying it, he was showing her, in every deliberate move he made, exactly how wanted she was.

She gasped at the feel of his touch continuing upwards, her body reacting instinctively as her legs parted slightly. She turned her gaze to him “I didn’t think that you…” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice was rough and low, thick with barely contained desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying not to want you... and failing miserably.” Without another word, Bucky shifted closer, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, seeking and finding the warmth he had long denied himself.

Feeling the brush of his hand on her thigh, she suppressed a moan as heat started pooling between her legs. Then her eyes darted to the rearview mirror and realized the driver was stealing curious glances toward their activities. She felt a flush of embarrassment and hastily grabbed Bucky’s wrist. “Wait,” she whispered, nodding subtly toward the mirror. 

Bucky followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the driver’s prying eyes on them. A dark, irritated look crossed his face as he made eye contact with the cabby. His fingers hovered on her thigh for a second longer before he reluctantly withdrew.

She quickly crossed her legs, the movement causing her skirt to ride up, offering a tantalizing glimpse of soft skin. Swallowing hard, he turned his attention back to her face, his eyes dark with lust, but remained composed the rest of the trip. 

As the cab pulled up to their building, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. He opened the door and stepped out, offering his hand to help her exit the vehicle. The cool night air and the stillness of the street seemed to break the spell that had enveloped them, grounding them momentarily.

On the elevator, the silence between them was heavy. They exchanged fleeting glances through the mirror, but neither could hold the other’s gaze for long. Their minds swirled with thoughts, mostly Was this all a mistake? 

When finally, the doors slid open, he stepped out ahead of her, leading the way down the hallway to his apartment. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet space, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Once inside, Bucky turned to face her, his expression a mix of uncertainty and raw, unbridled lust. "So..." he started, looking for the right words. "What happens now?"

She bit her lower lip, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. This is it, she thought, her heart pounding hard enough to echo in her ears. The heat between them was almost suffocating, her skin prickling under the weight of his stare. “I want you to… continue what you started in the car,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Relief and raw hunger washed over his features as his broad frame loomed closer. Without a word, his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough, desperate, and possessive. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the embrace.

Time stilled, the world beyond his dimly lit apartment faded into irrelevance as his metal hand gripped her hips. He pulled her flush against him, and the unmistakable press of his hard cock against her belly sent a rush of slick arousal pooling between her thighs.

When their lips broke apart, gasping for air, Bucky’s mouth didn’t stop. He trailed along her jawline, his scruff scratching deliciously against her flushed skin, before lowering to the sensitive skin behind her ear. He nipped, earning a soft gasp, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail down her neck.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice thick and hoarse with barely restrained need. The heat of his breath sent shivers racing down her spine. “And I’ll give it to you. Anything. Just say the words.”

Her head fell back instinctively, exposing more of her throat to his wandering mouth, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. Her body moved on its own, grinding against the firm ridge of his hardon, seeking friction. A breathless whimper escaped her lips, her hands roaming the expanse of his broad chest, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as she pushed it upward, desperate to feel him.

“Bucky…” she whispered, her voice shaky, barely audible over her heart pounding. “I want you. All of you. Right now.”

His lips stilled against her skin for a split second before he pulled back, his eyes locking onto hers with such fierceness that made her knees weak. “You have me,” he growled. His hands moved to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing.

Pinned between him and the nearest wall, her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. His hips rolled against her, the hard length of him grinding against her soaked panties, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through her body as his hands roamed the curve of her waist.

“You had to wear the damn blouse, hm?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once. His lips captured hers again, his teeth grazing her lower lip before his tongue delved inside, deepening the kiss. Her back arched into him, her body desperate for more as the heat built between them, spiraling out of control.

Bucky’s hands moved with practiced ease, tugging the hem of her blouse upward. Instead of wasting time with buttons, he pulled it over her head in one deft motion, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid away. Before she could catch her breath, his fingers found the clasp of her bra at the front, flicking it open with a sure twist.

The garment was discarded to the side, forgotten, as his intense gaze dropped to her newly exposed skin. The cool air brushed against her hardened nipples, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they slid up her sides to cup her breasts.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he muttered like the words were torn from him without permission. He leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat and lower, until his lips wrapped around one pert nipple and sucked.

The wet heat of his tongue sent a shockwave through her body, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him. “Bucky…” she whimpered, her voice barely recognizable, thick with need.

A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him, the hardness pressing between her thighs sending shockwaves of need coursing through her. Bucky growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as his lips traced a fiery path down her neck.

“What about this, huh?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once as he roamed the fabric of her skirt on her hips. The accusation in his tone thrilled her, but she couldn’t resist firing back.

“You don’t like it?” she teased breathlessly.

“Didn’t like other men looking at you in it,” he growled, tightening his grip. His blue eyes were stormy, fixed on her face with a mix of frustration and want. “You put this on, asking for trouble, didn’t you?”

“Well…” She smirked, with a flicker of defiance in her gaze. “That was the idea, yes.” she shot back, her breath hitching as his lips claimed hers again in a rough and possessive kiss.

His brows furrowed, and without warning, he grasped the hem of her skirt. “So trouble, huh?” he rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. With one sharp tug, the fabric gave way, the sound of the seam tearing echoing in the quiet apartment.

“Bucky!” she gasped, looking down at the ruined garment now discarded on the floor. “That was brand new!”

His smirk deepened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as his hands moved to her hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. “Well,” he murmured darkly, “you wanted trouble, sweetheart.” With one smooth motion, he tore the delicate lace, the ruined scraps joining her skirt on the floor. “Now, you’ve got it.”

Before she could respond, Bucky downed her to the floor and dropped to his knees before her, his broad shoulders aligning with her hips as his hands gripped her firmly. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, locking his gaze.

With a steady, almost reverent motion, he guided one of her legs up, draping it over his shoulder. His hands slid down to her other thigh, gripping and spreading her gently but firmly, holding her steady as he settled between her legs.

“Stay still,” he rasped, his voice low and commanding, the timbre sending a shiver through her body. His fingers dug into her thighs just enough to steady her, with a mix of strength and care that left her dizzy with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he muttered, as his gaze burned into hers. “Fucking gorgeous.”

The first brush of his lips against her was featherlight, a tease, but it sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her core.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair as her knees threatened to give out beneath her.

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, his tongue darting out to taste her. The wet heat of his mouth made her cry out, her hips instinctively bucking against him. His grip on her tightened, holding her in place as he worked her with a mix of deliberate strokes and teasing flicks, the rhythm of his movements driving her higher. Then, he sucked hard at her clit.

Her head fell back, her nails scraping against his scalp as the coil of tension in her belly tightened. “Oh my God, Bucky…” she moaned, her voice breaking.

He growled against her, “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his words muffled against her, before diving back in with renewed fervor.

She was trembling, her body on fire, every nerve ending alight under his relentless attention. “Bucky… I-” she gasped, unable to finish the sentence as her world shattered around her, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her boneless.

He didn’t stop until her trembling eased, his hands steadying her as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh again, his scruff grazing her sensitive skin. Standing, he cupped her face in his hands, before his lips found hers again, this time with a slow, simmering heat that promised this was far from over.

With one last lingering kiss, Bucky pulled away and took her hand, his calloused fingers warm against her skin. Wordlessly, he led her down the hallway to his bedroom.

Inside, the soft light of the street spilling from the window cast long shadows across the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, his lips were on hers again. His hands eagerly roamed her body, while hers found the hem of his shirt, tugging at it insistently.

“Not fair,” she murmured against his mouth, a teasing lilt to her voice as she tugged the fabric higher. “I’m the only one without clothes.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to let her lift the shirt over his head. As the garment came off, he hesitated for a split second, his gaze dropping, the faintest flicker of self-consciousness crossing his features.

Her eyes softened as she took in the scars that marred his chest and shoulder, where flesh met metal. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing gently over the jagged lines of his scars, trailing soft kisses along the seam of his prosthetic.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.

The words made his throat tighten, and his cheeks flushed with warmth. “If you say so,” he muttered, with a rough voice and an emotion he didn’t quite know how to express.

She smiled, her fingers grazing his jaw as she kissed him again, slow and deep.

Gently, he guided her toward the bed, the back of her knees meeting the edge before she sank onto the mattress. He followed, climbing on top of her with a careful but commanding grace, his weight settling between her thighs as he braced himself on his forearms.

“You are the beautiful one,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers as his hand slid up her side, exploring every curve with deliberate care.

Bucky’s lips trailed down her neck, his hot breath igniting her skin as he moved lower. His mouth found her breast, and his tongue teased a hard nipple before he drew it into his mouth. The way his teeth grazed just slightly the sensitive skin to suckle on it after, sent a jolt of pleasure that had her back arching off the bed. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him closer as he feasted on her, his free hand kneading the soft flesh of her other breast. He alternated between them with, relentless attention and when he finally pulled away, with his lips glistening, he shifted his weight back onto his knees, moving his hands to his belt. With a quick flick, he unbuckled it, the metallic clink cutting through the thick silence of the room. He made short work of his pants and boxers, discarding them onto the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Her eyes widened as he revealed himself, unable to hide the surprise from her face.

Bucky noticed her reaction, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. He quirked a brow, saying nothing, though the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

Without breaking eye contact, he positioned himself between her legs, his broad hands sliding up her thighs to spread them wider. His gaze softened slightly, his confidence faltering just enough for a faint blush to creep up his neck. “I, uh… I should warn you,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”

Her chest swelled at the vulnerability in his voice, and she reached up to cradle his face, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. “That’s okay,” she murmured with a small smile, her voice warm and reassuring. “We’ve got all night to practice.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at her words, and he let out a soft laugh, the sound rough and filled with affection. “Well, that is certainly reassuring,” he muttered, leaning down to capture her lips again, aligning his body with hers as he began to guide himself into her, slow and steady.

The tight, wet heat enveloped him, and a deep and guttural groan escaped his lips. His body tensed, his breath hitching as pleasure slammed into him with an intensity he hadn’t anticipated.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, freezing in place. His jaw clenched as he willed himself to calm down, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

She watched him, her hands resting lightly on his forearms. “What is wrong?” she asked with concern.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Give me a second,” he rasped, “I almost -fuck- almost lost it already.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his flushed skin. “Take your time,” she whispered, her voice soothing and full of warmth.

He opened his eyes, the stormy blue depths meeting hers, and he gave a small nod. He pulled back slightly, taking a deep breath before pushing in a little farther. The sensation overwhelmed him again, his hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as he cursed again under his breath. “Goddamn it,” he growled, stopping once more, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he fought for control.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as she whispered, “It’s okay. We’re not in a rush. Just... feel it, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a low, shaky laugh. “You’re too fucking good to me,” he muttered, lifting his head to look at her again. He took another breath and moved slowly, inching deeper this time, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. He paused twice more, cursing softly each time, but her patient touches and words made him feel like he could take all the time in the world.

Finally, with a low, satisfied groan, he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He stilled, his head dropping to rest against hers as he breathed heavily. “Jesus Christ,”

She was doing her best to be patient, to let him take his time, but the throbbing heat of his cock buried deep inside her was becoming impossible to ignore. Her body ached for more, for movement, for relief from the unbearable tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Biting her lip, she gazed up at him, his eyes still closed, his jaw clenched as he worked to steady himself. The sight of him like this -raw, vulnerable, and completely consumed- only made her need intensify.

Tentatively, she shifted her hips upward, a subtle roll that sent a jolt of pleasure sparking through her body. The sensation drew a soft gasp from her lips, and she couldn’t suppress the small whimper that followed.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, the sharp inhale he took betraying just how much he felt her movement. His gaze locked on hers, dark and full of warning, but there was no mistaking the desire burning behind it.

“Careful,” he rasped, “You’re making it real fucking hard to keep control here.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her patience finally wearing thin. “Maybe I don’t want you to keep control,” she whispered, as she rocked her hips again, just enough to feel him twitch inside her.

Bucky groaned deeply, pressing his face into the crook of her neck as his composure continued to crack. His body trembled against hers, his restraint unraveling with each passing second. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice low and strained, teetering between a warning and surrender.

Her response was to arch her back, her body molding against his as her nails dragged lightly down the sculpted planes of his back. “Stop holding back,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. “It’s like you’re punishing yourself.”

Her hands moved to his nape, fingers brushing softly through the short hair at the base of his skull. “What’s wrong with cumming, Buck?” she whispered, with a tender voice.  “Let go. Next time-”

Her words were cut off by a sudden, hard thrust, his hips snapping forward and burying him so deeply inside her that the blunt head of his cock kissed her cervix. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her head falling back against the mattress as pleasure and shock rippled through her.

When she met his gaze, his blue eyes burned with steely determination. His jaw was clenched, his face tight with a focus that seemed almost unshakable, as though he’d summoned every ounce of his training to suppress his body’s overwhelming need for release.

“Next time,” he murmured, his voice rough and deliberate, “I’ll make it last.” His hips snapped forward again, hard and precise, pulling a cry from her lips as her body arched beneath him. He grit his teeth, his breath ragged. “I’m not… a fucking teenager. I won’t just… soil myself. I won’t do that to you, doll.”

She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for air, the meaning behind his words sinking in. His old-fashioned masculine pride wouldn’t let him lose control, wouldn’t let him spill before ensuring her satisfaction.

Her lips parted as a rush of understanding -and desire- flooded her. Sliding a hand down between them, she touched herself, her fingers finding her slick folds and swollen clit.

His thrusts faltered slightly as he realized what she was doing, his eyes widening briefly before darkening with renewed hunger. “Fuck, doll…” he rasped, his voice hoarse and laced with awe as he watched her.

Her fingers moved with purpose, working in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. The added sensation sent sparks of pleasure racing through her body, her moans growing louder as she climbed higher.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her free hand clutching at his back as the tension coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight. Her movements grew more frantic, and she cried out as the release she craved finally shattered through her, her walls clenching hard around him.

That was all it took. With a guttural groan, Bucky’s restraint broke, his hips slamming against hers as he buried himself deep, spilling into her with a force that left him trembling. He collapsed against her, his breath ragged and uneven, his body a heavy, satisfying weight on top of hers.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. Finally, Bucky lifted his head, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he looked at her with a mixture of relief and adoration.

A soft smile curved her lips as her hand caressed his stubbled cheek, "You okay?" she asked softly.

Bucky nodded, his steel-blue eyes searching hers, with a certain vulnerability flickering beneath the surface. "Yeah," he murmured. "Are you?"

Her answering smile was all the reassurance he needed. "More than okay,".

He exhaled a shaky breath, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, pulling her against him, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

She lay quietly in his arms, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, as their breaths gradually evened out. But even in the calm, she could feel certain tension lingering in his body.

“What’s on your mind, Buck?” she asked softly

He hesitated, “I’m just… thinking.”

Her brows knitted together, “About what?”

Bucky sighed, his hand pausing its movements. “About how much of a goddamn mess I still am,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and most days, it feels like I’m one bad decision away from falling apart again.” He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “But then there’s you.”

She remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

“I can’t stand the idea of you with someone else,” he continued, almost bitter as if the confession cost him. “It’s selfish, I know. You deserve someone who’s got their shit together, not someone like me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face so he had no choice but to look at her. “Bucky,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion swelling in her chest. “You’re not a mess. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here, still trying, and that says more about who you are than anything else.”

He sighed, his hand moving to cover hers, holding it against his cheek. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m broken.”

“Maybe,” she conceded softly, leaning closer. “But it isn’t have to be forever. You just need time. And you’re not alone in this.

His stormy blue eyes searched hers, raw with emotion, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he pulled her down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft, reverent, and full of unspoken promises.

A faint breeze filtered through the open window, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the distant hum of the city settling into the night. Bucky closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath that seemed to carry years of tension away with it.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, the words so low she almost missed them.

“You don’t have to,” she replied softly, her voice muffled against his pulse point. “Just let yourself have it.”

Headers by @/strangergraphics

[overexciteddragon]

Hey I actually have a recommendation if you're struggling with social scripts, the podcast Shmanners by Teresa McElroy and her husband Travis does a fantastic job at giving a cool rundown of what the interesting historical customs were for certain events and situations, and then explain how you can go about the same situations in the modern day. It's been immensely helpful for me especially while I was planning my wedding and wanted to do a good job at being a host. This is a cool episode on "handshakes and business cards", which I think can be important for a lot of us to learn!

I feel like in the rush of “throw out etiquette who cares what fork you use or who gets introduced first” we actually lost a lot of social scripts that the younger generations are floundering without.

[daeluin]

there are rumors already that taylor's team is planing to add up to two more dates in buenos aires like

girl we're in the middle of a fucking economic crisis and these people are dropping more than 70k on tickets to see tswift like estamos todos locos

[epellucid]

me: 

a millennial: oh my god this reminds me of **insert very widely known pop culture reference from the late 90s/early 00s** haha I know I’m showing my age but I’m just soooo old. You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about! I’m totally ancient!! do you even know what a CD is? lol I’m so old!!!

[sucodelaranja86]

- hyun-ju cho relationship headcanons (pre/post game) : ★

featuring: hyun-ju cho x reader

warnings: mentions of very faint transphobia.

A/N: Requests are open. :))

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

➤ For starters, she confirmed herself that she is not a timid person. And you can see for yourself that she isn't afraid of expressing her opinions or taking leadership.

But that doesn't mean she isn't insecure.

It's hard to find people who embraced their true identity, specially in the place you two live. So it's not hard for her to feel like she is sticking out negatively in the crowd. And of course, people around you don't make things better.

So not going into too many details, she would enjoy PDA a lot more if she didn't make you two stick out so much. She is not embarrassed to show affection to you, quite the contrary. As i mentioned before, she is not a shy person by no means. She just feels a afraid of making a fuss.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't shower you with affection inside closed doors!

Independent of your size and height, you are going to be the big spoon. Yes, she is the double of your size, and yes, you are going to caress her head while she sits on your lap. It's not like you are complaining.

She feels like she can be her true self around you, and that true self is a clingy woman who demands affection everytime your hands are unoccupied.

Even through messages, she is still the same person you know. And you are not afraid to admit she messages and comments like a facebook mom. She didn't understand what you meant when you bursted out laughing while admitting that, but it would never not be funny to you.

"love, are you coming home rn?"

"Yes, my dear, 💕 i am on my way. 😊 I am currently at the subway, and i couldn't help but admire some of the breath-taking flowers a certain seller is promoting. 💐🌷🌻 Should i get a combination of flowers for our apartment, or should i save for something else? 🤔 Message me what you think! ☺️😚🤩"

You never get the heart to explain to her why is it so funny. The proper grammar, the exaggerated quantity of emojis, alongside a sticker that is the definition of a grandma's humor won't ever not make you giggle.

And don't even get me started on the 'funny' videos she sends you.

They are either military humor/jokes that you would need at least 2 years of researching for you to understand, or those videos that would be funny 6 months ago and you would sometimes catch your mom giggling to it. Sometimes you had to remind her you were not a first class sergeant like she was, and that always lead to her explaining for 15 minutes about the joke. So after some time you decided to simply laugh, even if you didn't get it.

You once tried looking through her main page on the only social media she used, and the only things you found were mainly housewife tutorial videos, military documentary clips, occasionally some millennial funny videos, and even more occasionally trans pride related ones. It was like a single mother, a teenager who just came out and a 47 married man were sharing the same social media.

And speaking about moms- she is the biggest one ever. You got a simple cold? She is already making you soup while wrapping you up in the warmest blanket you two own. Had a problem with someone? When they see her, they are surely not going to mess with you anymore.

Overall: you don't know if you bagged a girlfriend or a single mom.

⌢ ⌣ ⌢ ⌣