#once again if you are me you will understand

[rafesangelita]

♡ telling rafe you didn’t use his credit card

warnings: use of the name ‘daddy’ (pls just scroll if that’s not your thing, you’ve been warned!!), rafe gets mad at you, fluff

rafe was already waiting for you outside the house when you and your best friends pulled into the driveway of tanneyhill, a small smile gracing his lips as he watched you step off the pink buggy with your hands full of shopping bags. “bye, love you!” you blew a kiss to the car before waving, turning around only to be met with rafe towering over you. “hey, daddy!” you pecked his cheek, allowing him to take the bags from you as you two made your way inside. rafe kicked the door shut once you plopped down on the couch, your heels still adorning your feet as you pouted up at him to join you on the sofa.

“how was your outing, bunny?” he pulled you onto his lap, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as he stroked your thigh, his eyes trailing down that pretty face of yours before settling on your glossy lips. “it was really good,” you smiled, resting a hand against his chest, “..but i kinda ran into a little hiccup, please don’t get mad.” rafe shifted his weight on the cushion beneath him, his eyebrows pinching slightly at your words. “what happened?” he swallowed thickly, watching the way a conflicted expression passed over your features.

“so.. i think i accidentally removed your card from my apple pay a while back and i’ve been meaning to add it again but i keep forgetting, and right before i left i decided to change purses but i didn’t realize i had left your physical card in my other bag, so when it came time to pay for my stuff i didn’t—” rafe cut off your rambling with a hand in the air, your explanation coming to an unexpected stop. “don’t tell me you paid with your own money.” he glared at you, his nostrils flaring as you looked away guiltily. “fuck, y/n.” he screwed his eyes shut, his head resting on the back of the couch as he groaned.

“why would you do that?” you shrugged, nervously fiddling with the charms on your nails as you tried to reassure him. “it’s okay! money just sits in my account anyways, it’s not a big deal!” you tried to ease his worries but he wasn’t having it. “it is though, bunny. you’re my girl, and my girl is taken care of, always. you should’ve called me and i could’ve arranged something.” he scolded you, his eyes wide as you mumbled a little ‘i’m sorry!’ — he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you shrunk in on yourself, hating the way his disapproval felt.

“how much did all of that cost?” he asked, both of you turning to inspect the white bags with various shades of pink tissue paper sticking up from the top. “uhm.. like eight hundred??” rafe cursed under his breath, his skin growing hot at the revelation. he hated it when you spent even a single dollar on your card, so hearing that you spent a lot more than that only made him more pissed off with himself. “alright, listen. i’m gonna put three times that amount back into your account—” you quickly protested, your mouth falling open in disbelief. “rafe! no, that’s ridiculous—”

he shushed you, already taking his phone out of his pocket and transferring the money. “no, it’s not ridiculous, ‘next time you run into a little ‘hiccup’ you call me and i’ll go over to wherever you’re at and pay for your shit myself if i have to. do you understand me?” you stared up at him, biting on your bottom lip before nodding, surrendering to him without a word. “i really am sorry, ray..” you whispered, allowing him to reach over you and grab your bags. “don’t be, alright? i should’ve made sure you were good before you left, okay? it’s not on you.” he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“why don’t we go upstairs and you give me one of your little hauls?” you lit up at the suggestion, nodding your head frantically as you practically shot up from his lap. “i think some of the outfits in here will make it up to you..” you smiled, flashing him a wink before the click of your heels against the stairs echoed throughout the foyer. rafe chuckled to himself, his cock stirring in his pants once he caught a glimpse of the lace material in one of the bags. it was going to be a long, long, long, night.

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[mattybsgroupie]

SLOW MORNINGS WITH MATT

you could hear the sound of the sheets ruffling as matt stirred in his sleep, tossing and turning around. matt’s sleep was always deep, but the moments between his dreamy state and his actual awakening bothering him the most.

matt turns to the side, as he always did before waking up, wrapping his tattooed arm around my waist while spooning you. a still sleepy matt presses his chapped lips against your neck, mumbling something neither of you could understand.

“mornin’ babe” you whisper, placing your palm above his, tightening the hug. matt wouldn’t bother responding — reaching for your earlobe, gently nibbling on your skin.

his hips got closer, allowing you to feel matt’s morning boner through his sweaters. he slowly moves his hand from your hips to your chest, his digits lightly pinching your nipples through the cloth. “don’t” matt says as he notices you holding back a moan. “wan’ hear you”.

matt is so warm, so gentle, so sensual. every little touch was enough to get your panties soaked. you fail to ignore the growing wetness between your legs as matt drags his cock between your asscheeks, teasing you. his hands finally leave your breasts, traveling all the way down to your pussy.

you gasp when matt’s fingers reach inside your pants. you can tell that he’s smiling, a naughty grin dancing across his face — but you’re too worked up to care. one of your hands go to the back of matt’s head, tugging on his hair as he kisses your bare shoulders. your jaw falls slack, a half-yawn, half-moan escaping from your lips.

as matt continues to drag his cock against you, you feel the growing watch patch on his pants. he pants heavily, a small groan coming from him as you purposefully move your hips behind.

“…tease” matt chuckles, finally placing his thumb on your clit. he rubs your hardened bud in circular motions as his index opens your folds, gathering your juices and reaching for your hole. his hard-on pokes you, almost begging to be touched. in between kisses, you managed to lower your hand just enough to get inside his sweaters, wrapping your knuckles around his leaking dick.

matt groans once again at your touch, “fuck” he says, increasing the pace of his movements on you. you spread your legs, giving him more access as you twist your fist on his length. you can feel the pre-cum oozing from his slit, dripping down your hands as you pump him in a lazy, almost sloppy manner.

“so good to me” matt praises, sliding a finger inside you. it goes in easily, your wetness helping him to reach your sensitive spot. his digit brushes against your gummy walls, thrusting inside you, hitting your cervix over and over. it’s unfair how good he is. you move your thumb to his tip, circling the sensitive skin there.

the sheets are anywhere but covering you both — and matt wishes he had a mirror on the ceiling to enjoy this moment even more. you tighten your grip on his cock and matt removes his middle finger from you, solely focusing on rubbing your clit. “cum with me” he almost begs, his cock twitching against your palm “cum with me baby please— fuck!” he cusses out as his orgasm hits him, hot spurts of cum covering your hand.

matt continues to rub you until you reach your high, holding your body close to his as you tremble. a loud moan comes from the back of your throat, your release dripping down your thighs. matt keeps praising you, lightly tapping your clit as you come back to your senses. “now that’s a good morning” he says, chuckling. “ready to start the day?”

i don’t know what day we’re at!!! six??? seven??? whatever!!!! we talked so much about slow morning sex with matt, i killed two birds with a stone — slow mutual masturbation with (husband) matt! hope you like this one! 🤍 thank you for enjoying the special. if you wanna be tagged, please comment on this post!

[morganbritton132]

An unfortunate byproduct of Steve’s neighbors always calling the cops on him is that Steve is like six years old and hasn’t really learned what’s appropriate to tell people. So now Hopper knows way too much about too many people.

Steve may not understanding the implication of his words, but Hopper does. Dick Harrington is cheating on his wife. Again. And he’s using his son as a cover. Nice.

Hopper predicting a noise complaint call in his future.

He knows that Angela Harrington has ‘special pills’ she takes for headaches and they make her sleepy. That’s why Hopper can’t call her when her son wrecks his bike being an idiot at the quarry.

He also knows that, despite what Steve thinks, Dave and Maria’s oldest boy doesn’t keep a skunk in his bedroom and is definitely getting high when his parents aren’t home.

He knows that their second oldest keeps porn under his bed. Steve told him that one giggling so hard his eyes were watering.

When Carol’s older sister babysits them, she bribes them with candy not to tell their parents that she left them alone.

There’s a newspaper thief in Loch Nora and Steve knows who it is. Tommy Hagan sometimes wets the bed. Benny Hammond will give you free fries if you clean off some of the tables. The teenager that teaches Steve’s swim class at the community pool accidentally burnt a kid with a cigarette last week.

Otis Harrington fought in World War 2, lives in Florida, and is apparently a ninja. Hopper is told this while being karate chopped in the knee.

Joyce Byers has a crush on him. Hopper knows this because Steve tells him that he heard her call him handsome and, “Nicole said I was handsome during recess once and then she kissed me. That means that girls like like you so Mrs Byers’ like likes you.”

Steve informs him, “You should marry her.”

“I’m already married.”

“Oh…” Steve frowns down at his hands where he scrapped the hell out of them on this sidewalk ten minutes ago. “You should get divorced.”

[helaintoloki]

For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, angst, themes of trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of pregnancy, eventual fluff, bucky and reader working out their marriage problems

notes: so i actually first started working on this piece a month before the movie came out and wasn’t able to complete it until i actually saw the film. there will be some inaccuracies since it’s purely based off memory but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You want a divorce, but Bucky needs your help for one last mission. Luckily, marriage is all about compromise

The court issued papers fill Bucky with unease as the two of you sit at the dining table in silence. Neither of you has said a word since you presented the documents to him when he returned from his office, and his gaze has been glued to the petition for a painfully long amount of time. The legal jargon doesn’t catch his attention, but one word has stuck out from the rest and branded itself at the forefront of his mind.

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

“I just need your signature,” you prompt him quietly after taking a nervous swallow. You try to remain poised, but Bucky knows you well enough to detect your anxious tells- the way your leg bounces nervously under the table while your right hand absently tries to fidget with a ring that isn’t there. He sighs and allows himself to sink back further into his chair while he attempts to organize the amalgamation of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“This is what you really want?” Bucky asks gently, tone devoid of judgement or resentment and instead filled with quiet defeat.

“Are you kidding? I don’t want this at all,” you insist miserably, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand across the table. “I love you, Bucky. More than anything. But we haven’t been on the same page in years.”

“Of course we’re on the same page,” he stresses incredulously as if it’s ridiculous to believe otherwise. “We love each other, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, we’re a team.”

A disappointed frown takes hold of your features as you carefully pull your hand away. Your eyes are full of sorrow and grief for your failing marriage, and Bucky doesn’t understand why his words have garnered such a reaction from you. He asked you to be his wife out of love and complete adoration for the woman who had risked everything to help him become the man he is today. Wasn’t that enough?

“When we got married, you promised me we’d retire and start our lives somewhere quiet away from all the danger. We’d do the whole white picket fence thing and grow old together, maybe start a family now that all the super hero stuff was behind us. But then Sam needed our help, and I didn’t mind suiting up again for a friend.“

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky affirms with a faint smile, heart nearly bursting with pride at the mere thought of your selflessness. Steve had once said your compassionate heart could melt even the toughest of soldiers, and Bucky had been no exception when first meeting you.

“I thought that would be our final send off, but then came Valentina, then your congressional campaign, and now the impeachment. It never ends, Bucky,” you say emphatically, exhaustion and defeat present in your tone. Quieter now, you let your eyes fall back to the documents and swallow back your tears before continuing, “I’m starting to realize now that there never will be a house with a white picket fence.”

“Y/n, come on,” Bucky pleads earnestly, “of course there will be. Just give me some time-“

“That’s what you always say,” you point out with a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Your husband is desperate to change your mind, the panic evident in his features as he scrambles to make things right before it’s too late.

“I can change.”

“If you can honestly look me in the eyes and promise me your days of fighting are over, I’ll shred the papers myself.”

A heavy silence follows your words, and you sit expectantly as you wait for him to make a move. Bucky’s eyes wander to every corner of the room, analyze every speck of dust that lands on the table, but they’re never once able to look into your own. You know you have your answer, and Bucky knows there is no changing your mind now.

“I’ll still help you find evidence for Valentina’s impeachment,” you assure him numbly, your fingers absently fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. “I’ll help you organize your argument and figure out the next step, but you’re on your own after that.”

“About that…” Bucky utters guiltily, looking at you like a dog caught with its tail between its legs. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before your shoulders slump in disappointment. You know what’s coming, and you know you’re not going to like it.

“What did you do this time?”

“The evidence I’m looking for, it’s not a paper trail or the location to some facility. It’s… people,” Bucky admits with a wince, sinking further back into his chair when he notes the frustration evident in your features.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You exclaim in exasperation. “What do you mean it’s people?!”

Bucky hates seeing you angry, especially when your anger is directed towards him, but he desperately tries to extinguish the flames before they can get worse.

“Valentina sent people to cover her tracks- contract agents.”

“And who are the agents?” you press him, annoyance clear in your tone. He winces, clearly not looking forward to admiting the truth to you.

“John Walker, Ava Star, and Yelena Belova… But y/n, I swear to you, I had no idea about her involvement when I asked for your help taking Valentina down,” Bucky insists honestly in response to the ire clear on your features, hoping you’ll understand his point of view. Of course he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes, but it had all happened so fast he hadn’t been given an opportunity to right it.

“Natasha was my best friend, and I promised if anything happened to her I’d keep an eye on Yelena in her place,” you remind him indignantly with an irritated huff. Bucky lets his head hang in shame. “You realize you’re asking me to go back on my word by going after her, right?”

“I know… and I’m sorry. But this is important. The fate of the world could be at stake.”

“It always is,” you mutter testily. Bucky sighs.

“Look, just… before I become a divorced middle aged man, can you just go on this one last mission with me? Think of it as a final send off,” Bucky coaxes with a nervous smile. “And when all is said and done I’ll sign the papers.”

You pull your lips back into a thin line as you stare down the man sitting across from you. You’re not exactly pleased with this entire situation, but a part of you knows you’d feel horrible turning your back on him when he needed you most. Despite your impending divorce, you still loved Bucky with your entire being, and you always would have his best interests at heart no matter the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you curse under your breath, more directed at yourself than at Bucky. “I know I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’ll help you.”

The relief that washes over Bucky’s face is almost rewarding, but you try not to let yourself get too caught up in the fantasy. You still aren’t an Avenger, and going on a life threatening mission isn’t going to magically fix the problems in your marriage. You’re simply doing this as a favor to the man you love, and you’re adamant about not letting yourself fall in too deep.

You only hope Bucky keeps good on his promise to you because he can’t afford to break any more.

~~~

You carefully pull the zipper of your suit closed before taking a step back to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Despite years of inactivity, it still fits you like a second skin, and you hate it. The last time you’d suited up had been to stop the Flag Smashers, and when it was over you swore to yourself you’d never put it on again. You’d shoved it towards the very back of your closet hoping to forget it existed, and yet here you stood being haunted by your past in spite of how hard you’d worked to separate yourself from your life as an Avenger.

“You look good,” Bucky compliments from behind you, figure leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the sight of you. He desperately wants to cross the room and pull you against him, hold you by the hips and pour all of his gratitude for your help into a kiss, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he isn’t exactly sure how to act around his soon-to-be ex-wife. The air is awkward with uncertainty and tense with your anger at having been dragged into this mess, but neither of you dare make note of it.

“I look like an Avenger,” you mutter dryly before pushing past him in search of your boots. “Now tell me again what the plan is.”

“Thanks to Valentina’s assistant I have their location. There’s an abandoned mechanic shop along the way, and you’re going to wait for me there while I bring them in. All I need you to do is help me keep them in line and present the evidence at the hearing.”

“Doing all the dirty work?” You muse with a raised brow. “How noble of you.”

“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’m trying to keep you out of the action as much as possible,” Bucky avows with a sigh, making a move to reach out for your hand only to quickly pull it back. If you notice his slip up you say nothing of it, only holding his gaze as he continues, “I can’t promise this won’t go sideways because it very well could, but I’ll have your back just like I always do.”

Your hard exterior softens at his confession, and you find your eyes quickly darting to the floor to avoid his burning stare. Your heart tightens in your chest with despair as you’re reminded of the fact that despite your impending divorce, you love him with your entire being. Bucky has been by your side for years, and you’re terrified of what life will be like without him as your partner, but you keep reminding yourself that it’s for the best. There isn’t a future there anymore, and you’re tired of living a life of fighting. You’re no longer compatible, and the sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be.

“You should go,” you urge, abruptly ending the tender moment he’d created. “If what Mel says is true about them escaping then they probably already have a target on their heads. You need to get to them first.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky bids you goodbye by placing an awkward hand on your shoulder. It isn’t very subtle by any means, but the gesture has you cracking the smallest of smiles at the man. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, James,” you say quietly, a hint of vulnerability shining through your tone. Despite the front you out on, your eyes always give you away. Bucky can note the worry in them, the love you hold for the man you married all those years ago. He knows it’s naive of him to think a woman who’s always been so strong willed would ever change her mind after it’s already been made up, but he really hopes he won’t have to sign those papers when you finally get home.

“Always am for you,” he replies with a faint smile, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his knuckles against your jaw the way he knows you like. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct form the contact, and in spite of your better judgement you find yourself missing the feel of his touch when he pulls away and leaves you to your own devices.

As planned, you drive yourself to the mechanic shop and sit in wait for Bucky to return with the agents. You’re restless trying to find ways to keep yourself busy in his absence- stretching, unloading and reloading your gun, scrolling through the latest news articles regarding Valentina’s impeachment. You appreciate Bucky’s want to respect your wishes as much as he can in the situation you find yourselves in, but you feel useless not being part of the action. The quiet leaves you with nothing but your thoughts, and all you can focus on is your broken relationship.

Where had it gone wrong? When was the moment it finally occurred to you that you weren’t happy? Were you making a mistake?

Your agonizing rumination is interrupted by the sound of the front doors slamming open. You quickly rise from your place on the work bench and watch as the disheveled group is ushered in by your husband. Hands bound and defeat clear on their faces, you think it’s safe to say the rest of this mission should be easy enough.

“It cannot be,” a voice utters in awe, prompting you to turn your inquisitive gaze towards the man with the unkempt beard and red suit. “It is y/n Barnes! The Avenger!”

You shift awkwardly at the feeling of all eyes now focused on you and offer a meager wave of your fingers in response to the man. Bucky simply rolls his eyes and forces the group to sit before reinforcing their restraints so they can’t escape. You find your gaze subtly shifting to the blonde woman seated a few feet across from you, chest tightening at her mere presence. You don’t know her personally, but you’d heard endless stories about her from Natasha when she was still alive. She’s different from what you pictured, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Yelena.

“Y/n, great to see you again,” John greets with an airy grin despite currently being bound with a metal rod. You hold back a laugh when Bucky forcefully tightens the restraints in annoyance at hearing the man attempt to start a friendly rapport with you. It’s clear your husband still isn’t a fan of Walker, not that you blame him considering what you’d been through with the man.

“Wish I could say the same,” you hum with a subtle shrug. “I’m just here to help clean up Bucky’s mess.”

“And what mess would that be?” Ava prompts with a grunt after Bucky tests her restraints.

“Whatever mess I need to make to prove Valentina’s guilty,” Bucky answers for you. “You guys are the evidence, so you’re going to march into that impeachment hearing with me and tell the board everything you know.”

“No, no, see, we don’t work for Valentina anymore,” Yelena interjects despite Bucky’s skeptical glare. “We actually are working together to take her down.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Bucky scoffs.

“She’s telling the truth, Bucky,” John interjects, and while the Winter Soldier doesn’t seem interested in what they have to say, you are.

“What’s really going on then?” You ask, inquisitive gaze meeting Yelena’s frenzied blue eyes.

“Valentina was going to incinerate us, but then we met Bob and escaped.”

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

“Yes, Bob! We thought he was just some weird guy, but it turns out he can fly which would have been good to know when we were stuck in that elevator and-“

“Okay, okay, enough. You can say whatever you want but it’s not going to work.”

“Bucky,” you call gently, his features immediately softening at the sound of his name falling from your lips. You shift closer to the man and lower your voice to a hushed whisper before speaking, “I don’t think they’re lying.”

“What? Of course they are!” He scoffs indignantly, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. “You expect me to believe a story about some guy named Bob?”

“I expect you to be impartial. Isn’t that kind of your thing, Mr. Congressman?” You rebuff sarcastically much to the man’s chagrin. “The least you can do is hear them out.”

“I think you should listen to her,” Alexei pipes innocently, only serving to agitate the man further. However, before he can offer a rebuttal the sound of his phone ringing interrupts your conversation. You watch your husband shoot him a warning glance before answering the call.

“Hey,” another voice calls, prompting you to shift your focus onto Yelena. “Are you really an Avenger?”

“Retired,” you correct her with a faint smile.

“But you were one,” she insists, “and if you were then… you knew my sister.”

You feel your chest tighten immediately at the mention of Natasha, the air around you suddenly becoming thick with tension as all eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably on your feet and cross your arms defensively over your chest before offering a single nod of acknowledgement to her statement. By the look on her face you know she wants to ask you more, but your conversation is interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s exasperated voice.

“Valentina was working on something called Project Sentry?” He retorts, catching the attention of your hostages. “A guy named Bob?”

“Yes, Bob!” All four exclaim indignantly at finally being proven right. You hold back a laugh and instead give him a pointed look as he finally hangs up his phone and sighs.

“Alright, change of plans. I’m going to stop Valentina, and you guys are coming with me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky replies with a raised brow. “Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky,” you interject pointedly, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him aside to create some semblance of privacy from the others. “What the hell are you doing? You said we were just gathering evidence, not risking our lives fighting against some super powered experiment.”

“That was before I learned she’d created a literal human weapon,” he rebuttals with an exasperated wave of his hands. “I told you things might get messy, but we can handle it. We always have.”

“You seem to forget that I don’t want to handle it,” you remind him pointedly. “I’m here because I care about you, because I love you too much to leave you hanging, but this isn’t my life anymore.”

“You think it doesn’t kill me to ask for your help?” Bucky prompts gently, unable to help himself from fervently taking your hands in his own. “You think throwing you into a dangerous mission at the last second isn’t gnawing at my entire conscious right now? I know what’s at stake here, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

You pull your lips into a thin line and shift your gaze to the ground as you contemplate his words. You’d told him you were done with fighting, even decided to end your marriage because of it, but you knew he had a point. You couldn’t exactly retire if the world was left in ruins, and you also knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to Bucky because you chose to bail on him instead of seeing your final mission together through.

The feel of his hand gently squeezing your own brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You allow him to gently lift your chin with his metal hand so that he can meet your eyes, causing your heart to leap in your chest at the intimate gesture. You haven’t been this close to him since you professed your desire to end the marriage, but the man still has a way of softening your hard exterior with ease.

“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he utters softly, “so I need you to trust me.”

Your lips pull into a slight pout as you fight within yourself to resist melting into his touch. You shouldn’t still be this attached to a man you’re about to divorce, but you love him, and that’s what makes this is all so complicated.

Finally, you let out a sigh and solemnly reply, “I trust you, and I’m going to help you see this through to the end because no matter what we’re partners.”

“Partners,” Bucky repeats fondly, chest swelling with pride at the notion. You may no longer be husband and wife, but at its core your relationship is one of teamwork and trust. Retired Avenger or not, you’ll always be there for Bucky when he needs you.

Because in spite of the legal documents sitting on your coffee table back at home, you still love him with your entire being.

And that terrifies you.

~~~

You feel the ground jostle beneath you as Bucky drives over another pothole. You’re not exactly the most comfortable stuck in the loading bed of the truck the team decided to steal, but Alexei had been so excited to ride shotgun with the Winter Soldier that you didn’t have it in you to protest. Besides, it was something you’d have to start getting used to now since ending your marriage also meant ending your passenger seat privileges.

Yelena, John, and Ava proudly boast their weaponry, but you’re too lost in thought to register any part of their conversation. Bucky had been vague when revealing the details of where Valentina’s Watchtower was located, and you knew him well enough to figure out when he was hiding something from you. You had no idea what secret he was keeping, but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was waiting for you at the end of this drive.

You feel a nudge against your boot and look up to find the three now staring at you expectantly. You blink in surprise before asking, “Were you saying something?”

“Are you really Bucky’s wife like John says?” Ava prompts with intrigue.

“I… technically still am, yes,” you reply with a careful nod, fingers already beginning to search for your missing ring on instinct.

“What do you mean by that?” John questions with furrowed brows. You shoot him a glare and awkwardly shift in your seat, not exactly thrilled at your personal life being put on the spot by people you’ve only known for a few hours.

“We’re getting a divorce,” you state bluntly in an attempt to simply rip the bandage right off. The man looks stunned, and the air has now suddenly become thick with awkward tension.

“Did not see that coming,” he breathes out remorsefully, clearly regretting having asked in the first place. “How could you be getting a divorce? The last time I saw you two you couldn’t spend more than five seconds away from each other.”

“It’s complicated, and no offense but I’m not about to get into my marriage problems with a truck full of strangers,” you snark defensively. He raises his hands in surrender and says nothing more, but your mood has effectively been ruined.

“I have a question,” Yelena pipes up with an innocent raise of her hand. “If you say you’re retired, then why are you helping us?”

“Because I can’t exactly retire if Valentina blows the world up with her bullshit,” you explain with a harsh exhale. Then, features softening, you utter, “and I couldn’t live with myself if I let innocent people get hurt because I chose not to help them.”

“God, you sound like an Avenger,” Ava scoffs in detestation, “so selfless and kind. How’d someone like you become the Winter Soldier’s wife?”

You smile faintly at the question, chest filling with warmth as your mind drifts back to all those years ago when you’d first met Bucky. Despite how things are now, you don’t think you’d change any of it.

You had just worked your way up to becoming an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. when Pierce pulled you aside for a ‘special’ assignment. Too naive to question why he’d want to trust a rookie with an important job, you followed orders and went to the designated coordinates full of excitement for your first job. You had no idea he was setting you up to run into the Winter Soldier so he could see your potential firsthand. You barely survived the fight, and Bucky probably would have killed you if they hadn’t called it off, but Pierce decided then that you would be his new pet project. You were sworn to secrecy after being threatened with your life, and you didn’t dare try to resist.

You trained mercilessly under the watchful guidance of the Winter Soldier, pushed to your breaking point nearly every day until you were deemed ready to join him on missions. You became his shadow, following his every move and making it your own. Eventually, you were trusted to tend to him after assignments as well- cleaning his wounds, calming him into submission, tending to whatever need he had. In a strange sort of way you were partners, and he came to respect you as an individual instead of viewing you as a subordinate. You became close, too close for Pierce’s liking, and the man decided you no longer fit into his plans.

Bucky had been ordered to kill you the next time you were sent on an assignment together, but the plan was thankfully intercepted by the arrival of Captain America and Black Widow. The entire operation had blown up thanks to their efforts, and you were freed, but your companion was nowhere to be found. The Avengers took you in as their own, and in that time you struggled to accept that the man you’d grown so close to had left you behind.

Your paths crossed once more in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, and though your reunion had initially been uncomfortably awkward, you soon were able to fall back into your old routine. Your partnership became friendship, and when you chose to stay behind with him in Wakanda it evolved into a relationship of unwavering love and support. You helped each other work through what Hydra had put you through, understood each other in a way no one else did, and promised to be by one another’s side for the rest of time.

The trio is captivated by your story, and you find yourself falling quiet as you realize such a promise can no longer be kept. Your marriage is ending, and eventually you’ll go back to being strangers once more. You sniffle, awkwardly clearing your throat as you realize you’d become more vulnerable than you intended to be with the group. Their solemn gazes burn your skin in a way that’s suffocating, and you wish they’d just move on from the topic already.

“I know it’s not my place,” John begins, filling you with trepidation and unease, “but it sounds like you’re making a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know the full story, but it’s obvious you still love him. You shouldn’t give up so easily-“

“You know what, John? You’re right,” you retort bitterly, tone dripping with sarcasm, “it’s not your place. In fact, you’re the last person I’d take marriage advice from, so why don’t we just keep our opinions to ourselves.”

The man’s features fall at your harsh comment, and while you’d normally feel remorse for snapping at someone so quickly all you feel is anger at yourself. You know his words hold some truth to them; you still love Bucky, and you want nothing more than to stay married, but neither of you can seem to reach an agreement that suits both of your needs. He can’t live a life of inaction, and you can’t give up on the picket fence dream, so what the hell are you supposed to do?

The rest of the truck ride is quiet, and no one dares to ask anymore questions about your marriage.

~~~

You understand now why Bucky seemed to be so avoidant about disclosing the location of Valentina’s new base. How was he supposed to tell you that the new building she’d acquired was the one you once called home?

Your entire body feels on edge as you squeeze into the elevator and watch the doors close as you begin to move towards the top floor. It’s been years since you stepped foot in this building, but you still know every turn and corner like the back of your hand. Memories of the past haunt you like ghosts, causing your chest to ache with nostalgia and longing for a time that had long since passed. Your days as a fresh faced recruit had been so simple and safe; you hadn’t experienced real tragedy yet, and you were protected in the little bubble you lived in as an Avenger. Everything had changed so quickly, and you still found yourself struggling to pick up the pieces.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice whispers gently, hand coming to rest comfortingly on the small of your back, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. You feel like you’re in a daze, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to handle being thrusted back to your past. “I never thought I’d come back here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he murmurs sincerely. “I know I should have, but I thought it might overwhelm you.”

Too lost in anxious thought, you absently reach for his hand just as you’ve done numerous times in the past and hold on tightly to ground yourself. Though he’s surprised by the action, he’s able to respond by giving your hand a gentle squeeze back.

“I’m here,” he promises you. You swallow thickly and give him a small nod, bracing yourself as the elevator doors finally open to the top floor.

Your hand never leaves Bucky’s as you cautiously step forward and begin to scan the room. You can see that Valentina has taken the liberty of redesigning the place, but the layout is still identical. You can almost see yourself sitting on the couch watching Tony attempt to lift Thor’s hammer, having a talk with Steve on the balcony after a rough day of training, lounging at the bar counter begging Natasha to show you how to make her signature cocktail.

Some of your happiest memories are permanently embedded in this building, but that all fades away at the sight of Valentina pouring herself a glass of champagne right where you pictured Natasha to be.

“Took you guys long enough,” she jests coyly before making her way around the island counter. “What do you think? This place certainly wasn’t cheap, but I think it’ll do just fine. God, can you imagine the glorious battles that took place in this very room? I know you can, y/n.”

You tense at her observation and feel your lips curl into an irritated scowl at her blatant disrespect. It takes everything in you not to lunge at the woman, and if not for Bucky still tightly grasping your hand you’d be in the midst of throwing a right hook.

“This ends today,” Bucky warns her lowly as your group begins to surround the woman. Each and every one of you has a bone to pick with her, and you’re eager to finally bring her to justice and get this whole thing over with.

“Congressman Barnes, wow,” she greets with feigned surprise. “You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career, but less than half a term? Yikes.”

You take a step towards her only for Bucky to pull you back, causing the woman to let out an amused huff through her nose. Her smug demeanor and careless need to insult your husband has you fuming, but that’s exactly what she wants. Valentina knows how to get under someone’s skin, and you fair no better to her mind games than anyone else.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she greets cordially with an air of false sweetness, “I can still call you that, right? Congratulations on the impending divorce. I gotta say, I like you much better as an Avenger than a housewife.”

“Retired Avenger,” you correct her through gritted teeth. “This suit’s coming off as soon as we kick your ass.”

“You know, I never understood why you two were together, but I’m starting to see it now.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” John interrupts only for the woman to chuckle in response.

“I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

He immediately reaches for his gun, and though you’re interested to see where this will go Bucky is quick to interject and have the blond stand down. She hums, clearly unthreatened, and turns her attention to the other two women in the room.

“Oh, nice to see you, Ava. Yelena,” she pauses while looking the Widow up and down, “you look awful. Are you sure you’re really ready for that public facing role you asked me about.”

“Eat shit, Valentina,” Yelena says bluntly before taking a menacing step towards her. “Where’s Bob?”

Despite being clearly outnumbered, Valentina remains calm and sure of herself as she takes another drink from her glass of champagne. “Look at you, you all are so adorable. Just think, I send you down there to kill each other, and instead you make nice and form a team.”

The circle around her grows tighter, and you watch on edge as Bucky takes a step towards the woman with his hand aiming for her throat. However, an invisible force prevents him from moving any closer, prompting your group to look between each other unsurely.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she explains apologetically before glancing towards the stairs. It’s then that a new face enters the room, and you watch with uncertainty as a blond man in a golden suit slowly makes his descent down the stairway.

“Bob?” Yelena calls skeptically. After everything you’d heard from the group, the man before you is certainly the last person you’d ever expect to be the Bob they’d discussed.

“His name is Sentry,” Valentina corrects, “and he’s my get out of jail free card. Once I bring him to the impeachment trial they’re sure to let me keep my job. In fact, I’ll be able to protect the American people in the way I see fit.“

“That’s never going to work,” you argue indignantly. “They’d have to be crazy to give you full control.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Valentina coos mockingly before turning to Bob. “Sentry, these people are criminals and a danger to the American public. I need you to dispose of them for me.”

You carefully rest your hand on the handle of your gun, watching intently as the man looks from your group to Valentina. You have no idea what he’s capable of or how this fight is going to turn out, but you’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you get to go home after all is said and done.

“I don’t want to,” Bob says uncomfortably, “they’re not a threat to me so why should I have to fight them? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Despite his hesitance to complete Valentina’s request and Yelena’s insistence for the group to back off, a fight soon breaks out between Sentry and your team with Alexei being the first to throw a punch. You assume that with the numbers on your side you’ll be able to defeat him with ease, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The hero is essentially indestructible, and every punch you throw or bullet you fire doesn’t so much as leave a scratch.

You barely manage to miss getting toppled over by Ava after she’s thrown across the room, rolling out of the way and landing next to Bucky who looks rightfully frazzled. You can tell he hadn’t been expecting this either, but the fact that you’re currently on the same page brings you little comfort.

“I have a plan,” you pant breathlessly while picking yourself up off the floor. “You distract him from the front and I’ll creep up from behind.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” He breathes, watching as you pull your knife from your thigh holster.

“Only one way to find out,” you reply with an easygoing shrug despite the dread that’s pooling in your stomach at the thought of this going wrong. While you’d initially joined this mission due to the fact that you couldn’t retire if the world was in danger, you’re starting to realize now that you can’t retire if you’re dead either. You just hope this works.

Bucky gives you a single nod before sprinting full speed at Bob, allowing you a window of opportunity to creep up behind him. You grip the handle of your knife tightly in your hand before lunging forward and driving the blade into his neck, but to your horror the impact causes the metal to crumple in on itself. Your knife falls to the floor with a deafening clatter, and suddenly Sentry’s focus is on you as his hardened gaze closes in on your terrified face.

His hand shoots out before you can react, fingers closing around your throat as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Your hands desperately claw at his arm while your feet try to kick him away, but he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is cold and unfeeling, as if your pathetic gasps for air are but a mere nuisance to him. You can feel the world fading around you as he tightens his grip, and you can’t help but to think how poetic it would be for you to die here in the tower.

“Let her go!” Bucky growls before pulling out his gun and relentlessly firing at the superhuman. He’s panicking. He can see the fight slowly starting to die within you, but he’s not about to let you be taken from him so easily.

“Fine,” Sentry utters unpityingly before carelessly throwing your body across the room like a rag doll. You slam into the wall behind the bar counter, bottles of liquor shattering from the impact and digging into your skin as you drop to the ground in a heap of broken glass. Bucky’s eyes widen in panic before turning sharp with unbridled rage. His chest is tight with an anger he hasn’t felt since his time as the Winter Soldier, and all he can see is red as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a sharp pain shooting up your spine as someone rushes over and picks you up out of the glass. The room feels like it’s spinning and your vision is so spotty you barely register Alexei looking down at you with worry as he carries you over to the others. You reach back with a groan for Bucky, but the Red Guardian shushes you in what he hopes is a comforting manner before handing you over to John.

As you feel yourself finally starting to come to, the first thing your gaze focuses on is the sight of Sentry catching a punch Bucky has thrown with his metal arm. You watch in dismay as he slowly twists the appendage before ripping it straight off and hitting your husband upside the head. You cry out in horror as his body slides across the floor in front of you, and despite the way your own body screams in pain you forcefully drag yourself over to him. He’s barely conscious, a bruise already forming on his cheek, but the gentle touch of your hands on his face has his eyes fluttering open to meet your worried gaze.

“Y/n?” He groans, prompting you to let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m here, honey,” you assure him in a trembling voice, “I’m here.”

It’s clear there’s no winning the battle against Sentry, so your team quickly scrambles to their feet and makes a dash towards the elevator. Alexei helps you carry Bucky inside while Ava makes sure to grab hold of his discarded arm, and with a rapid push of the control panel the doors are sliding shut and sending you back to the ground floor.

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

Your entire team disperses despite Alexei’s insistence you stay together as the newly proclaimed Thunderbolts. Only you and Bucky are left standing in front of the tower as you try to figure out the next move, though you’re not exactly in a rush to throw yourself back into the ring with Sentry. Your body aches beyond relief and a dull throbbing sensation has settled in the back of your skull, and you’re barely able to keep yourself upright as you lean back against the building.

“It’s a good thing I never plan to wear this again,” you retort sarcastically while carefully pulling shards of glass from your suit.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks solemnly, hands gently cradling your face to get a good look at you. Thankfully your skin only sports minor cuts and scrapes that will heal over time, but this doesn’t alleviate the guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re here because of him, because he’d begged you to come in a last ditch effort to save your marriage, and as a result you’d almost been killed.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently reach up to grasp onto his wrists to ground him and pull him out of his ruminative thoughts. “Hey, I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he murmurs repentantly before carefully pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. You hum appreciatively at the gesture, having missed the feeling of lips against your skin and the tenderness of his touch. It’s getting harder and harder to resist falling back into old habits, but that seems to be the least of your worries now. “I thought I lost you.”

“So did I,” you admit disquietingly, troubled gaze meeting his own worried one.

“What the hell are we doing, y/n?” Bucky utters gently, the softness of his tone harshly contrasting his words.

“Attempting to save the world?” You answer unsurely only for him to shake his head.

“I mean about us, about our marriage. He almost killed you, and the thought of losing you forever terrified me,” he professes earnestly. “We were lucky enough to get out of there alive, but I never want to feel that way again. I can’t just let you walk out of my life when this is all over.”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” you beg him desperately, throat beginning to tighten with the amalgamation of emotions you hold back. “It’s just not going to work. I love you more than anything, but I want to start a family. I want something stable.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” He pleads despite the clear defeat on his features. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and turn away so you don’t have to meet his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you shudder while blinking back tears. “It’s all too much, I just-“

You’re interrupted mid sentence as the ground beneath you begins to rumble. Distant screams fill the air and Bucky quickly pulls you into his side as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Your eyes trail towards the skyline above you and you freeze, body becoming rigid as you grab onto Bucky’s arm to get his attention.

A dark shadow hovers above you, chaos surrounding him as he stares you down. Panic floods the streets of New York, and despite the excruciating pain you feel you’re quick to jump into action and assist civilians in evading falling debris and runaway cars.

It seems now you’ll just have to wait until later to discuss the future of your marriage.

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

You have no idea where you are, but the last thing you remember is following Yelena into the void in hopes of finding her alive. You’re alone, and your surroundings are unfamiliar as you slowly pick yourself up off the ground and begin to aimlessly wander around. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, the darkness slowly fading into light as you begin to hear a cluster of voices.

A door stands before you, cracked open slightly enough for light to seep through and beckon you inside. You slowly push it open and step over the threshold to find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Across the way from you stands the silhouette of a man, his figure menacing as he hovers over a woman. Her hands tremble with the weight of the gun she holds, her heavy breathing and quiet sobs filling the air as she points the weapon towards the man bound to a chair in front of her.

“Pull the trigger,” the man utters in Russian, the familiarity of it filling your stomach with unease. A sense of dejavú washes over you, and as you come closer to the scene you start to realize that you do know where you are.

“I can’t,” she snivels, flinching as his hands come to rest upon her own and steady her grip.

“You must,” the man coaxes her, and after an agonizing pause of silence a gunshot rings through the air. You gasp, stumbling back in shock at being faced with a memory you thought had long since been pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten.

Your first kill under Hydra.

The sound causes both figures to turn, and you feel sick to your stomach as you meet the gazes of the Winter Soldier and your younger self. His eyes harden, his approach menacing as he begins to step towards you, and you quickly sprint back to the door in a desperate attempt to escape his clutches.

You slam it behind you just before he can grab you, falling back against the wood with a heaving chest as you try to catch your breath and steady yourself. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut in an effort to keep the rising tears at bay, and when you open them again you discover your surroundings have changed once more.

You’re in the training room of Avengers tower, and you’re met with the sight of yourself angrily swinging your fists against a punching bag. Your knuckles are raw and bloody from the force you use, but you remain relentless. You keep going, even as the sobs begin to wrack your body and your momentum begins to slow.

You frown, slowly walking up behind your other self and resting a comforting hand on her back. She seems to falter before collapsing against the bag and breaking down into an ugly crying fit. The sound echoes throughout the room and fills you with unease, but you continue to run soothing circles into her skin to calm her down.

“Why did he leave me?” She sobs, prompting a chill to go down your spine. You remember this point in your life, the aftermath of Pierce and the collapse of Shield. Bucky had disappeared, and though you were grateful to the Avengers for taking you in as one of their own, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for you. You knew you meant something to him, you had to after all the time you’d spent together and the fact that he’d defied his orders to kill you. You’d never felt more alone, and all you wanted was your James.

“He thought you’d be better off without him in your life,” you assure her even though she doesn’t seem to hear you. “He did it to protect you because he loves you. You’ll see him again.”

The memory resets, and soon she’s back to assaulting the punching bag with all of her pent up anger. You leave her to grieve and make your way out of the room. No matter where you go, the pattern is the same; each place holds a defining moment in your life, some more painful than others, but all of them force you to confront your past.

You’re still no closer to finding Yelena or the rest of your group, and you’re starting to become frustrated. None of this makes any sense, and you feel like a rat aimlessly running through a maze. At one point you become so fed up you break through a mirror in an attempt to land somewhere else, and you end up falling face first onto a patch of dirt. The sunlight is jarring after being stuck inside for so long, and you raise your hand to shield your face so you can survey your new surroundings.

Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you quickly put the pieces together and come to realize you’ve landed back in Wakanda. You think you’re alone at first, but as you turn around you come face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Your heart stops at the sight of him and you falter, unsure whether or not to reach out for him.

“Steve?” Your voice calls, but it isn’t your lips that his name falls out of. You quickly whip around to see yourself limping forward with a deep gash in your side that you desperately press your hand against. Your hair is shorter, features younger, and suit different from the one you wear now, but these details allow you to quickly determine what point of your life you find yourself at now.

“What happened? Where’s Bucky?” Your past self questions uneasily as she scan the area for any sign of the man. Steve looks away guilty, refusing to meet her gaze as he thinks of something to say. “Steve?”

“He’s…” the Captain starts to speak, unable to finish his sentence. Her face falls while her hand immediately rises to hover over her mouth in shock. Tears immediately well in her eyes as she slowly shakes her head in disbelief, suffocating anguish clawing at her throat as she struggles to breathe.

“No… No, he’s not. You’re lying!” She yells aggrievedly while forcing her aching body to walk towards the man. “Where’s is he?! What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Steve murmurs gently, eyes pleading as he begs you to understand. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re lying!” She screams, body finally giving out from the overexertion as she collapses onto her knees. Natasha quickly rushes over and helps your past self back onto her feet, allowing you to lean against her for support as you sob. “He’s not- he can’t be!”

You take a shuddering breath and turn away from the scene, overcome with emotion at reliving your grief and heartache. You thought you’d lost Bucky forever, and in that moment you felt your entire world had ended. He’d been taken from you, and you’d be forced to spend the next five years attempting to pick up the pieces and move on. You’ll forever regret lashing out at Steve so harshly, for taking out your anger on a man that had watched his best friend disappear into dust. He was hurting too, and you wish you could take it back.

You can’t be here anymore. It’s all becoming too much, and despite the fact that you’re starting to lose hope of ever being reunited with the others you know you have to keep trying. You push through the brush and shrubbery of the Wakandan fields in search of a way out, and after fighting tooth and nail to escape you end up stumbling into your apartment.

You feel disoriented and confused at being in your own living room, and for a moment you think you might have somehow managed to escape the Void and found your way home. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is left out of place. You take this moment to let your guard down and rest by taking a seat on the couch, allowing your aching head to fall back against the cushions while you gather your thoughts. You’re emotionally drained, and you don’t think you can keep this up for much longer. Would it be so bad to just give up and accept your fate?

“You finally made it.”

You jump at the sound of another voice in the room with you and look up to see Bucky standing over you with a weary smile. You jump onto your feet immediately and throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He catches you with ease, holding you tightly against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“Bucky, oh my god!” You exclaim before pulling away to cup his face in your hands and look him over. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he assures you before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“How did you find me here? These rooms are supposed to be my own memories.”

“That’s the thing,” he sighs solemnly before casting a glance towards the hallway, “this is my memory too.”

You look up at him with uncertainty and confusion, but before you can question him the front door swings open. You watch as past versions of Bucky and yourself walk into the apartment, both clearly exhausted from whatever public event they’d just attended. You kick off your heels by the door and set your purse on the counter while Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket.

“I think it went well tonight,” he notes with a smile before walking past you to get himself a glass of water. You stand in silence at the island table with your head hung low and hands planted firmly on the counter as you try to gather your thoughts.

“James,” you call gently, unable to meet his questioning gaze, “we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled frown, clearly taken back by your sudden change in demeanor. You’d been all smiles the entire evening, so he wasn’t expecting such a drastic switch in tone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say in a trembling voice, finally lifting your head to look him in the eyes. Silent tears streak down your face and Bucky feels his chest tighten at the sight.

“Can’t do what anymore? What’s going on, y/n?”

“This!” You exclaim in frustration while gesturing to yourself. “The parties, the public appearances. You promised me when we got married we’d stay out of the spotlight, but not once have we ever been able to have a moment of peace just between the two of us.”

“Hey, come on, of course we have,” he tries to soothe you by gently resting a hand on your arm, but you’re quick to pull away from his touch.

“All the plans we make just keep getting pushed aside for something else. I wanted a house, but we got the apartment to stay in the city in case Sam needed us. I wanted to retire, and yet every time there’s a fight we’re there. I wanted to start a family-“

“We can still do all of those things,” he insists desperately only for you to shake your head in quiet defeat. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, James,” you sniffle with a watery smile that temporarily alleviates his anxieties, “but it’s clear to me that we both want different things for ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” He presses you, voice low and apprehensive as he waits for you to speak with bated breath.

“I want a divorce.”

You turn away from the scene in shame as it resets, leaving you and Bucky alone once more in the apartment. Neither of you dares to speak at first, the air thick with tension and discomfort. You don’t even know what to say.

“Hard to believe that was only a month ago,” he jokes humorlessly in an attempt to break the silence.

“I don’t want to end our marriage,” you profess remorsefully. “I just relived every moment we were pulled apart and it was hell. I can’t live without you, but I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“No one says marriage is easy,” he reminds you, gently resting his hand upon your cheek. “And I definitely haven’t made it easy for you.”

“I just got so tired of fighting,” your murmur faintly, eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to give it all up, but how can I? I could have said no to you when you asked me to join you on this trip, I could have gone home instead of coming with you to fight Sentry, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there. Being an Avenger is all I know, and I hate that.”

“Hey, come on, you’re so much more than an Avenger,” Bucky coos sweetly while using his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “You’re strong, you’re brave, not to mention you have the patience of a Saint, and I would know considering how much Sam and I have tested it in the past.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of you, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride at being able to get you to smile. He’s missed sharing moments like this with you, tender moments where you keep each other from falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“What do we do? I want a life that doesn’t revolve around being a world saving hero, and you want to continue to help make the world a better place, so where do we go from here?”

Bucky falters for a moment as he contemplates his answer. You don’t think there is a right answer, and you fear that he might come to that realization. Instead, carefully grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward.

“We compromise,” he answers with furrowed brows, as if surprised at himself for not coming up with it sooner. “That’s what a good relationship is built on, isn’t it? We can have both.”

“How do we do that?” You prompt him, obvious uncertainty present on your features.

“It’s not going to be easy, but it isn’t impossible,” he assures you with a firm nod. “We can have the house and the family, and when the world needs us to suit up we will. We just have to find a balance.”

He makes it sound much simpler than it will be in practice, and though there’s a part of you that fears it’ll never work, there’s also a part of you that will regret it forever if you don’t at least try. Bucky has become a permanent fixture in your life, and you never want to face a point in your life where he isn’t by your side. You’ve been through more hardships than most married couples have, endured awful traumas and challenges, but each time you’ve managed to persevere together.

“Okay,” you breathe with finality, “let’s compromise.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when you express your want to continue fighting for your marriage. This entire time Bucky has been dreading going home and facing the divorce papers that sit waiting on your coffee table back at the apartment, but he can now rest assured knowing those files will never be fulfilled.

He wraps his arms around you once more and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders immediately, mouth moving in tandem with his own as you pour all of your love and heartache into your shared embrace. You’ve missed this more than anything, and now that you’re back in his arms again everything feels like it’s finally starting to fall back into place. You know you still have a job to do, but you’re more determined now than ever to save Yelena and get the hell out of the Void.

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

You fall back onto the hard asphalt with a groan, your limbs entangled with Bucky and Ava who lay beside you.

Despite all odds, you’d managed to help Bob overcome the Void and return yourselves and everyone else back to the real world. You were free from the nightmares of your past and safe on normal ground. You only wish he could remember everything you’d all just endured together as a team.

You look across the way to spot an apprehensive Valentina waiting for your group. Your shoulders tense in aggravation as the woman immediately begins to spew excuses for her wrongdoings, and you join the others in approaching her with a vengance. You can’t wait to bring her in and get her thrown into jail like you’d originally planned, and when all is said and done you’ll finally be able to go home with your husband.

“Now guys, let’s just talk,” she pleads anxiously before disappearing behind a green tarp. You quickly step through before you can lose her, but you soon regret it as you’re immediately bombarded by roaring applause and the flashing bulbs of cameras. You raise a hand to shield your face from the commotion and grab onto Bucky’s arm to steady yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” You groan in annoyance at being ambushed by an entire swarm of journalists. You don’t exactly look or feel camera ready right now, and the stunt only serves to agitate you further.

“How about another round of applause for our heroes!” Valentina boasts into her makeshift podium. “It is because of their selfless bravery that we are all standing here.”

Despite your disdain for the woman, you have to give her credit- she certainly knows how to put on a show. Your group mates exchange looks of uncertainty as she spews her bullshit speech to the eager reporters, unsure of what her angle is and what she’s about to rope you into.

“Today, the citizens of the United States needed protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers.”

The crowd of spectators break out into joyous cheers of excitement and deafening applause, but none of it registers in your mind as you focus on the words that have just left the woman’s mouth. You’re stunned and unnerved at her declaration, but your stomach quickly grows heavy with anger. You feel like the name of your original team has been tarnished, and you’re fuming at the fact that she’d roped you into this without a second thought. This was not how you ever pictured your return, and you’re at a complete loss of words.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you snarl through gritted teeth, knowing that if looks could kill Valentina would be dead right now. “New Avengers? I am an Avenger.”

“I thought you were retired,” John murmurs under his breath, only fueling your anger further.

“Hold on,” Bucky assuages you, hand coming to gently rest upon your back. “I have an idea that could make this all work in our favor. Do you trust me?”

While your mind is still reeling at being thrusted into the spotlight again with a new team, your nerves begin to dwindle as you meet Bucky’s eyes. His features are sincere and understanding, and though there isn’t a single part of you that trusts Valentina, you trust Bucky with your life.

You give him a single nod before returning your gaze to the crowd. A swarm of journalists stand eagerly waiting to hear your input, dying to know what your plans for the team are as the only original Avenger. Bucky’s hand on your back keeps you calm, and you know that whatever happens next you’ll be able to handle it together.

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

While you’d initially been resistant to joining the New Avengers under Valentina’s guidance, you have to admit that things have definitely seemed to turn out in your favor.

Yelena had made it clear to the woman that it was her who worked for you guys and not the other way around. You owned her, and if she wanted to stay out of prison then she had to meet your every demand. She especially needed you onboard considering your status as an original Avenger was the only thing that gave the team credibility, and that made it easier for you and Bucky to implement specific stipulations in your contracts.

You bought a house on the outskirts of the city where you could enjoy paid leave whenever you both saw fit, and under no circumstances was anyone to bother you during your time off. This was the compromise you and Bucky had made to ensure your marriage stayed strong. You could retreat to your quiet slice of normalcy and strengthen your relationship while still taking part in missions and saving lives. You’d finally found a balance for your individual needs, and divorce was now far from ever being on your mind.

Along with the house and paid leave, you and Bucky had also finally been able to achieve a milestone you’d wanted for years in your marriage.

“Watch your step,” he cautions, his metal arm resting on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand in his own as he helps you down the stairs.

“Relax, James,” you wave him off, “just because I gained a little weight doesn’t mean I can’t walk on my own.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby,” he confesses remorsefully while delicately resting his hand upon your growing stomach.

While the tower was being renovated for your team’s arrival, you and Bucky retreated to your new home to enjoy some well deserved rest. You settled in and made the place your own, and once your move in was complete Bucky took advantage of the fact that he had you all to himself free of disruptions. Thus, it was a surprise to neither of you that you eventually became pregnant. Though you were nervous about what this would mean for you both now that you were Avengers again, Bucky assured you he would do everything in his power to take care of you and your little one.

In the meantime, you did your best to stay out of the action and work behind the scenes to avoid any injuries that could threaten the health of you or the baby. You gathered intel, conducted surveillance, created strategies for missions, and piloted the jets for assignments requiring travel. You were still an active member of the team, and you took on your role as leader well. It made sense to everyone that you take the title considering your veteran status, and you had no trouble getting everyone to fall in line when needed. Your new little family was growing, and you found yourself at peace falling back into old routines.

“It’s about time you show up, we’re starving,” John calls to you both as you finally make it down the stairs and head towards the dining room where everyone is gathered.

“I’m the one eating for two here,” you remind him with a pointed look before taking your seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Special stew made by Alexei!” The Red Guardian boasts proudly while setting a bowl down in front of you. “Very good for you and little baby Avenger.”

“Thank you, Alexei,” you smile, waiting for him to turn his back before pushing the bowl towards Bucky for him to inspect. Alexei has a habit of making food that doesn’t exactly sit well with your stomach, so your husband has taken the liberty of taste testing all of his dishes for you.

“Have you thought any more about the names we’ve suggested?” Yelena prompts from her seat beside you.

“Yes, I have, and no, I’m not naming them little Yelena or Alexis.”

“What?” She exclaims with a pout, clearly taking offense to your answer. “What are you talking about? Those are great names.”

“Don’t listen to her, they are awful,” Ava agrees before digging into her stew.

“Do you have a name yet?” John prompts with intrigue. Ever since you’d announced your pregnancy he’d made it a habit to live vicariously through you and Bucky considering he hadn’t been present for his own wife and child.

You exchange a knowing look with Bucky and urge him to answer for you, smiling faintly at the proud look on your husband’s face as he thinks about the arrival of your future daughter.

“Brooklyn,” he states fondly to the surprise of your teammates. The name is an homage to the city he and Steve called home, and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect when he’d suggested it to you. Brooklyn Barnes would be arriving in four months, and you eagerly counted down the days until you could hold her in your arms.

“It’s not as good as Yelena but… not bad,” the blonde admits with a purse of her lips.

Dinner is a loud affair as always, but you enjoy spending time with the people you’ve come to call friends. Once your meal is finished, the group follows Bucky to the training room for drills while you stay behind with Bob and wash the leftover dishes. He’s still a bit reserved, but your inaction in the field has allowed you to spend more time with the man and help him open up to you. You enjoy the contrast his quiet nature brings to your chaotic surroundings.

You retire early for the night and choose to wait in your quarters for Bucky to return from training. Strangely enough, you’d been assigned the exact same room you once called your own during your time in Avengers Tower. At that point in your life you’d been alone and depressed, stranded with a group of what was essentially strangers while you waited for some sign of Bucky’s return. Now, you found yourself happily waiting for your husband to finish his workout with your hands lovingly rested on your stomach.

The doors to the room slide open to reveal a freshly showered Bucky, and he’s quick to immediately pull you into his arms as he joins you in bed.

“How’d it go?” You ask him while pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Better than usual. I think they’ll be ready for this week’s mission.”

“I have full faith in your leadership abilities,” you confidently assure him.

“Well, that would make you the only one,” he jests dryly before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sam’s still ignoring my calls.”

Your features morph into a frown at the mention of your friend. He’d been rightfully upset when he found out what you both were up to, and despite Bucky’s attempts to explain your actions Sam wanted none of it. He iced you both out, and though the news of the baby had gotten him to soften up the slightest bit towards you, he still made it a point to cut contact with Bucky.

“He just needs some time,” you assure him empathetically. “This isn’t your first fight and it probably won’t be your last, but you guys will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

“I just want us to have a better life. I want you to be happy, and I want to make sure Brooklyn will be safe even if that means having to work under Valentina and the government.”

“She will be,” you promise him with a fond look in your eyes, “because she has us, and she has an entire team of people that care about her even if they try to say otherwise.”

Bucky can’t help the careful smile that plays upon his lips at your reassurances. You always have a way of alleviating his worries and calming his nerves. Your marriage was stronger now because of the decisions he’d made to get you here, and he just had to hope Sam would be able to understand that. The safety of his wife and new baby was all that mattered to him now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect you both.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, you know that?” Bucky coos before pulling you in for a tender kiss that you eagerly accept.

Come what may, you have complete faith that you’ll be okay. No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, you and Bucky have always managed to overcome any obstacle you’ve faced together. The future is never promised, but you know you’ll make it to the other side as long as you have each other.

For better or for worse, you’re Avengers now, but nothing will ever come between you as husband and wife.

~~~

“But we are the Avengers. The government said so,” Yelena protests fruitlessly as you make your way to the debrief room. “How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield,” Bucky points out.

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

“Yeah, a shield that’s still bent like a taco,” you scoff in annoyance.

“It’s a great shield!” John insists defensively.

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

“Okay, well, if he puts together a team and calls them the Avengers, then who are the real Avengers?” Yelena insists.

“Probably the ones with Captain America on their team,” you sigh despondently, grateful to have finally reached the couch. You slowly sink down onto the cushions with Bucky’s help and lean back in an attempt to alleviate the weight on your spine. The Watchtower certainly wasn’t designed with pregnant women in mind, especially not women who were eight months pregnant, but you were managing. You technically should be home with Bucky enjoying the start of your maternity leave, but an atmospheric disturbance had halted all of your plans and forced you to call an emergency meeting.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking, and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read they don’t think that it’s us,” John says while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s not fair, we have an original Avenger on our side,” the blonde woman attests. “That means we are just as good as any team led by Captain America. Weren’t you going to talk to him, Bucky?”

“I already did,” your husband professes solemnly, guilt present in his features. “It went poorly.”

His relationship with Sam hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, the conversation had only seemed to make things worse. You felt for Bucky, but no matter what you said or did Sam was adamant in standing firm against the choices you’d made. He’d wished you well on your upcoming baby, but he made it clear that he wanted no part of the New Avengers or Valentina.

“You know he’s filed for copyright of the name,” Yelena informs your group incredulously as she finally ceases her pacing and joins you on the couch. “We’re losing credibility.”

“In which we had very little to begin with,” Ava notes with a wave of her hand. “All we have is an ‘Old Avenger’ to keep us afloat, and now she’s about to leave.”

“I can only carry you guys on my back for so long,” you retort in annoyance while defensively resting your hands on your stomach. “And for your information, just because I’ve been around longer than you all does not mean I’m an ‘Old Avenger.’”

“Yeah, you’re ‘Pregnant Avenger’ now,” John quips, earning himself a warning glare from Bucky.

“And now there’s a huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it.”

You feel your nerves worsen at the mention of the incoming threat. The world has been off balance in a recent change of events, and though you don’t know what exactly it is, you know a threat is coming. You only have one month left until Brooklyn is born, but it seems you won’t be able to spend your last month of pregnancy at home like you’d initially hoped. Bucky tries to refrain from overwhelming you to keep your mind at ease, but he can only hide so much from you.

As Yelena speaks into her control pad to request a full threat analysis, Alexei proudly walks into the room with a new ensemble that has everyone’s heads turning in bewilderment.

“Hello, team,” he greets while boasting his new suit. “I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb litigious man, but I am smart. I’m smart man, and I have smart solve.”

You watch in bemusement as he gestures to the logo on his new jumpsuit and sounds out the new spelling change of ‘Avengerz.’

“Avengers with a ‘Z.’ There is no copyright.”

“No,” Yelena immediately protests, clearly not up to entertaining her father’s antics.

“Nonsense. This suit, it is soft like baby seal. I have one for you, and you,” he says while looking from Yelena to Bucky. “Avengerz suits for everyone! I even got one for little Alexis.”

“Alexei, we’ve been over this,” you remind him gently, “her name isn’t Alexis.”

“There is still time to change mind,” he reminds you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief and sneak a glance at your husband who very clearly seems fed up with this entire debacle. You should have already been on your way to the cottage by now, and instead you were here mindlessly bickering over issues that seemed trivial when compared to your upcoming due date.

“Satellite image populating,” your computer generated assistant announces while producing a visual on the screen. “Extra dimensional ship entering atmosphere.”

“Extra dimensional? What does that mean?” Alexei murmurs as your group moves closer to the screen.

“It means it’s not from here,” you answer absently, nervously grasping onto Bucky’s bicep as you get a closer look at the ship. A blue number four is etched into the side of the strange looking ship, and you watch as it grows closer to landing on earth.

“It’s a cool ship,” John notes with a meager shrug, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“So much for maternity leave,” you sigh in a weak attempt to make a joke. Bucky shifts his tense gaze towards you before slowly lowering it to your protruding stomach, his mind reeling with all of the potential dangers you could soon be facing.

Sensing his panic, you carefully take hold of his hand in your own and tightly intertwine your fingers together to bring him back to the present. Your touch grounds him, reminds him that as of now you and Brooklyn are safe beside him, and he thanks you by wordlessly giving your hand a squeeze.

You have no idea what is to come or how your team will fare in the face of this new adversity, but you know that you’ll overcome whatever you need to in order to protect your new family.

“No matter what happens, we stay together,” you tell him firmly with no room for argument. You expect him to fight you on it, to insist you go home and keep yourself far away from the danger, but instead, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before offering you a single nod that melts away all of your trepidations.

“Together.”

[thestarsaboveme]

Birds Dont Sing

sylus x reader | fluff, comfort, a little bit angsty if you squint

this was a request from a kind anon reader♡

summary: sylus silently watches you being vulnerable in front of mephisto

Your apartment was unusually still, wrapped in that soft kind of quiet that only happens on slow afternoons. The kind where time doesn't stop, but stretches, languid and warm.

You were lying back against the cushions of the couch, one arm tucked behind your head, eyes closed as your face was graced with a soft smile, while Mephisto was perched on top of your stomach. Your tired gaze trailed toward the slivers of sunlight as they slipped beneath the horizon beyond the windowpane, painting the city in deep pinks and dusky purples, the last light smudging the skyline like fading watercolors.

Mephisto blinked at you, head tilting just slightly as if studying you with more than just curiosity. Almost like he understood you.

''You're so much gentler than you look, you know that?'' you murmured to the crow, voice just above a whisper.

Mephisto let out a soft click in response, the kind Sylus had once said, was the equivalent of a purr. Your fingers reached out slowly, pausing just before touching him. You always gave him that choice. Sylus had told you Mephisto could be wary, even proud, like a living bird. But today, he stepped closer without hesitation, lowering his head slightly, so you could run a finger along the smooth arch of his neck.

''I'm glad you're here. Both of you. You…help me feel safe.''

Mephisto tilted his head at you, blinking once, and stayed perfectly still. Almost like he was listening. Really listening.

You sighed, settling deeper into the cushions, fingertips still idly brushing from his sleek metallic head, down to his neck and up again. ''You and Sylus…you make everything feel a little less heavy.''

Unseen by you, the door to the kitchen opened moments before. Sylus stood quietly just inside the frame, unnoticed, one hand resting lightly against the wood as he watched you.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd simply come back from the kitchen to tell you that dinner was ready. But then he'd seen you, resting softly, speaking so earnestly. And Mephisto, the one creature he trusted without question, perched like a sentinel on top of you, his wings tucked neatly against his sides, responding to your affection like he was more than metal and wire. Like he had a soul. And his footsteps had gone silent out if instinct. He didn't move. Didn't speak. He just stood and listened.

Sylus swallowed the unexpected ache rising in his throat.

Because this wasn't a side of you most people get to see. This quiet, gentle kind of sadness. The longing for reassurance you rarely gave voice to. The way you looked at Mephisto, his creation, with such raw trust.

Sylus had built the crow to be an extension of himself in the field. His eyes in the dark, his silent defense, an extension of efficiency.But he'd never imagined this. That Mephisto could become something softer. A quiet presence. A guardian of your peace. A comfort.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was low. Gentle.

''I think he likes you,'' he said quietly, breaking the silence just enough to let his voice slip in.

You blinked, startled, eyes flying open as your hand jerked back in surprise. ''Sylus! I- I didn't hear you come in.''

He stepped forward, crouching beside the couch and reaching out to lightly scratch Mephisto behind the head in the spot only he seemed to know. The bird chirped happily.

''He's picky,'' Sylus said, smirking just a little. ''He doesn't let just anyone touch him. You've earned his trust.''

You laughed under your breath, cheeks flushing. ''He's a good listener.''

Sylus tilted his head. ''So am I.''

There was a pause, quiet and meaningful.

Your voice softened again. ''Sometimes…it's easier to say the things I'm scared of out loud when I think no one's listening.''

He nodded, understanding in his gaze as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

''I was listening,'' he murmured. ''And I'm glad you feel safe. That's all I want for you, sweetheart.''

''I worry sometimes,'' you admitted, eyes drifting down to Mephisto again. ''That I lean on you too much. That I'm not strong enough. I try not to show it, but…today, I just needed a quiet moment. And he was here. Like he knew.''

Sylus reached out, hand brushing against yours where it rested on the couch. His touch was cool, steady. Grounding.

''You never have to hide that from me,'' he said quietly. ''Your strength doesn't come from pretending you're okay. It comes from choosing to stay open. Even when it's hard.''

Your throat tightened at his words. You nodded, swallowing thickly.

''I see you,'' he added voice low and reverent. ''Every part. And I love all of it.''

Mephisto chirped again, wings fluttering just slightly before settling. You and Sylus both looked down at him, and for a beat, it was as if the three of you existed in your own pocket of the world. Quiet, safe, whole.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against Sylus's, your hand softly squeezing his.

''Thank you,'' you whispered. ''For listening. For knowing.''

He kissed your temple, lingering.

''Always.''

[fawniswriting]

𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: After a mission filled with close calls and bad decisions, the team comes home to find an even bigger threat waiting at the door—your wrath.

Warning(s): THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!! platonic!thunderbolts x reader. no use of y/n. use of the nicknames doll, honey, and pretty girl. canon typical violence. descriptions of injuries. descriptions of explosion, gun use, etc. established relationship. profanities. kissing. VERY suggestive content (minors be advised). talks of having a baby. bucky being a little feral (very briefly). slightly hurt/comfort. basically bucky and reader being the parents of the group.

Word Count: 3.6k-ish

Author's Note: GUYS I saw this fanart on instagram and instantly knew that I had to write something inspired by it!!! I've been itching to post a thunderbolts fic since last week 😭 welcome back 2012-2014 era of avengers' tower fanfics ✨️ anyway I hope they're keeping the revolution hair for bucky in doomsday or else I swear I'm gonna RIOT!!! (I know seb's head is shaved rn but wigs exist yk 😔) don't forget to comment, like, and reblog loveliesss 🩷

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky Barnes doesn't understand a lot of things since he returned to society.

Cryptocurrency is one of them. Social media is another. Anything that involves more acronyms than actual words is an immediate no on his list.

Above all else, Bucky Barnes struggles to comprehend how exactly he became responsible for the group of walking disasters now hailed as earth's newest, mightiest heroes.

Looking at the pack of hellions in front of him, Bucky has serious doubts about that title.

Right in the middle of the tower's lobby, the Thunderbolts—the New Avengers now, apparently—are scattered like barbie dolls in the aftermath of a toddler's tantrum. John is standing against a column with a tight jaw, his left leg lifted gingerly, wrapped in a makeshift splint that looks suspiciously like someone's utility belt. Beside him, Yelena sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her as she cradles a bruised shoulder with an equally bruised hand. Alexei leans atop the front desk with a dried blood streaking down his temple, the young receptionist gone in fright the moment the team walked through the tower's entrance. Even Ava, usually one to disappear before debriefs, is visible for once, propped against the wall with her suit half-glitched and her expression blank.

Everyone is accounted for. Everyone is breathing. 

But they all look like they rolled down a hill of bad choices where they banged their heads at every rock.

The mission was supposed to be a quiet recon, a simple surveillance on a rumored underground tech sale in an abandoned shipyard, low risk with minimal engagement. But then someone—Bucky still doesn’t know who—decided that they could handle it. 

No heads-up. No plan. 

Just four impulsive thrill-seekers interrupting a high-stakes black market deal involving high-tech plasma rifles and an offended buyer with too many goons. 

By the time Bucky caught wind of what was happening, it was already chaos. He had to go in solo, extract the squad under heavy fire, disrupt the shipment, and reroute an entire response team of hostiles to avoid further catastrophe. They got out—just barely—and none of them seemed particularly eager to look him in the eye about it, especially after the thirty-minute tirade he launched into somewhere between fourth gear and a traffic jam.

From his place in front of the elevator, Bucky crosses his arms. “If any of you pull something like that again, you're all getting benched. Indefinitely.”

“What?!” Alexei roars.

Yelena scowls. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You don't get to make that call, Bucky,” John protests.

Ava nods. “We're not children. You can't just ground us whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky laughs. Sarcastically. “Watch me, kid.”

As if on cue, the elevator arrives with a ding. Bucky gestures curtly towards the opening metal door. “Inside. Now.”

Reluctantly, the team shuffles in like a group of sheep being herded back into their pen for a much-needed nap time.

For a beat, the only sound that settles inside the cramped space is the low mechanical hum of the elevator ascending. 

That is until Ava decides to speak up.

“I’m just saying,” she begins, “it wasn’t like we meant to crash the deal. We were just improvising.”

“Improvising?” Bucky exclaims, glaring at her. “You call tossing a grenade into an active negotiation improvising?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Yelena argues, crossing her arms. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Bucky screeches, his tone rising. “Walker nearly lost a leg!”

“It's just a sprain,” John clarifies. “Probably.”

“See? It's just a sprain!” Yelena repeats a little too cheerfully. “He'll be good as new in no time. Right, John?”

John nods, failing to conceal his wince when Yelena bumps her unharmed shoulder to his.

Bucky rubs his temples. “I can’t believe I’m in charge of you people.”

The elevator dings again at the top floor.

“You know,” Yelena says as the team stumbles out of the metal trapbox, “we technically stopped the deal. You're not giving us credit for that.”

“That’s because you weren't supposed to stop the deal. You were supposed to observe.”

“Back in my day, observe meant punch first, ask questions later,” Alexei quips.

Bucky lets out a scathing scoff that echoes through the air. “Right. Remind me again how many years you spent rotting in that Siberian prison, Alexei?”

“Well, that's not very nice,” John mutters.

“You know what else isn't nice, Walker?” Bucky growls. “Getting your asses lit up by dozens of machine guns because none of you seem to grasp the basic concept of following orders.”

The group swelters in a momentary silence.

“I mean, in our defense,” says Ava, “none of us actually got shot.”

Before Bucky can tell her off even further, a voice suddenly intercepts, “How fabulous! You guys didn't get shot? Geez, someone really should give you all a medal for that.”

The whole team stops in their tracks.

One by one, everyone turns their head towards the direction from which the voice has come. The view that greets them could probably send a perfectly healthy man straight into an early grave.

On the platform floor a few paces away, they find you standing with arms folded across your chest. Despite the bright lilt of your voice, your eyes are cutting as they assess the entire team with the judgement of a juror who has already decided on a guilty verdict. It's clear from your attire that you were freshly off work before going straight to the tower, and since everyone knows that you were supposed to be on a work trip to Philadelphia for at least another two days, it’s safe to assume that your ticket back was booked right around the time someone shouted “mission compromised!”.

It's a full ten seconds of shared disgrace before Yelena finally breaks the silence.

“You called her?” she hisses, landing an accusatory glare in Bucky’s direction.

“I did not.” Bucky scoffs. “And why does it matter if I did?”

“Bucky didn't call me,” you interject, your posture still rigid, your gaze still icy.

“Then who—no.” Yelena's eyes drift towards the kitchen, squinting as she takes in the figure trying to hide behind the doorway. “Bob.”

Ava snaps her head up. “Bob, you little shi—”

“That’s enough,” you jump in, moving sideways to conceal Bob from Ava's murderous line of sight. “He's got nothing to do with this. This is about you—all of you—and what a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing you just did.”

Under your scrutiny, the whole squad shifts like a pack of raccoons caught rummaging through the kitchen trash. The weight of your stare seems to age them all by a decade.

“I'm gonna give all of you two minutes to explain yourselves,” you declare, the authority in your tone indisputable. “And I already know what happened, so don't even think about trying to trick me.”

There is a lull in the air where everyone seemingly tries to process your demand.

When their mouths open again, what follows is not so much an explanation as it is a verbal dogpile. Everyone starts talking all at once—too loud, too fast, and entirely contradictory. John tries to lead with the logistics, only to be steamrolled by Alexei shouting something about creative liberty. Ava attempts to downplay the situation with a jovial “it was barely an explosion!” while Yelena throws her under the bus with a hasty “she started it!”. 

Bucky—standing to the side with the posture of a man watching his funeral getting turned into a Dollar Store circus—doesn’t even bother stepping in. He knows better. 

You hold up a single finger and the room quiets instantly, like someone pressing mute on a trashy sitcom argument. The stillness that follows is so heavy, even the lights begin to flicker in anticipation.

“But we got out fine!” Ava sputters, desperate to fill in the quietness, though her voice immediately thins when she adds, “Mostly.”

“Yeah! I mean, it's just a bruise here, a bruise there—everything's great.” Yelena grins.

Your sharp stare slides towards John, the lines between your eyebrows tightening as you take in the awkward angle of his injured leg. John nearly cowers under your piercing gaze.

“How bad is the damage?” you question, your voice booming throughout the surrounding space.

“What, this? Oh, it's not that bad. Probably just need to ice it then I'll be good as new—”

“Walker.”

It's hardly a secret that John is perhaps your least favorite person in that room, with you still clearly holding a grudge towards him for what happened with the Flag Smashers. The man is used to your constant cold shoulder by now. He expects it, even. More often than not, John finds himself wondering if you would ever warm up to him the way you have with the rest of the team.

And yet, as he now stands at the end of your long stare, John can't help but think that perhaps your silent treatment isn't really that bad. Especially if it means he doesn't have to be on the receiving end of the critical scrutiny you're currently aiming towards him.

The blond gulps.

“There's a forty percent chance it might be broken,” John admits. “But it's likely just dislocated. No big deal.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Get to the medbay and tell them to run a scan,” you command. “Alexei, go with him.”

“That's not necessa—”

The sharp glare you're sending him causes John's words to lodge in his throat.

Alexei springs right into action, steering John away from your ferocious perusal and back towards the elevator.

“C'mon, big guy,” Alexei bellows. “Let's go pay a visit to our doctor friends.”

As soon as the two men disappear into the elevator, your glower shifts towards the remaining two people standing behind Bucky. Yelena pretends to check her nails while Ava's eyes are roaming the ceiling with faux nonchalance, both a pathetic attempt to avoid the clear daggers in your stare. The ridiculousness would've made you chortle were you not livid beyond salvation right now.

“I want you two to go back to your rooms, clean yourselves up, and be back here in no more than thirty minutes,” you proclaim. “We'll continue our discussion after dinner.”

“Wait, hold on—”

“That's not—”

“Just go, you two,” Bucky interrupts, the blue in his eyes colder than the Arctic ocean. “That wasn't a request.”

The two figures slump in defeat, teetering towards the staircase with the speed of a turtle in a morning rush hour. You hear Yelena grumbling something in Russian under her breath, and you force yourself not to think about what the phrase might mean lest you want your skin to crawl in an even higher degree of vexation.

“Good gracious.” Bucky shakes his head.

Behind you, Bob emerges out of the kitchen, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly as he approaches you like a wounded kitten.

“They're mad at me, aren't they?” Bob murmurs. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys fight with each other.”

“It's not your fault, sweetie,” you assure him, extending your hand and offering a comforting squeeze around his palm. “They're just being idiots right now. You did good, okay? Give it a few hours and I promise you, they'll forget about this already.”

Bob nods solemnly, his voice quiet as he excuses himself and trudges towards the common area. You release a breath as you observe him diving head first onto the sofa, burying his face in the cushion like a Victorian widow fainting onto her chaise.

Turning around, your eyes lock with another pair in blue. The smile on Bucky's face grows as he takes you in, his arms opening with all the intention to collect you in his embrace. 

“Hey, doll. I've missed—”

“No. Stay right there.” You raise your palm, taking a step back. “I'm mad at you, too.”

Bucky blinks. 

He watches you turn around and walk away from him, his arms coming down limp by his sides before he scutters after your retreating form. Bucky lingers in the doorway as you move about the kitchen, taking out pots, knives, and pans while slamming the cabinet doors shut in the process. You don't even spare him a glance as you start retrieving fresh ingredients from the fridge.

“Honey?” he calls out, voice meek beneath the echo of your knife slicing through onions on the counter. “C'mon, doll, you're really not gonna talk to me?”

“No.”

The chopping continues.

Bucky rubs his face.

“You know I'm just as disappointed in them as you are, right?” he begins. “Swear to God, doll, I had nothing to do with this. Didn't even know what those rascals were planning ‘till I got the call from Alexei. Told ‘em off as soon as I extracted them outta there.”

“Hm.”

Sighing, Bucky takes a tentative step forward, then another, finally closing the distance when he's sure you wouldn't smack him across the head with the chopping board in your hand. His fingers find purchase around your elbow, halting your movements, the gentleness aching as he spins you around to face him. The knife and half-sliced onion lie dormant on the counter.

“Hey,” Bucky utters, so softly that the air nearly swallows the word whole. “Talk to me?”

You heave in a shaky breath, evading his eyes. “What's there to talk about? I told you I'm pissed.”

“Okay, that part I already got.” Bucky chuckles, brushing the back of his palm on your cheek. “Help me understand why? At least tell me how I can fix it, pretty girl. Hm?”

Your silence quivers at the edges, growing more brittle with each swipe of Bucky’s touch on your skin. The walls around your heart crumble under his infuriating tenderness.

“When Bob called and said the team had gone radio silent, I—” you pause, swallowing hard, “—I thought something terrible happened. I booked the first train out of Philly before I even hung up.”

Bucky stays quiet, watching you with careful eyes.

“I couldn’t reach anyone. Not John, not Yelena, not Ava, not Alexei—not you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got in my head. I pictured the mission going sideways. All of you gone.” You inhale sharply. “I pictured all of you coming home in body bags.”

Bucky's heart breaks at the shudder he feels running through your back. His soul is already mourning over the loss of light he would usually find shining so brightly out of your eyes. It makes him cling to you just a tad bit tighter.

“Bob finally called me again to tell me that you're all fine. That you're on your way back. But that's not the point, Bucky.” You look at him then, your fingers flexing. “The point is, I should've never heard about all of this from Bob in the first place. I should've heard it from you.”

Bucky's shoulders sink. “I didn't want you to worry.”

You shake your head, eyes burning with the threat of unshed tears. “But I do worry, Bucky! That’s the point. I worry every single time. The moment all of you step out of this building, I'm counting down the minutes until you guys return to me again. You can't shield me away from that.”

He steps closer, removing what little bit of distance between the two of you until all of your atoms are nearly merged as one. “You're right. You are. I should’ve called. Should've trusted that you'd want to know, even if it might scare you.”

“It did scare me,” you whisper. “And I didn’t want Bob’s voice telling me everything was okay. I wanted yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs, his arms pulling you nearer. “No more leaving you out. I promise it’ll be me from now on. I'll tell you everything, doll. Always.”

A shuddering breath leaves your lungs, and just like that, you completely melt away under Bucky's touch. Your forehead drops against the line between his shoulder and chest, your fingers gripping his sides as though he was the very force keeping you tethered to earth. Meanwhile, Bucky's lips ghost over the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings, the contrasting temperature of his palms appeasing you with random patterns against your back.

“I don't know how this all started,” you confess. “I'm not sure when I began caring this much about those idiots, but I do. The thought of something happening to them—to you—to all of you…”

Bucky's arms tighten around your frame. “I know, honey. I feel the same way.”

“This is not what I had in mind, you know?”

You tilt your head back to stare at his face, your fingers tangling themselves in the soft waves that Bucky has been growing out over the past few weeks. He almost cut them all off several days ago, but after some convincing on your end—which may have included activities that found your fingers buried in the soft tendrils and his face buried somewhere else—you managed to talk him out of it.

Bucky's eyebrows lift. “What do you mean?”

“Well… when you said that you were joining this team, I thought I'd never seen a more dysfunctional group of people in my entire life. I figured it'd be a miracle if all of you last a whole month without someone quitting or accidentally blowing each other up.” You chuckle, your eyes softening. “I didn't think I'd end up pacing the hallway every time you guys went out, worrying like some overworked mother of five.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, his forehead falling onto your own. “I get it. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined myself stepping into the dad role either, but… here I am.”

“Yeah?” Your lips quirk up. “How did you imagine it then?”

“Well—” Bucky's voice drops, his breath warm where it fans against your skin, “—I figured it’d start with a little house, somewhere quiet. Nothing fancy. Just enough for us to start building a life in. I’d fix the place up real proper. You’d hum to yourself as you whip up one of those famous pies of yours, and I’d pretend not to stare.”

The cheeky grin on Bucky's face grows, prompting a laugh out of your chest. His thumb continues to trace idle circles upon your waist.

“Then, when you feel the time's right, we’d try for a baby. The old-fashioned way. Real slow, real sweet. I’d kiss you like I got all the time in the world, and make love to you like I didn’t.”

Something flutters inside your chest, like stardust stirring in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. The way Bucky is looking at you makes you feel as if you were the first breath of the universe itself.

“That's how I pictured us becoming parents,” Bucky adds, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not… this. Whatever this is.”

You smile at the graze of his beard on your cheek, angling your head to capture him in a brief kiss. 

“You know what I think this is, Buck?” you ask, teasing your lips against his own. “I think we should view this as a practice run. After all, how hard can it be to parent our own kid if we can do it to a group of five ridiculous, chaotic misfits, right?”

“Doll.” He sighs. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“Depends.” You hum, your lips twitching in feigned innocence. “If you think I'm imagining you putting a baby in me… then yeah, you're absolutely right.”

Bucky swallows your cheeky grin with a kiss, grunting against your mouth as he presses you back against the counter. The muffled moans you let out are music to his ears, a lascivious melody that rushes straight towards places he reserves explicitly for you. His hands slip under your blouse, roaming the expanse of skin, drifting lower and lower in search for the one place that could send him straight to heaven and—

“Yelena! Give it back to me!”

“I told you it wasn't me!”

Bucky groans.

The shrill voices resonate all the way down to the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable echoes of footsteps thundering down the staircase. Bucky makes a guttural noise of frustration as his face slumps into the crook of your neck.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna ship them to Asgard one of these days,” he mutters.

You snort, brushing your fingers through his hair and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. 

“Let's put a raincheck on the baby-making, soldier,” you purr, smirking when it spurs on a rumble from Bucky's chest. “Looks like I've got a fight to break up before we have two dead superheroes on our hands.”

He groans again, this time at the loss of your warmth as you slip out of his arms. From the kitchen's doorway, you raise an eyebrow towards the common area, perching your palms on either side of your hips as you take in the havoc ahead.

“What the hell is going on here?” you snarl.

“She stole my snacks!” accuses Ava.

“I don't even like Jammie Dodgers, you lunatic!”

“What a lot of crap. We all know you'd even eat chicken off the ground given the chance, you pig!”

“Fucking asshole—”

“Hey!” you interrupt, your voice sharp as you march towards the two fuming Avengers. “You call each other any more names, then I promise you, you're gonna wish you got shot on that mission today.”

Bucky watches the whole interaction from the kitchen with his arms crossed and a slow grin spreading across his face. He leans against the counter, studying you with the quiet reverence of a man who has found the meaning of home after decades of searching. Even in the midst of this domestic madness, even with the team’s antics grinding on his last nerve, he wouldn't trade a single thing in his life for anything else.

There are still a lot of things in this world that Bucky struggles to understand.

But with you by his side, and his entire team watching his six, he knows that he's got nothing to worry about.

[oceane-rei]

I don‘t trust our stove because it’s gas, I grew up with induction which is much quicker and more adjustable

Our fridge doesn’t have a thermostat and needs manual adjustment which causes my trust issues (I just set you to 3, why are you too warm again?)

There is no such thing as a trustworthy microwave, they always heat food unevenly

Kettle kinda gets close but lacks versatility

My coffee machine sometimes makes a bigger coffee than I tell it to if it’s the first coffee of the day

I don’t use the toaster enough to judge it but he‘s probably reliable in the same way a construction worker is reliable, he’ll do the job but no one knows after how many beer breaks

We just got a new used dishwasher and it’s a very good model but I haven’t used it yet since I’m not home for a few weeks so I can’t judge him

The airfryer once betrayed me when I tried to use it for reheating rather than the microwave so no thank you

And our deepfryer is very basic but very good but he also once made my fries too dark despite them only being in the beef grease for 3 minutes smh

The oven has enough different modes and I understand and use all of them for different purposes and it never disappoints. Oven my best friend even if you’re a bit old and need a really good cleaning someday.

tell me the appliance that is your best friend ever in the kitchen

[pukefactory]

You know, I'm constantly curious about this. Because everybody makes it where the reader comes to and gets stuck in ENA's world...but what if it was the other way around? What if BBQ ENA was stuck in our world instead?? •-•

•☽────✧˖°˖ LEARNING THE ROPES ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA Stuck In The Human World With The Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ),

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @crepeurie

☆ ENA appeared in your world unannounced, as if dropped between seconds. The air crackled like radio static and then there she was: standing in your apartment hallway, glittering with casino dust, holding a charred mannequin head in one hand and a coupon for “half off your existential fate” in the other. Salesperson side blinked first, then grinned. “Say, is this your realm? I hope I’m not trespassing on your… emotional lease.” The Meanie side groaned. “WHAT THE HELL KIND OF DIMENSION HAS CARPETED WALLS?! WHERE’S THE BOSS??” You didn’t know whether to give her tea or a tetanus shot.

☆ She doesn’t understand your technology. Your phone? A cursed slab of mirror-glass that steals your soul when you tap it too fast. “Wait, why does the cat keep changing expressions?! Is it mocking me?” She attempts to argue with your Amazon Alexa. “WHO IS THIS DISEMBODIED WOMAN?! WHAT AUTHORITY DOES SHE HOLD?! Why doesn’t she tell us where the BATHROOM is?!” You mute the speaker. She puts a sticky note over it labeled: DO NOT TRUST THE ECHO LADY.

☆ You took her outside once. She stood on the curb and stared at the streetlight like it was a divine omen. “The lights here… blink in coded confessions. I think I saw one say ‘you’re being watched.’ Is that true?” “Don’t tell me your reality uses coloured bulbs as government signals! That’s genius. Absolutely evil. I admire it.” Then she ran into traffic to chase a squirrel. You had to drag her back by her suspenders. “I was bartering a soul exchange!”

☆ She tried coffee. You made the grave mistake of giving her espresso. Within minutes, Meanie was arguing with a ceiling fan while Salesperson rewrote your résumé, your will, and a five-year business plan to “dominate the underground liquorice economy.” You had to lock her in the bathroom for twenty minutes just so she wouldn’t take apart your microwave. “I NEED TO SEE THE INSIDES. DOES IT BLEED? DOES IT SING?” You’ve since switched her to chamomile tea.

☆ She found out about streaming services and hasn’t recovered. She watched 14 hours of reality TV and now believes that “marriage” is a televised punishment ritual. “These contestants keep kissing under duress! Why?! Is that how you humans survive the culling?” Later, she rewrote the concept of television into a tragic art form. She talks about “reruns” like they’re ghost stories. You caught her whispering to the Netflix home screen: “I KNOW HOW THIS ENDS… BUT I’LL WATCH YOU SUFFER AGAIN.”

☆ She doesn’t sleep. Not because she can’t, but because she doesn’t trust unconsciousness. “You’re telling me your consciousness vanishes nightly and that’s… normal? I can’t even trust my limbs!” Still, she gets bored in the hours you’re asleep. You once woke up at 3 a.m. to find her sitting on your chest, watching your eyelids like TV static. “You twitch when you’re dreaming. Does that mean you’re buffering?” She didn’t get off until you said “please.”

☆ She began attending your workplace with you like it was a mission briefing. At first, she was polite. Helpful, even. She made coffee for your coworkers and tried to network. “So tell me—are you also being exploited under the guise of capitalist productivity, or is it more of a consensual subjugation thing?” Then she shouted at your boss. “YOU’RE THE NEW BOSS?! You don’t even SMELL like authority!” You were asked to “take your cousin back to the psych ward.”

☆ She tries cooking. Sometimes it goes well. Most of the time it doesn’t. She once baked you a cake that bled orange juice and screamed in binary when sliced. “It’s avant-garde! A little post-mortem pastry!” She gets very quiet when you eat her food without flinching. Meanie narrows her eyes, suspicious. “You… actually like it?” The Salesperson side stares for a beat, then whispers, “My dividends… are emotional.”

☆ You took her to the park once. She watched the ducks like they were religious figures. “They know something. Something lost to time. Do you think they’ve seen the Genie?” She picked dandelions and declared them “low-tier magical implements.” You watched her tie them together and mutter prayers. When you asked who she was praying to, she shrugged. “To this world. To the idea that maybe I’m allowed to stay in it. That it won’t swallow me back into code and craters.” You sat beside her and held her sharp, clawed hand. It trembled once. Then didn’t let go.

☆ One night, after too much laughing and not enough sleep, she looked at you—really looked. “I think this place is terrifying,” she admitted. “It’s heavy and slow and filled with people who look at me like I’m… not real. But then you—you laugh at me when I’m ridiculous and smile like I’m worth staying here for.” Her voice broke into both tones. Both sides. “If I’m stuck in your world, I think it’s okay. I’m not looking for the BATHROOM anymore.” She paused. “I’m looking for your hand.”

[red-garden]

Qi Qingqi is not often sent out in missions with Shen Qingqiu, thank the heavens. Unfortunately, they are the spy masters of Cang Qiong, and there are occasions where they must collaborate.

After a handful of moles in a forest demon court were discovered, both were dispatched to infiltrate and rescue them. The mission went smoothly of course, they’re peak lords after all. The disciples were sent back on various secret routes. Shen Qingqiu handled the demon diplomacy while she liberated the spies. As long as they could fly back without killing each other, everything should be fine. Right?

Everything was not fine. Shen Qingqiu was not reacting well to some of the food he had to eat. The sect leader would tear Qi Qingqi a new asshole if she flew back to the sect without him, so she had to walk with him from town to town for li upon li. Of course a qi deviation was bound to happen, the Qing Jing peak lord’s cultivation was held together by twine. What she didn’t expect was the state the deviation would leave him in.

Once the sparking and flickering subsided, there was a very small, very gaunt boy wearing the peak lord’s clothing.

The boy was shaking. He asks where he is, and where his master went. He asks if he’d been sold again. Qi Qingqi says she doesn’t understand. The boy explains in a state of panic that he needs to find Qiu Jianluo as soon as possible if he doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want to die.

He says his name in Shen Jiu.

And he looks like a hundred girls Qi Qingqi has personally bought the contracts of.

He starts to calm down when she explains that if Qiu Jianluo is still alive, Shen Jiu has not seen him in many years. He grew to be a great cultivator, and he is usually much older than this.

Shen Jiu is a very timid child. He uses formal language obsessively, keeps his eyes down, and only speaks when spoken to. He’s rail thin. Where the too big robes spill off of him, mottled skin covered in a lattice of scars is quickly obscured by desperate hands.

He holds a fragile excitement about his future. Slowly, he asks questions about what sect he’s a part of, what his role is, what’s the name of his sword. He hasn’t learned to read the characters on the blade yet.

He asks Master Qi if she knows of another cultivator named Yue Qi.

Of course, that is the given name of zhangmen-shixiong. He entered the sect a little after Qi Qingqi did.

Shen Jiu smiles. He has the barest indent of dimples on his thin cheeks.

The journey back to the sect is interesting. Shen Jiu is cooperative enough to fly like this. He’s very quiet, barely clinging to Qi Qingqi’s robes. At one point he falls, leaning to see the city from above. He’s such a small thing, Qi Qingqi resolves to carry him. He barely weighs anything. He only whispers a thank you and wraps his arms around her neck, tucking his head under her chin. He makes himself so small, as if afraid to be noticed.

They fly straight to Qiong Ding. Shen Jiu hasn’t said much about the sect leader but Qi Qingqi’s suspicions have been aroused. She breezes through the line, little boy scrambling behind her awkwardly in his oversized clothing.

“Zhangmen-Shixiong, we need to talk now.”

He’s sitting at his desk as usual, Wei Qingwei apparently meeting with him. Qi Qingqi feels a tug on her skirts- Shen Jiu is standing behind her, shaking again.

“Qi-jie, where are we?”

Yue Qingyuan’s face goes white. He stands from his desk, neck craning to see the source of the voice. “Xiao Jiu?”

The boy peeks out, eyes wide. Wei Qingwei spots him too. “Shit, did Shen-Shixiong deviate?”

Yue Qingyuan leans over his desk, eyes pleading. “Does Xiao Jiu recognize me?”

Shen Jiu shrinks back, clutching Qi Qingqi’s skirts far more desperately. Qi Qingqi puts a hand on his arm. “You’re scaring him!”

Suddenly Qi Qingqi doesn’t feel as good bringing this child here. She turns around, scooping him up in her arms. “Zhangmen-Shixiong should finish his meetings. We’re going to Qian Cao and then home.”

[mmmilkweed]

I'm still here!

hi all, just wanted to update y'all on how I'm doing.

Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for the kind messages and anons. Every single one picked up a tiny piece of me and placed it back into its original place. I cannot thank you enough.

.. There's no easy way to say I'm still not doing good. BUT! I am doing *better.* Even if just a little, I consider it a win.

Mornings are a heavy issue. The past two, I've thrown up. Not today though, so that's a win right? Nightmares plague me - even today I caught myself dreaming that, once again, my words have been used against me and I was left alone, with only hatefull paragraphs to keep me company. Had I not realized I didn't have my phone in my hands when I woke up, I might have thought it was real. Man. Just another reason to have an aversion to my phone!!

I found a new.. Man, I never thought I'd use this word. I found a new trigger for my, what I can only assume, are panic attacks. Discord notifications. Just seeing the icon on the notification bar has my heart in my ears and I can't breathe. I still don't know how to efficiently calm myself down from these. While walking helps, I sit back down and it starts again. My job requires me to sit!! I've begun just brute forcing past it.

My appetite has completely vanished. I usually eat a decent amount through the day, but for the past 4 I've hardly been able to finish a single plate of food in a day. Yesterday I struggled with a can of monster. I LOVE MONSTERRR and yet I kept nursing it the WHOLE day. I was so mad... I'm going to go to my favorite restaurant soon, gonna work on getting my appetite back up.

On the way to my atelier, the song that inspired Timeless!AU came on: For Her by Jeremy Jordan. I adored this song. It meant everything to me, it's going to be on my Spotify wrapped from how much I listened to it. I.. Can't. Anymore. I put it on blast, I couldn't bring myself to skip it - and still, even when I was walking my heart beat faster than it should and I suddenly found myself out of breath. Negativity seeped into my favorite song. Figures

Still - it brought me some clarity. Past days I've really been feeling like a monster - but For Her made me remember that the AU really was always meant for this unrequited love, the whole thing somewhat inspired by the Great Gatsby and a dream that's just out of reach. How could I let myself be deluded so much? How did I let their words get to me so deeply that even I began questioning myself? ESPECIALLY since they don't me at ALL?! I saw someone say something so outrageous it become an inside joke with my friends! That really helped to disillusion me. I hope that with time, or with enough replays, I can find comfort in For Her again.. And I will. Jeremy Jordan is too good not to listen too

It's not all bad, though. I know I've been venting, yet I have to tell it at least to someone that's not my wife. Poor thing, I feel bad for her. She shouldn't be weighted my mistakes.

now let me tell you about the good too.

Oh there's so many amazing people in this community. Like each of you. Like my community on discord. Like my closer contemporaries. Discord notifications are not as scary when I see a certain groupchat or even server. Yes, while my heart skips a beat - I've laughed far more than cried. I can't thank them enough. I'll never bring it up to them, I don't need to drag down their mood, so I'm telling yall instead.

I've begun drawing again. I feel like I understand Shadow Milk Cookie on a very personal level now. If his demeanor changes going forward... I'm probably projecting.! Oh I've gotten to the point in rock bottom where I imagine PV helping me out with stuff. Man that's embarrassing to say. Akctually everything here is embarrassing to say - I still feel ashamed my body has such a visceral reaction to.. All of this! I digress. I began drawing again. I'm happy with what I have, can't wait to start showing yall.

I've begun scrolling Twitter too. In small doses. My modteam suggested it, and woah, it helped scrolling through the splatoon tag. I can't just up and leave it, as it's my current main source of income. I'm watching CRK tiktoks too! Slowly.

I'll try to be stead fast in my recovery - I've come to realize there are people who are dependant on me, they look to me to see how they should react. I did not see that before, and for that, I also apologize. Many have pointed out I'm new to this, and only now did I realize just how right you were. Especially as someone whos always kept to a side line - having a voice baffles me.

[karikitdemon]

I have a triplegic uncle, he only has the use of one arm. He also has a bit brain damage if I remember correctly and he has been this way his whole life due to an unfortunate accident that happened when he was a baby. He can't do a lot of things like going to the bathroom on his own. My gramma and grampa used to help him with these things but now my gramma is old and can't lift him and my grampa passed away a while ago. My uncle is in a nursing home now but had to be moved around a bit until he got to this recent one cuz the other places were awful or too expensive, I think it was only two the more I think on it.

One place wouldn't bathe him nor help him go to the bathroom and instead put a diaper on him and DIDN'T FUCKING CHANGE IT! Uncle got a bad rash ALL OVER and he was suffering cuz it hurt. Gramma and my mom went up there and moved him out with a quickness. Now he is in a better home and thankfully is getting the help he needs. Sure they give him a diaper too but that's incase of accidents and they still transfer him to the toilet and to a shower-safe wheel chair and bathe him.

Now, if a man who can't take a shit properly nor bathe properly needs to save himself from a fire, what do you think will happen? HE'D DIE AND MY GRAMMA AND I WOULD BE HEART BROKEN! He has help and there are precautions in place so that there is less risk of a fire breaking out that bad at his nursing home but think about that. There are countless people who struggle and are forced to "Get over it" cuz "it's not that bad" if they need a wheel chair on occasion THEY NEED THAT WHEEL CHAIR!

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed and become nonverbal, I have an app I can use to help me communicate, it's an e-reader app I think, there are a lot of different ones to choose from. I use natural reader for multiple things this being one of them. Once I got into an accident on my electric scooter (two wheeled electric scooter where you stand) on my way back to work from lunch. I fell off in the parking lot and was fine. Got back up FELL OVER AGAIN IN THE STREET AND ALMOST GOT RUN OVER BY A CAR. Had to text my co-worker quickly to help after I got on the sidewalk. I couldn't work the rest of my shift cuz I was shaking and couldn't speak, had to write down what I needed help with, which was to call my gramma (I live with her) so she could pick me up. Gramma was a bit freaked out cuz her grandchild almost got run over and seeing me all frazzled and not talking was a lot for her cuz she never saw that. I used my phone to communicate with her while I let it ride out, cuz that's what works best for me. I get myself in a comfortable environment and relax.

I can't force myself to talk when I'm like that (I've tried and it just either doesn't happen or I yell out single words at a time unable to make full sentences, having to hid my chest to "force the words out" in a sense which NOT GOOD), I literally strain to speak. It's hard to explain to have others who don't struggle with this type of thing understand, but the way I put it is kinda like getting the wind knocked out of you but with words. You can breath but you can't speak even when you want to. You try as hard as you can but there's no words, a tightness in your chest, and a sort of fog or ringing in your brain.

Safe to say, if I were caught in a fire I might have a rough time talking to the operator on the phone or something and then I might die or get really injured.

Long story short, I'm very aware of visible and invisible disabilities from either personal experience or through second hand experience since I helped with my uncle before he moved to his current nursing home. Trust me when I say that people can die if they don't have the support they need if they're disabled! People with disabilities should not be undermined or dismissed and told to get over it, they should be respected and offered help and opportunities to make their lives better! Wasn't Stevin Hawking technically disabled and in a wheelchair?

Help a disabled person, help the next potential Stevin Hawking! Just be nice!

I hate how often some (typically abled) people will go “well, if you can’t [get a specific support], then what?” when it comes to disabilities. As if it’s a “gotcha” moment. And then act like you’re exaggerating when you answer that question honestly.

Disabled people often die from a lack of support. A lot of disability aids are not a luxury, but a basic need in order to live.

“Well what happens if—” people die. People hurt themselves. People hurt others. Disabled people don’t magically become abled if our needs aren’t met.

If a bedbound quadriplegic is caught in a housefire, and there’s nobody there to save them, they’ll probably die. They won’t magically become able-bodied out of sheer will.

If a nonspeaking/nonverbal autistic is denied access to alternative methods of communication, they’ll suffer in silence. They won’t spontaneously become capable of speech.

Disabled people are disabled all the time. Our disabilities don’t go away just because they’re inconvenient, or if we’re in danger.

[cowboybeepboop]

Sweetness

"I care about you, more than I probably should."

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: You finally find out the real reason behind Bob’s protective side. 

a/n: I saw Thunderbolts* yesterday, and I’m craving more of Lewis Pullman 😛😩

This team gets on your nerves, whether it’s Hangman’s cocky asshole attitude or Roosters constant issues with Mav. Somehow you’re always getting in the middle of something and you’re tired of these damn pushups. 

Bob is your weapons systems officer. He’s sweet and nothing but kind when it comes to you. It’s frustrating, though, because you know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you don’t need him to stick up for you. 

It feels like he pities you, he challenges hangman when he says asshole things, he defends your choices when Mav questions you. He just doesn’t understand that you can speak for yourself. 

These dog-fights with Maverick have almost been the death of you. Maybe you’re an overachiever, but you’ve never needed to keep redoing and redoing exercises. It’s never been an issue for you to work in a team, but Hangman refuses to. 

“Fuck!” you slam your hand against the dash of the plane, tears building in your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you sigh away the anger, letting your head fall back against the seat. Bob tenses in the seat behind you as you land the plane. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” his voice rings out, bringing you back into reality. 

“Yep. Let’s just get this over with.” Your tone is more firm than usual, irritation filling your veins as you exit the vehicle. 

Hangman begins spewing his usual bullshit, cockiness radiating off him even though you just lost. Bob argues with Hangman in the background as you ignore them, getting ready to get those damn pushups out of the way.

The only thing you need right now is an ice-cold shower and whiskey on the rocks. You’re pulling your uniform off your shoulders while walking toward the bar, Bob is hot on your heels, along with Rooster and FanBoy. 

“How’s it goin’?” Bradley wraps an arm around your shoulder, the familiarity of his touch doing little to ease your annoyance. You shift out of his embrace, not wanting to talk to anyone. 

Bob and Rooster make eye contact, shrugging as they notice your strange mood. “You got this one, Bob?” he nods in response, following after you once again. 

“Y/N?” he settles down next to you at the bar, shifting his weight as you stare down at the counter. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You ignore him, taking down your drink in one gulp. 

“I’m alright, Bob, just.. Annoyed.” you sigh, glancing at him slightly. He nods in response, fingers fumbling with his beer bottle. 

“Did-” he begins before you cut him off.

“We were so close, Bob!” your tone is laced with irritation, “We almost got him and then you got, distracted.” You roll your eyes, sliding the glass to the side. 

“I know.. I know and I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have needed to do all those pushups because of my-” you glare at him, everything he does just annoys you, he’s so nice even when you don’t deserve it. 

“Why do you take the blame for every little thing?” Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you’re hot, irritated, and red hot. “Leave it alone, Bob.” You storm out, admittedly a little childish, but you need the fresh air. 

Sitting down on the porch, you breathe in the scent of sea water, the wood creaks under a pair of boots next to you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to do anything to frustrate you.” his tone is the same soft and gentle one per usual. “If I can do anything, say anything, get you anything, please just let me know. I wanna help, we’re a pair, Y/N,” he says, settling down next to you cautiously. 

“Bob, you’re annoying me.” You groan, hating the butterflies in your stomach, and his heart drops as he straightens up. Your words sting him a little more than intended, and you see it in his demeanor. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that..” you trail off chewing on your lip while watching him fumble with his hands.” I didn’t mean to, you dont deserve that, it’s just frustrating to have you constantly siding with me, being so nice, and sticking up for me.” you groan.

“I know you mean well, but I can fight my own battles Bob.” you sigh, shifting uncomfortably as you look him over. 

Bob looks down at his hands, the sound of his fingers cracking fills the air as he processes your words. He hates your irritation being directed at him, but he knows you’re right. He’s been a little overprotective lately, and you’re feeling chafed by his kindness. It’s not what he wanted.

“It’s just…” Bob pauses, his mind struggling to find the right words. “It’s not about thinking you can’t fight your own battles. I mean, I know you can.” Bob leans back, resting his head against a pole.

“I know we’re a team, but we haven’t worked together like this before, not on a mission this important.” you sigh, resting your face in your hands. "I just wish you wouldn't make me look so weak in front of everyone, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I need pity, Bob." You shut your eyes, taking steadying breaths.

Bob's eyes widen slightly, finally being able to grasp what is going on. He's been treating you like you're fragile, and you're getting fed up. It hits him like a truck, and the guilt instantly seeps into his bones.

"I know... I know, you're strong," he says, the shame evident in his voice. "I don't think you're weak, and I *don't* pity you." Bob's fingers twist together, frustration with himself bubbling up within him.

Bob rubs his face, he’s always had a crush on you, ever since he laid eyes on you. For Bob, you’re not just a talented pilot and a teammate, you’re smart, strong-willed, independent, and absolutely gorgeous.

His protective nature stems from the fact that he cares about you, a little more than he should. He’s scared of losing you, of getting you hurt, and it shows in his overprotectiveness and constant apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Bob, I shouldn’t have held this against you. Hangman is the one who left us to fend for our own. It’s not your fault.” You lean closer to him, brushing your shoulder against his. 

Bob's shoulders tense up for a moment, caught off guard by your sudden apology. Your touch, even as simple as your shoulder against his, has his heart beating faster. He relaxes a little, feeling relieved that you're not as irritated with him anymore.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice soft as he relaxes his tense shoulders, he takes a deep breath. "But I still want to apologize for being so overprotective."

“I guess I just don’t understand why you’re so protective when it comes to *me*,” you scan his face, eyes wandering his features. “I know we’re friends outside of work, but.. I just don’t get it.”

Bob's heart leaps into his throat, his mind racing with nerves. This is the moment, the one he’s been scared of for the past few months. He’s always liked you, but he’s kept it to himself because of his shy nature, and he was afraid of ruining your friendship.

He takes a shaky breath, his fingers trembling as he fidgets with them."I…uhh"  Bob struggles to find the right words, the truth on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah?" you question, scooting closer to him, basking in the gentle heat of his body.

Bob's heart pounds in his chest, his cheeks heating up from your close proximity. He can smell your perfume, and the closeness makes his knees weak.

"I… I care about you a lot," he manages, his voice shaky, eyes refusing to meet yours. Bob's hands twitch with the nervous energy that courses through him, his fingers clenching into fists and unclenching rhythmically.

"A lot?" Your cheeks turn a slight pink. "In what way, Bob?" 

Bob's words get stuck in his throat, his breath hitches as he looks up at you, your eyes burning into his soul. He swallows hard, unable to hold your gaze, but at the same time craving it. 

"In every way imaginable," he breathes out, his heart pounding against his ribcage, "I care about you, more than I probably should." This is it, all or nothing, he can't back out now.

You take in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on everything but him as his words echo in your mind.

Bob watches your face, his heart in his throat as he waits for your response. The silence between you both is loud, making him almost sick to his stomach as he waits for your reaction. He’s so desperate to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, but your expression is unreadable.

"Please say something," he mutters softly, his hand twitching to reach out and touch you, but his fear stops him.

You clear your throat, standing up and stretching, and your heart is racing in your chest. Being with Bob, it's what you want, but what if it changes things or makes both of you unable to go on the mission? Your mind is reeling, and you begin to pace. 

Bob follows your movements with his gaze, your nervous behavior making his heart ache. He knows he messed up, he should have kept his stupid feelings to himself. Now he's just made everything awkward.

With you moving around so much, unable to sit still, he stands up as well, worry etched across his face. "Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't-" his voice is trembling as he tries to apologize, but you simply start pacing.

You shake your head, "You don't need to apologize, Bob." Turning back to him, you take a few steps until you're right in front of him again. 

Bob stands still, his heart practically beating out of his chest, as you walk closer to him. Your proximity takes his breath away, and he can’t tear his eyes off your face. All he can focus on is your every move, the way your lips are slightly parted, and how your cheeks are tinged pink.

He has to fight the urge to pull you into his arms and hold you close, but the nervousness in his veins keeps him rooted to the spot. "Y/N..” he breathes out, his voice low and unsteady.

"Bob," you whisper, "Please.." Your words, your simple plea, are all it takes for Bob to snap. His brain short-circuits as every thought about consequences and missions leaves his mind, replaced with one sole desire. *You.*

In the blink of an eye, his hands find your waist, and in another, he's pulling you flush against him. His lips crash into yours with a desperate need, as every pent-up feeling, every piece of suppressed desire is unleashed.

Your hands reach up to his face, gripping his face as you pull him closer, desperate for more. 

Bob is completely lost in the moment, his hands exploring your waist, your back, your face, trying to touch every inch of you. Your touch ignites something within him, and his kiss deepens as he presses his body against yours.

He pushes you backward until your back hits a wall, his hands gripping your hips as he cages you against the surface, his kiss still feverish, hungry, desperate.

You pull away reluctantly, gasping in a few breaths before speaking. "Bob, we need to go.. I *need* you," you whisper, kissing his face and neck. Bob lets out a soft groan at your words, the feeling of your kisses sending tremors through him, the need in your voice making his knees weak. 

"Go... where?" he breathes out, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you closer, afraid that if he lets go of you, you'll disappear. He wants you badly, the mission forgotten in a haze of desire.

"I have a place," you practically moan, enjoying the desperation in his touch. All coherent thoughts leave Bob's mind as your moan is like music to his ears. He practically whimpers against your touch, the need for you nearly overwhelming.

"Lead the way," he mutters, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your neck before reluctantly releasing his grip. Even though he's letting go of you, his hand takes yours, unwilling to lose physical contact.

With your hand in his, Bob follows you to the secluded spot you've chosen, his heart racing in anticipation. The gentle squeeze of your hand reassures him that this is what you want, too. Once you're both inside, the door clicks shut, and the tension in the room thickens. 

You turn to face him, the hunger in your eyes matching his own. His hands trace the curve of your waist, pulling you closer as your mouths find each other again in a passionate kiss that leaves you both breathless. 

With no more words needed, you both stumble over to the bed, the need for each other overwhelming. Bob gently lays you down, his eyes never leaving yours as he starts to unbutton your shirt. His touch is reverent, his every move filled with a passion that has been building for so long. 

You help him, pulling his shirt off over his head, feeling the warmth of his bare skin against yours. As the fabric of your clothes falls away, Bob’s eyes roam over your bare skin, tracing every curve and dip with a hunger that’s been building. 

His hands rough yet gentle, his kisses leaving a trail of fire down your neck as he unclasps your bra. The coolness of the air meets your heated skin, sending shivers down your spine. He worships your body, his hands exploring every inch with a passion that leaves you trembling with anticipation. 

The feel of his bare chest against yours is electric, his skin smooth and warm as he kisses his way down to your stomach. You gasp as his fingers find their way under the band of your pants, unbuttoning them with trembling hands. The touch of his skin against yours sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch into his touch. 

His eyes meet yours, questioning, and when you nod, he pulls your pants down, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His eyes widen with awe, his breath hitching as he takes in the sight of you, fully exposed and desiring him. 

His thumb brushes against your inner thigh, sending a rush of heat to your core, making you whimper. His touch is soft yet demanding as he explores you, his eyes never leaving yours, drinking in every reaction you give him. 

You're both lost in the moment, the only sound in the room being the ragged breaths and soft moans that escape your lips. Bob leans in, his mouth replacing his fingers, and your world explodes into a symphony of pleasure. 

His name becomes a chant on your lips as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, your legs wrapping around his head as you pull him deeper into your warmth. The intensity of the moment reaches its peak as Bob's tongue meets your center, his strokes firm and precise. 

You moan deeply, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the pleasure builds. He's relentless, his every move calculated to push you closer to the edge. His hands are everywhere, caressing your breasts, teasing your nipples until they're peaked and sensitive. 

The sound of your breathy pleas and the wetness of your desire driving him wild. He can't get enough of you, can't get close enough. You're soaking wet for him, and the scent of your arousal fills the air, making him crave you even more. His mouth is a masterpiece of pleasure, teasing and sucking, swirling and flicking, until you're panting his name and your body is tightening around his tongue. 

You're close, so close, and just when you think you can't handle it anymore, he slides a finger inside you, the pressure inside you building until it snaps. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. 

You scream out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

Bob pulls away, his face flushed and his eyes dark with lust, as he watches the aftershocks of your climax ripple through your body. He quickly removes his pants, his cock standing at full attention. The sight of him sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making you ache for him. 

He positions himself over you, and with one swift thrust, he's inside, filling you completely. Your legs wrap around him as he begins to move, his hips pumping in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. 

The feeling is indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pain, of need and satisfaction, as he stretches and fills you over and over again. Your eyes lock onto his, and it's as if you're seeing him for the first time, really seeing the depth of his feelings for you, the desire and love that he's been hiding.

The friction is perfect, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body with every movement. You rock your hips up to meet his, desperate to get even closer. His hands are everywhere, holding you down, caressing you, making sure you feel every inch of him. 

Your bodies move in a dance that's been choreographed by months of tension and unspoken desires. Each stroke is a promise, each touch a declaration of his feelings.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another deep kiss, your tongues tangling as your bodies move together in perfect sync. The sound of your skin slapping against his fills the room, mixing with the desperate moans and gasps that escape both of your mouths. Bob's pace quickens, driven by the passion that fuels him, and you can feel him getting closer to his release.

You're so lost in the sensation that you don't even notice when the second orgasm starts to build, creeping up on you like a thief in the night. It takes you by surprise, stealing your breath away as it crashes over you, making your body tighten around him. Bob groans into your mouth, his release following closely behind, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his warmth.

You collapse onto the bed, your bodies still entwined, hearts racing, and skin slick with sweat. The room is silent except for the sound of your panting breaths, both of you trying to come down from the high of finally giving in to the passion that's been burning between you. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, grounding, as you bask in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy.

Bob pulls out gently, collapsing beside you, and you roll over to face him, your eyes searching his for any signs of regret. But all you see is love and satisfaction, mirroring your own emotions. You reach out, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and he smiles at you, the tension of the day forgotten as you both drift into a contented silence, the kind that comes from knowing you've found something real in a world full of danger and uncertainty.

Bob's mind is spinning as he shifts to lie there next to you, completely stunned by the intensity of what just happened. His fingers gently trace patterns on your skin, a soft smile playing on his lips as he takes in the blissful expression on your face. Every nerve ending in his body is buzzing, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him.

"That was..." he finally manages to breathe out, his voice thick with emotion, "That was amazing." Bob's heart still races, his head reeling from the intensity of the connection between you both.

You nod breathlessly, resting your face on his chest, cuddling close against him.

[itzpookiepooh]

Inferior

I’m sad so yk what that means 🫵🏾 SAD SHORT STORIES

You stood in front of the mirror motionless. Your eyes run over your features. You sit there contemplating what was wrong with you. You judged everything about yourself down to the last detail. You assumed it was just your monthly coming around and messing with your emotions however, what you were feeling was different than the monthly emotional roller coaster. It was like someone in the back of your mind was bullying you, taunting you.

You spent most nights lately analyzing your looks. You often thought if the people in your life really liked you. It was exhausting to think this way but you couldn’t help it. You blinked slowly thinking to yourself ‘this is really me’. Sylus was running around the N109 zone as he usually does in the night. He often worried about you when you got like this. He helped you in the best way he knew how, being there for you. So imagine his surprise when he walks into the room to see you zoned out in front of the mirror.

“Sweetie? What are you doing awake? It’s 3am.” His deep voice travels through the bathroom knocking you out of your trance.

“I was just…washing my hands.” You mumbled as you washed your hands, slowly zoning out once again. He pursed his lips watching you, his eyes flickering from your face to your hands.

“You’re doing it again.” Your head pops up as you quickly turn the water off. He sighs walking over to engulf you in a gentle hug.

“I don’t mean to.” You mumble into his chest. He kisses the crown of your head reassuringly. He knew you didn’t yet he couldn’t help but worry.

“You are the most beautiful, intelligent and brave person I know.” He tells you holding you by your shoulders. Your waterline began to fill as you looked away so you wouldn’t cry.

“Look at me.” He whispered to you holding your chin up. You sniffled as your hands make their way to his wrists. “You are the most important person in my life and when you hurt so do I.” He tells you softly.

“Thank you for always being there for me.” You whimpered out as he smiles softly. “I’ll always be here for you.” He whispers pulling you in for a tight hug. He would do anything to make this feeling go away.

You felt like you were going nowhere stuck in the same position constantly while you sat back and watched others grow. It was eating at you and making that evil green monster grow. You didn’t want to take it out on anyone because this was just something in your mind. You were happy for your friends and Raf, truly you were but sometimes that green thing called envy reared its head and whispered in your ear.

You had a long day and on top of this annoying little voice, you messed up a mission. It tore your confidence apart so you took it out on your apartment. Breaking glass and swiping tables all in the name of anger. Hot angry tears pour down your face. You ruined everything. In the midst of your rampage, Rafayel walks in with wide eyes.

“Cutie. Hey, what’s going on?” He asks, concern etched on his features. You snap towards him visibly angry. You couldn’t take this out on him. You wouldn’t.

This isn’t his fault. It’s no one’s fault, you’re just having a bad day. He comes over wrapping his arms around you as you fume with anger. You huff and puff until you finally take a few deep breaths. You were still trembling with anger. He just held you letting you breathe until you were ready to talk. He didn’t want you breaking anything else and regretting it later.

“I got you. Breathe for me, okay?” He whispers into your ear. His tone soft, coaxing you.

He was right he’s always been there. You didn’t want him to see this ‘ugly’ side of you. You didn’t want to seem envious or angry around him but he understood. Rafayel understands that humans much like Lumerians get jealous and envious.

“I feel like I’m stuck in the same spot, constantly.” Your voice trembles as your head falls back onto his shoulder. He squeezes you tighter. “It’s suffocating.”

“I know.” He mumbles into your shoulder, waiting a beat for you to say something else.

“I’m jealous of everyone around me. Promotions and other new life achievements.” You spoke solemnly, it was eating away at you.

“Sometimes envy doesn’t always have to be a green thing.” He says lifting his head. You turn to look at him sadly.

“Envy can be wanting something someone has but you don’t feel malicious towards them…like a tealish blue.” He explains looking off into nothing. You listen to him closely.

“You don’t have to be great at everything. You’re working yourself to the bone looking for validation from others.” He tells you, you felt your eyes water.

“The only person you need to seek validation from is yourself.” He spoke sincerely making sure you understood him. You face him and hug him tightly.

“I’ll always be here to support you, no matter what you choose to do.” His chin on your head as you silently cried into his chest. He meant what he said, he’d always be there for you even at your lowest.

Studying was getting harder and harder these days. You’d put the computer down and distract yourself with other tasks, it was a vicious cycle. Your motivation was wearing thin and you had no one to tell this to. At least that’s how you felt. The endless hours were gnawing at you. Did you even want this degree? Was it worth it anymore? Did you waste your time?

Endless questions and no answers for them. You closed out of your work and sigh. You push the bottoms of your hands into your eyes until you see stars. You couldn’t keep doing this, it was stupid.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you continue to do that.” Zayne’s voice echoes off the walls. You don’t move, you can’t face him. He just stands there waiting for you.

“Whatever you’re going through you don’t have to face alone. Lean on me.” He reassures you as he steps closer, crouching down placing his hands on your knees.

“I don’t have the motivation for this anymore. I don’t want to do this.” You whimper feeling tears burn at your eyes. He breathes out his nose before caressing your legs.

“Maybe you need a break. We can go to the beach this weekend and relax.” He tries to coax you, his eyes never leaving your covered face, “Just you and me.” He whispers.

You remove your hands from your face waiting for the darkness and stars to disappear. Zayne’s figure comes to fruition, you stare at him as he stares at you. He grabs your hands rubbing them gently.

“We will go on a vacation and then we can circle back to this, alright?” Zayne waits for your answer patiently, seeing what you’ll choose. You nod and he pulls you in for a hug slowly rubbing your back.

The room was silent as you watched yourself in the mirror as you tried on different outfits. You hated them and didn’t know why. This was the 3rd thing this week that made you feel a certain way. A very heavy feeling. You sighed flopping on the bed, moments later Xavier comes to check on you.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly as he sits next to your limp figure. You peek up at him and sigh.

“I don’t like how I look in these.” You mutter making him tilt his head in confusion.

“Why not? You look beautiful.” He reassured you reaching over to rub your head. You shrug sadly.

“I bought them thinking I’d like them but I don’t.” You explain to him as he thinks to himself.

“I think this is just the straw that broke the camels back. I’ve noticed you’ve been having a rough week.” He explains to you leaning back on his palms.

“I don’t know I’m just feeling inferior lately.” You tell him, your bottom lip pokes out as you think about it.

Xavier listened intently as you explained that work felt different as well as life itself. You were becoming unmotivated as you watched everyone achieve. You felt you could be doing better but what was better? He asked about the new wardrobe and you explained that you thought it would help but it just made you feel worse. You were comparing yourself to others and that was dragging you down.

“You’re yourself for a reason. If we were all doing the same thing it would be repetitive and boring.” Xavier emphasizes, you nod slowly.

Xavier was right, if we all did the exact same thing over and over while acting the exact same way, it would be boring. You stare at the ceiling thinking to yourself. You needed to clear your head. It was just a bad week, not a bad life.

“How about we go for a walk? Maybe grab a snack on the way back?” He convinces you, you smile and nod getting up to change your clothes.

Man did that help. It’s what you needed and a good long talk too. You couldn’t thank Xavier enough.

You felt like you were slacking when it came to work however, no matter how much you studied and pushed yourself—it still felt like it wasn’t enough. Caleb barely saw you these days since you were holed up in the home office preparing for the hunting competition. If you were slacking the way you thought you were, this would make up for it. Caleb was worried you were pushing yourself too hard.

He knocked three times before entering, peeking his head in the room. You were studying the layout and wanderers today. He pursed his lips before fully entering the room. You flipped through pages of guidelines, warnings and such things like that.

“Occupied?” He asks you as he sits on the desk, crossing his legs. You look up at him before sighing.

“Yes, I’m trying to be qualified for the competition.” You replied. His eyebrow quirks up at what you said. Were you not already qualified?

“You’re a hunter. I’m sure you’re more than qualified to join.” He chuckles looking at what you’re reading.

“Not like Jenna is.” You mumbled making him look at you with a sour expression.

“Jenna’s been doing this a while. I wouldn’t compare you to her.” He reassured you. You slump into the chair.

“She got where she is by working hard and she’s not that much older than us.” You explain feeling that familiar sadness. His eyes run over you taking in your expression and body language.

“Everyone works at their own pace, pips. Yours works for you and Jenna’s works for her. You don’t have to compete with everyone.” He assured you as he holds your face.

“I know but I feel so…out of place and behind. It’s not only her either I feel like this with…everyone.” You curl up making him sigh. He was worried.

“Maybe you need a break. A mental and physical one for your health. This competition will only make this feeling.” He points to your chest, “worse.”

He was right, Caleb was always right. You hated feeling like this because it clawed and dragged it way up your body. This wasn’t an extremely rare occasion but it happened enough that Caleb would worry about you. He didn’t want stress to kill you over something so small. He didn’t want you to feel like you were good enough because you were beyond good enough.

“Maybe you’re right. I just feel like I’m not doing enough and I’m not good enough.” You pout making him smile sadly at you.

“That voice is going to be the death of you if you keep listening to it. How about this?” He takes out his phone, tapping away before shoving it in your direction.

“A resort. We can both detox there like at a spa. Mud baths and facials y’know?” His content state was refreshing as you looked over what he booked.

“That sounds nice actually.” You tell him making him feel proud. He cups your face making you look at him.

“I want you to feel like you’re important because you are especially to me. No one is better than you in my eyes.” He affirmed as he kisses your forehead. You melt into it feeling safe and at home.

“You’re important to me too.” You tell him, he snorts before answering you, “Oh I know.” You smack his arm making him laugh harder.

Now that that’s over I can post the funny stuff

This was originally going to be a Sylus stand alone but this was fine too

[docmothra]

i am once again asking y'all to understand that many people who hate you are willing to abandon any worldly pleasure to inconvenience you and you should fight at least half as hard as that :3

sex. food. sleep. ten percent tithes. they will give up their children's love rather than say a pronouns. pay double rather than buy the woke groceries. and maybe they go to a club every week to hear about what tasty treats further the devil's purposes (have anime printed on the front).

so when you want to change a company's mind, find a different normal to replace it. hate a fast food shop for being anti mexican? replace it with a local mexican place. and don't look back until and unless it hits the news otherwise. force the other side to keep them afloat; that's valuable even if it doesnt pivot the decision back.

because there are people out there who treat money as a weapon; who gather every week, pool ten percent of their income, and calculate the exact politician to bribe to get gay people out of public. and it startles me when people are less intense toward good causes they claim to support.

Least favorite form of political action is those 1 day boycotts. "Everybody don't buy anything for 1 day!" Like cool wtf is that gonna do? You do know what a boycott is, right? You do it until a change is made. Black folks in Montgomery didn't ride the bus for over a year until segregated seating was lifted. For most of them, that was the only transportation they could afford. It was difficult! That's the point! How do you expect things to change permanently if you don't permanently change! Please!

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 6┃ Harder to pretend

Male reader x Karina

Word count: 6.3k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, orgasm denial, praise, dirty talk, teasing

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

She kept looking.

Long enough that I felt it—not in a self-conscious way. Not like I had something to hide. But like I was being seen too clearly. Like she was starting to understand something about me I hadn’t decided to show yet.

I gave her a small smile.

“Thinking of drawing me?”

Her brow didn’t lift. Her lips didn’t move. She just leaned in slightly, resting her chin on my chest like she hadn’t heard me.

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re not saying,” she said.

I didn’t answer. Because for me to answer that, I’d have to know the answer first.

Her fingers curled lightly against my ribs. Not holding on. Just there.

After a few seconds, she pulled away, climbed to her feet, and stretched. The sheet slipped a little, but she didn’t reach for it. She caught me looking.

Then she smiled.

“I’m gonna shower,” she said.

I nodded.

She grabbed her shirt, tugged it over her head, and padded toward the bathroom without another word.

I stayed where I was.

Let the silence stretch.

Eventually, I moved. Cleaned up the mess on the nightstand. Closed the mini fridge. Re-tightened the lid on the water bottle. The scent of wax still clung to the sheets.

And I felt fine.

Not great. Not glowing. But calm. Steady. Worn down in a good way.

That was the lie I decided to tell myself.

The hallway was empty when I stepped out. Dim morning light leaked through the high windows. A door clicked shut somewhere far off.

I followed the quiet down to the living room.

Ningning was there. On the couch, knees pulled up to her chest, hair damp and curled around her neck. She was holding a bowl of cereal with both hands like it was sacred.

She glanced up when I walked in.

“Hey,” she said, like we were strangers who’d only sort of met.

I nodded back. “Morning.”

There was no tension. No jealousy. No gloating. Just quiet acknowledgment.

“I left the note,” she said after a beat. “Did you eat something?”

“Winter did.”

“You didn’t?”

I hesitated. Then said, “Wasn’t hungry.”

Ningning nodded slowly. “You look like someone who forgets to eat a lot.”

I didn’t respond.

She turned back to the show she had playing on her laptop—muted, some kind of cartoon, bright and fast and loud even without sound. I sat down on the other end of the couch. We didn’t talk.

At some point, I pulled my phone from my pocket. No texts. No missed calls. Just time slipping forward in five-minute increments while the sun crawled into the corners of the room.

Then—

“Can I ask you something?” she said, eyes still on the screen.

“Sure.”

She didn’t ask right away. Just pressed her thumb into her bowl, watching the milk slosh.

“What’s the worst thing someone’s ever said to you?”

I looked over at her.

Her voice hadn’t changed.

She didn’t look at me. Just said, “You don’t have to answer.”

I thought about it.

And I was about to say something—

When Karina’s voice cut in from the hallway.

“We have that Zoom thing in twenty.”

Ningning jumped slightly. “Oh, right.”

She stood, dumped the rest of her cereal into the sink, then looked at me again.

There was a question in her eyes. Not about the worst thing. About me.

She didn’t ask it.

She just said, “Later,” and padded down the hall.

I sat back.

Stared at the screen for a while.

Then at nothing.

And the feeling came creeping in again—not all at once, not sharp. Just a slow pressure behind the ribs. A weight that didn’t belong there.

Like something was trying to surface.

But that was probably just because I haven't eaten yet.

I stayed on the couch after Ningning left.

Long enough for the muted show to end. Long enough for my legs to go stiff. I didn’t notice how tense I was until I stood up and my spine popped like an old floorboard.

I stretched, wandered into the kitchen.

The croissant box was still open.

I shut it without looking.

Footsteps behind me. Louder than Ningning’s. Slower.

Karina.

She was wearing all black—sweats, tank top, hair half-tied like she couldn’t be bothered to finish it. She didn’t say anything at first. Just walked in and opened the fridge.

She pulled out a protein drink, popped the cap, took a sip. Her eyes met mine over the rim.

“You’re still here,” she said.

It wasn’t cold. Not exactly. But it wasn’t warm either.

“Morning,” I said.

She nodded once. Then leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, bottle resting against her wrist.

Silence.

I waited. Let it stretch.

Finally, she said, “You’ve been spending a lot of time here.”

“I can leave.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You think you can read me?”

“No. Just recognizing the tone.”

Another pause.

Then: “I don’t have a problem with you.”

“Doesn’t sound like you don’t.”

She exhaled through her nose. Not quite a sigh. More like she was trying not to sigh.

“I’m responsible for them,” she said. “All of them. And when new variables show up—especially ones that affect the dynamic—it’s my job to know what those variables want.”

I blinked. “So I’m a variable?”

“You’re not family. You’re not staff. You’re not press. And you’re sure as hell not invisible.”

She said it without malice. Just fact.

I nodded slowly.

Then I smiled. “You practiced that one?”

A flicker of something in her eyes. Almost amusement. Almost.

“I’ve said it before.”

“Of course you have.”

Karina didn’t reply. She took another sip. Then looked past me—toward the hall. Like she was tracking where the others were. How much time she had left to speak freely.

I didn’t move.

She looked at me again.

“Do you want something from them?” she asked.

There it was.

I looked at her. Long enough that she started to fidget with the bottle cap.

"No," I said "not the way you're thinking."

She didn’t answer.

Just pushed off the counter and said, “We’re leaving in a bit. Don’t be here too long.”

Then she walked past me.

But just before she turned the corner, she stopped.

Not turned. Just… paused.

Then she said, “Don’t hurt them.”

I went back to Winter’s room after the front door shut.

The house was quiet again. Fully this time. No footsteps. No voices. Just the distant hum of a fridge and the faint buzz of a light that needed replacing.

Winter was gone.

So was the wax. The water bottle. The sheets had been pulled off the bed and dumped into a basket in the corner.

The window was cracked open. A little breeze moved the curtain.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and let the silence settle over me.

I tried not to think about Karina’s voice. Her phrasing. The way she’d looked at me like I was already an answer to a problem she didn’t want to have.

Don’t hurt them.

I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a warning or a plea.

I stayed there for a while.

Just listening to the silence.

Just trying to breathe through whatever was building in my chest.

I didn’t move right away.

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful anymore. It pressed in, thick around the ribs. Not unbearable, not loud—just there. The kind of quiet that made your own thoughts louder.

I stared at the window for a while.

Then at the floor.

Then at my hands.

There was wax under my fingernails. Faint marks on my skin from Winter’s nails. A line on my arm I didn’t remember getting. All of it felt distant, like it had happened to someone else.

Eventually, I got up and grabbed the sheets from the basket. Found the washer tucked into a corner of the hall closet and fed them in. The sound of the machine kicking on gave the house a pulse again. Something real. Something mechanical.

The bathroom was empty. No sign of Winter. Just fog on the mirror and a towel still damp on the rack. I ran cold water over my wrists and splashed my face. Let it drip down my jaw and over my collarbone.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Didn’t hold the stare.

Just dried off and left.

I walked through the house barefoot. No real aim. Just enough momentum to keep from standing still.

There was a book open on the coffee table, spine cracked, page corners folded like someone couldn’t decide which parts mattered most.

One of the windows was cracked, just like in Winter’s room. A breeze carried through, warm and almost sweet.

And that’s when it happened.

Nothing big. Just a glint.

There was a receipt half-tucked under the couch.

Folded once. Creased along the edges. The kind of thing you’d toss without thinking.

I bent down and picked it up.

Didn’t mean to.

Just… did.

The paper was thin, slightly smudged from the floor. Boutique logo in the corner. Just a total at the bottom:

$4,700.

One item. No name. No note.

My fingers twitched.

The paper was on the counter. Folded once. Nothing dramatic. I only opened it because it looked out of place. Too clean. Like it didn’t belong in our kitchen. One of those carbon-copy receipts. Cash payment. Two signatures at the bottom. One of them his.

The total was written in blue ink: $4,700.00 No item. No reason. No names. Just a number and a date. I don’t remember what I thought at first. Maybe it was for the car. Maybe they were renting something. Maybe it had nothing to do with me.

He had been coming over more. He brought things. Food sometimes. Ice cream, once. Strawberry. He always smiled too wide, like it hurt him not to. My mom told me to sit up straight when he was there. Told me to be respectful. That he was helping us. She started checking in on us less and less. When I said I didn’t like him—she told me not to be ungrateful. That night, he touched my shoulder. Not like a hug. Not a pat. Just a hold. He said, “You’re growing fast.” And I smiled. Because I didn’t know what else to do.

I put the paper back down.

Didn’t read the rest.

But when I sat down, I realized I was still gripping my hand too tight.

I didn’t want to.

By the time I got back to the guest room, my pulse had kicked up. I told myself it was just from walking fast. Or not sleeping.

Still feeling that old weight coil somewhere deep behind the ribs.

Or maybe I'm just tired.

Yeah. That's all it is.

I stayed on the edge of the bed until the quiet stopped feeling like rest.

Then I got up.

I wandered the house for a bit—hallway, kitchen, past the washer still thumping behind a thin wall. Sunlight had shifted. The croissant box hadn’t moved.

I didn’t realize I was by the front window until the door opened behind me.

Soft click.

Footsteps. Unhurried. Certain.

Karina.

“You’re still here,” she said.

I looked over.

She’d changed. Black jacket, clean lines. Hair pulled back. Sunglasses in one hand. The kind of look that didn’t ask questions—it waited for you to say something wrong.

“I don’t keep a schedule,” I said.

She passed me without breaking stride. Opened the fridge. Grabbed a drink. Shut the door like it settled something.

“You eat?”

“No.”

She unscrewed the cap, drank, didn’t blink. Then leaned back against the counter, bottle cradled in one hand. Watching.

“Something get to you?”

“No.”

She tilted her head slightly, like she was scanning for a crack in the surface. “That’s a fast answer.”

“It’s a boring question.”

She smirked.

Then, after a moment: “You act like letting someone do something for you is the same as giving them control.”

I didn't ask her what she was talking about.

Just looked at her. “And you act like doing things for people is the same as protecting them.”

That stopped her for a second.

Then: “So we’re both exhausting.”

“Looks like it.”

She didn’t smile. But something eased in her stance—like she’d been bracing for a different kind of pushback.

We stood there, the hum of the fridge filling the space between us.

Then she said, voice low but steady, “Whatever’s eating at you—just be careful who you try to hide it from.”

I didn’t reply.

She stepped past me again. Almost out the door.

Then paused.

Didn’t turn around. Just said, “You don’t owe anyone a role to play.”

And then she was gone.

I stayed in the kitchen a little too long after that.

The bottle she left behind was still cold. Half-full. I moved it to the side, like that meant something.

The house had gone quiet again.

But not peaceful. Just… expectant.

I walked the loop once—past the living room, down the hallway, back to the front. No one else had come back. The door stayed closed.

When I passed the kitchen again, Karina was there.

I didn’t hear her come in. She wasn’t by the fridge this time—she was at the counter, checking something on her phone, brows drawn just slightly like whatever it was didn’t quite sit right.

Her jacket was gone. Her sleeves pushed up.

“You always pace like that?” she asked, not looking up.

“I didn’t know I was pacing.”

“You were.”

I leaned against the doorframe.

She glanced up. Studied me for a second. Then set her phone face down and walked to the sink. Started rinsing out a mug that wasn’t hers.

“Where’s everyone else?”

She shrugged. “Still out.”

“You came back early.”

“I had a headache.”

She dried the mug. Didn’t elaborate.

I waited for her to say something else. She didn’t.

“I can go,” I offered.

Karina looked over her shoulder.

One long glance.

“No one asked you to.”

That could’ve meant anything.

I didn’t move.

She turned back to the sink. Wiped down the counter with one of those practiced, unnecessary motions people do when they’re thinking about something else.

“You always this twitchy when it gets quiet?” she asked.

“I’m not twitchy.”

She set the cloth down. “You flinched when I walked in.”

I hadn’t.

At least—I didn’t think I had.

But I didn’t argue.

Karina leaned back against the counter again. Arms crossed. She didn’t speak for a moment.

Then: “You’re not what I expected.”

That was it. Not a compliment. Not an accusation. Just a fact.

I met her eyes. “Good or bad?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

We just stood there—two people who weren’t used to being read, trying to decide if the other one already had.

The tension didn’t come from anger. Or lust. Or even suspicion.

It came from recognition.

Not of who we were.

But of what we were hiding.

Karina didn’t move.

Neither did I.

The silence didn’t press—it pulled. Like gravity shifting. Like we were both calculating what happened if one of us made the first move.

She looked at me again. Not challenging. Not coaxing. Just... there. Like she wasn’t going to fill the silence for me.

So I filled it.

“Are you always this hard to talk to?”

Her mouth twitched. “Says the guy who deflects every chance he gets.”

My chest tightened. Brief. Automatic.

But I covered it. "I don''t.”

“I see a lot.”

That wasn’t a brag.

Just a fact.

I held her gaze. She didn’t look away.

“Then what do you see now?”

Karina’s arms stayed crossed. Her jaw worked slightly—like the question hadn’t surprised her, but the weight of it had.

Finally, she said, “Someone trying really hard not to need anything.”

That stung a little more than it should.

But I didn’t show it.

She stepped forward.

Just a little.

Enough for the air between us to shift.

“I don’t care what you’ve done. Or what you think you’re hiding,” she said. “Just don’t lie to me. Not here.”

I wanted to say I wasn’t.

But I didn’t.

Because she’d know that was a lie too.

Karina stood there, looking at me like she was still deciding something. Like some part of her had already decided and she just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

Her next words came quieter. Slower.

“I don't dislike you," she said "And I don’t like most people.”

“Lucky me.”

She didn’t smile.

But she didn’t step back either.

Then, almost under her breath—like she wasn’t even sure I was supposed to hear it:

“Come with me.”

And this time, when she walked, I followed.

She didn’t wait to see if I was behind her.

Didn’t explain. Didn’t glance back.

Just walked.

Down the hall. Past the guest room. Past the living room. Toward the quieter end of the house—the part I hadn’t seen yet. Her steps were quiet. Measured. Not fast. Not slow. Just… deliberate.

Like this wasn’t a new decision.

Just one she’d been waiting to act on.

She stopped in front of a closed door. Tapped the frame once with her knuckles. Then opened it.

Her room.

It was spare. Clean. Lived-in but private. No clutter. A few books stacked neatly beside the bed. A phone charger coiled in a dish. Light coming in from a tall window, filtered through half-drawn curtains.

Karina stepped inside and let the silence settle for a beat.

Then turned.

Not facing me directly. Just glancing over her shoulder like she was giving me one last out.

“You coming in, or do I need to drag you?”

I stepped in.

Closed the door behind me.

She stood by the bed. Not waiting. Not posing. Just… watching.

Like she wanted to see what I did first.

I didn’t rush.

Didn’t speak.

Just let the air shift again.

Then I reached for her wrist.

Slow.

Measured.

Not to pull her closer—but to see if she’d stop me.

She didn’t.

Her pulse was steady.

Her eyes didn’t drop.

But the second I brushed my thumb across the inside of her wrist, I felt it.

That tension.

Not fear.

Control.

Held tight. Reinforced. Hardened.

Like she’d built something out of it—and wasn’t sure how to let go.

I moved closer.

Close enough to feel the heat off her skin.

But I didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

She tilted her chin up slightly. That same challenge from before—not verbal. Not overt.

Just a look that said: You really want this?

And a look that answered: I didn’t follow you in here by accident.

Finally—finally—Karina leaned in.

Close enough I could count her breaths.

And said, just above a whisper:

“Don’t think this means anything.”

I smiled. “You say that like it has to.”

Then I kissed her.

And everything tightened.

Her hands found the hem of my shirt. Mine tangled in the knot of her waistband. Our mouths didn’t fit perfectly—too much force, too little hesitation—but that was the point.

This wasn’t gentle.

This wasn’t careful.

This was two people who didn’t like losing control—deciding to share it, just for a little while.

And neither of us planned to be the first to break.

Karina didn’t flinch.

The kiss deepened. Less careful now. Still sharp, but starting to unravel.

Her fingers slid into my hair.

I let her take the lead.

She kissed like she argued—without flinching, without apology. Like she knew exactly where her limits were and had no interest in staying behind them.

Her teeth scraped my lip. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to warn.

I bit back a sound.

That made her smile against my mouth.

And then she stepped back.

Only far enough to look at me fully.

“Sit,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you always hesitate this much?”

“I’m just curious what happens if I don’t.”

That earned me another one of those not-quite-smiles.

She pushed me gently toward the couch. Not rough. Just firm.

I let her.

She straddled me the second I sat down. One knee on either side. Her hands resting on my chest like she wasn’t planning on being gentle.

Then she kissed me again—deeper this time. With purpose.

Like she was writing something she didn’t want to say out loud.

My hands ran down her back. Slid under the hem of her shirt. Her skin was warm. Tight over muscle. Soft in all the right places.

She reached between us, unbuttoned my jeans, slow and practiced. Then tugged them down just enough.

I groaned.

She didn’t react. Just pulled her shirt off over her head and tossed it somewhere behind her. No theatrics. No hesitation.

Her bra was plain. Black. Practical.

She didn’t take it off.

Just reached behind her and unclasped it slowly—like she wanted me to see, not touch.

Then she held my eyes and said, quiet and flat, “You don’t get to cum yet.”

My pulse jumped.

She smiled like that was the point.

Then she shifted forward—grinding against me just enough to make my whole body clench.

“Hands stay here,” she said, guiding them to her hips.

I didn’t argue.

Her rhythm started slow. Measured. Like she was using me. Like she was getting herself off on my restraint.

Her breath hitched once. But she didn’t speed up. Didn’t give me more. Just kept circling her hips—just enough pressure, just enough friction. Her hands dug into my shoulders, fingers flexing in time with her movements.

I clenched my jaw. Bit back the urge to thrust up into her.

She noticed.

And smirked.

“Good boy,” she whispered, voice low and wicked in my ear.

Then she kissed my throat. Bit it.

I swallowed a sound I didn’t want to give her.

But she could feel it. The tension in my thighs. The way my breath stuttered every time her hips pressed down too hard.

She was doing this on purpose.

Driving me to the edge without letting me fall.

I didn’t stop her.

Not yet.

Because part of me wanted to know how far she’d go.

Her hands didn’t tremble.

They moved with a kind of precision that wasn’t born from caution—but intent. Like she'd already played this scene out in her mind a hundred times. Like she'd measured every nerve she was about to touch and knew exactly how long it would take to unravel them.

She sank to her knees in front of me.

Not submissive.

She looked up once, eyes catching mine—not asking for permission, but daring me to flinch.

I didn’t.

But my breath hitched when her hands met my hips.

She didn’t undress me right away. Just held me there. Fingers spread over the waistband of my pants. Palms warm. Steady. Anchoring me to the moment while her gaze flicked lower, calculating.

Then she said, "Don’t move."

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

She started pulling on my pants slowly.

And when she freed me, her touch wasn't gentle. It was clinical. Possessive. She wrapped her fingers around me like she owned the next few minutes of my life. Like she was about to write something into my skin I wouldn't be able to erase.

She didn’t start stroking. Not yet. Just held me there, weight firm in her hand, thumb brushing once along the underside—a barely-there tease that made me bite back a sound.

She noticed.

She always noticed.

And that smirk returned. Darker now. Less amused. More... hungry.

Her mouth came next.

But not to take me in.

She kissed the inside of my thigh.

Then the other.

Then higher. Closer.

But never where I needed her.

She was methodical. Borderline cruel. Her lips grazed everything but the one place they were supposed to be. And her hands never let up—fingers curled tight, pressure perfect. Just enough to keep me hard. Just enough to keep me waiting.

She liked waiting.

"How long do you think you can hold off?" she asked, her voice low, lips brushing the base of me with each word.

I didn’t answer.

She rewarded the silence with teeth.

Just a graze. Barely pressure. But I jerked anyway.

She laughed.

Not sweet. Not cruel. Just sure.

"Already twitchy."

She finally took me into her mouth then—but not deep. Just the tip. Her tongue pressed firm underneath, circling once, twice, then pulling back. Her hand took over again. A few strokes. Slow. Measured.

Then nothing.

She let go.

She stood.

My hands went to her waist instinctively, but she caught my wrists mid-air.

"No," she said.

And pushed me back.

Hard.

I stumbled until my back hit the nearest wall.

She followed. Pressed her body against mine. One hand sliding between us to grip me again, the other pressing against my throat—not choking. Just there. Just a promise.

She kissed me then.

Mouth demanding. Tongue insistent. Her grip on me never eased. Every movement was calculated. Like she was testing how much it would take. How long I'd last.

She started stroking again. Slow at first. Then faster. Then slow again. Her pace was a lie. Her rhythm a trap. She'd bring me to the edge and let me feel the weight of it.

Then stop.

Every. Single. Time.

And she loved it.

Her breath hit my ear. "You don’t get to finish until I say you can."

I let out a breath that sounded too much like a groan.

Her smile was teeth. Predatory.

"Say it," she demanded.

I swallowed. "I don’t get to finish until you say I can."

"Good boy."

She grinded against my thigh then—not to tease me, but herself. Her hips moved like she had something to prove. Like she was going to come from control alone.

She almost did.

Even as her hips moved—slow, firm, measured—she kept her hand braced against my chest, nails digging in just enough to remind me who was on top. But I didn’t fight it. Not yet. I let her use me the way she needed.

My hands stayed low, palms steady on the curve of her waist. She rocked forward again. Harder this time. Her breath caught. But I didn’t groan. Didn’t buck. I just held her there, letting her feel how calm I still was.

She noticed.

There was the smallest flicker of hesitation in the way her rhythm stuttered. Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

She leaned closer. Pressed her mouth to my ear. “Say something.”

I turned my head just enough to meet her gaze. “I thought you liked being the one in charge.”

She stared at me. For a beat. Maybe two. Then she moved again—rougher now, her nails dragging lower, her mouth brushing mine like a dare.

“You think you’re handling this?” she whispered.

“No.”

A pause.

“But I’m handling you.”

She tried not to react. But her breath shook just a little when I pushed my hips up—slow, deliberate—meeting her motion instead of letting her ride it.

Her mouth parted.

My hands slid higher. One at her lower back, the other between her shoulder blades. Not forcing. Just anchoring.

Guiding.

The next time she moved, I moved with her.

And she felt it.

Her pace faltered.

Not because she was losing control—but because she knew I wasn’t following anymore.

Still gentle. Still careful. But she could feel it. The shift. Her hands came down to my chest again—less to dominate, more to steady herself.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” she said, breathless.

“Doing what?”

Her eyes narrowed. She leaned down—bit my bottom lip. Hard enough to sting. But when I pulled her closer, it was without flinching.

“You like being on top,” I said. “But I think you'd like being taken care of more..”

She froze.

Just long enough for me to flip us.

I didn’t slam her down. Didn’t yank. It was smooth—fluid. She gasped as her back hit the mattress, legs still around my waist, one arm caught between us.

My hand caught her jaw.

Not hard. But firm.

“You good?”

She nodded once. Breathless.

“Say it.”

“I’m good.”

My thumb brushed her cheek. “Then don’t stop me.”

She didn’t.

Didn’t try to flip us back. Didn’t try to claw her way out.

She just laid there—eyes dark, lips parted—and let the change settle.

And I started to move.

Deliberate. Focused. Controlled.

The way she had moments ago.

Only now it was me setting the rhythm.

Me deciding how far she got to fall.

Karina didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her breath told me everything—sharp when I pressed in deeper, soft when I slowed. Her hands gripped the sheets now, knuckles pale against the dark cotton. Her body tried to keep the pace, but I kept shifting it—just enough to stay ahead of her, just enough to remind her she wasn’t the one driving anymore.

I caught both her wrists and pinned them gently above her head.

She tensed.

Not from fear.

She didn’t fight.

Just looked up at me, eyes locked, breath shallow.

I leaned down until our foreheads touched. My voice was quiet.

“Stay.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t need to.

I let one hand slide down—slow, dragging from her collarbone to her sternum, then between her breasts. Her skin jumped under my touch. I traced small shapes across her ribs. Her hips bucked.

She was trying to be still.

But her body was betraying her.

“You hold tension in weird places,” I murmured. “Here. Here.”

My thumb pressed into the hollow beneath her hip.

“And here.”

Her thighs squeezed around me.

“Fuck—”

That was the first time she cracked.

I kissed her.

Didn’t give her time to recover. Just took her mouth while my other hand trailed lower—slow, deliberate, every touch a question she was too breathless to answer.

When I finally pushed in again—deep, slow, cruel in the way it lingered—her whole body arched.

“Fuck—Mylo—”

“You still in control?” I whispered.

Her breath stuttered. “No.”

“Good.”

I didn’t fuck her fast. I fucked her deep. Hard enough to make the headboard thump, slow enough to make her feel every inch. I watched her try to keep up—watched her nails claw the sheets, her jaw slack, her neck arched like surrender.

I let go of her wrists.

She didn’t move them.

I leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“Come when I say.”

She whimpered.

“Don’t.”

Another thrust—deep, angled just right—and she choked on a moan.

“Please—”

“No.”

I slowed down even more.

Her legs trembled.

I kissed her throat. Bit just lightly beneath her jaw. Her hands tangled above her head like they were the only things anchoring her.

“You like being handled,” I said. “You like being seen.”

Her voice cracked. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” I murmured. “But I’m learning fast.”

Another thrust. Another gasp.

Her breath was coming apart. Her body had started to shake. She wasn’t pretending anymore. Couldn’t. I watched her try to hang on—watched her fall apart in silence.

And I held her there.

Right on the edge.

Right where I wanted her.

Her hands finally broke free.

Not to push me off.

To grab my shoulders—nails digging, pulling like she didn’t care who was watching, like she couldn’t hold the weight anymore.

“Mylo—fuck—”

Her voice was hoarse now, shredded thin from holding back. Her thighs locked around me again, trying to pull me in faster, deeper. I didn’t let her.

I pulled back.

Slowed.

Teased the head of my cock just inside her, barely thrusting. Just enough to keep her right there. Her whole body trembled.

“Please—”

That was the first time she begged.

I didn’t move.

“Use your words.”

“I—” she choked, eyes fluttering open, lips parted. “I need it.”

“Need what?”

“You.”

“More.”

“I—I need to come. Please.”

I gave her one deep thrust. Her back arched like I’d lit a fuse.

Then I stopped again.

She screamed through her teeth, head falling back against the pillow. Her hands grabbed at me like she couldn’t decide whether to push me away or pull me under.

I kissed her jaw. Her temple. Her mouth.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Please—I need to come—I need it—I can’t—”

“Good girl.”

I didn’t warn her.

I just fucked her.

Hard, deep, relentless. No space to breathe. No time to catch the rhythm—just motion, pressure, heat. Her body seized around me, but I didn’t stop. Her breath broke apart—gasps, curses, wordless cries.

And then she came.

Loud.

Whole-body shaking, legs wrapped tight around me, hands clawing down my back, voice ragged as she screamed through it.

But I didn’t stop.

I kept going.

She tried to pull away—hips twitching, thighs flinching from overstimulation—but I held her still, mouth pressed to her neck, one hand gripping her hip to keep her from slipping out of reach.

“Mylo—fuck, fuck, I—” she sobbed. “I can’t—I—”

“You can.”

“I’m—ahhh—!”

Another orgasm hit her like a shockwave.

Raw.

Messy.

She wasn’t fighting anymore—just writhing, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, sweat glistening down her stomach. Her whole body burned under me, breathless and wrecked.

And I kept going until her voice was gone.

Until her body went slack.

Until she stopped begging—

Because she had nothing left to give.

Only then did I slow down.

Only then did I kiss her again—soft, careful, like I hadn’t just broken her in half.

“You ok?” I whispered.

She didn’t speak.

Just nodded.

Barely.

The room was warm.

Not stuffy. Not heavy. Just warm in the way bodies leave behind—the kind that lives in the air after you’ve been undone.

Karina hadn’t said anything.

She lay flat on her back, one arm over her eyes, the other bent at her side, fingers brushing the sheet. Her breath was mostly steady now. Mostly. But her mouth was still parted slightly, like the air tasted different.

I stayed beside her.

Close, but not too close. Enough that if she moved, I’d feel it. Enough that if she didn’t, I’d still know she was there.

Neither of us reached for the other.

Her hair was a mess. Her lips were bitten. Her chest rose and fell with the same deliberate rhythm she used when she was trying not to react.

It was like watching someone rebuild.

Quietly. Without admitting they’d ever broken.

I let the silence stretch.

No need to rush.

Eventually, I got up. Found her water bottle on the desk. Walked it over, uncapped it, and held it out.

She didn’t move at first.

Then, slowly, she pulled her arm away from her eyes, looked at the bottle, and took it. Not with a thank-you. Not even with a nod. Just… took it. Like it was expected. Like I already knew.

She drank.

Then handed it back.

I set it down.

Still nothing.

Karina turned her face toward the ceiling. Her mouth twitched like she was about to say something, then didn’t. Instead, she closed her eyes again. Her throat moved as she swallowed. Her knuckles flexed once, then stilled.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Didn’t press. Didn’t fill the space.

Eventually, she said, voice soft but even, "You like doing that."

"What?"

"Taking control."

I waited a beat. Then said, "You don’t?"

That got a flicker of something—a breath out that was almost a laugh.

"I like winning," she said.

"Is that what this was?"

She didn’t answer.

I leaned back on my hands. Let the silence resettle.

She glanced at me again, eyes sharp now. Not guarded. Just clear. “You think you read me.”

“I think you wanted to be read.”

That made her sit up slightly. Only a little. Sheet slipping down her back.

“You think I let you?” she asked.

“I think you wanted someone to try.”

Her jaw tensed.

She turned away again, legs drawing up. Elbows on her knees now. Her fingers threaded through her hair.

I stood. Crossed the room. Grabbed her shirt from where it had been dropped. Walked it over. Held it out.

She didn’t look up.

But she took it.

Slid it over her shoulders.

Still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

"You gonna vanish now?" she asked.

I sat down beside her again. “Do you want me to?”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t say yes.

And she didn’t move away.

So I stayed.

My fingers brushed hers lightly where they rested on her knee. She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t react.

But she didn’t pull back either.

We stayed like that. Breathing the same air. Sitting in the quiet we’d made together.

Not soft. Not tender. Just calm.

The kind of calm that comes after the storm.

And the kind that says: this isn’t over. Not yet.

Karina shifted beside me, just enough that the sheet rustled between us. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t reach for me. But I felt the pause.

That tiny hesitation before her fingers brushed the edge of my wrist.

I didn’t move.

Her hand didn’t pull away.

For a second, we stayed like that. Not touching, not quite. Just… hovering near something we hadn’t named yet.

She sighed through her nose. Quiet. Controlled.

“I’m not good at this part,” she said.

I didn’t ask what she meant. I knew.

I let my palm slide over hers, slow, not forcing. Just contact. Just weight.

“You don’t have to be,” I said.

Another breath. Longer this time.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, almost like it annoyed her.

I half-smiled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull away either.

Her fingers curled slightly around mine.

A long silence passed.

I thought she’d fallen asleep—her breathing had gone shallow again, even—but then, just when I was starting to drift, I felt her shift against me. Her voice came low. Not sleepy.

“You’re pulling back.”

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling above us hadn’t changed.

But something in the room had.

“From what?”

She was quiet for a moment. Then: “Us.”

I didn’t respond.

She turned to face me. Barely a shape in the low light. One hand traced up my chest, paused over my collarbone.

“You don’t let the others notice, do you?”

Her voice wasn’t soft. It wasn’t cruel either. Just… knowing.

I swallowed. “There’s nothing to notice.”

Karina didn’t call me on the lie.

She just nodded, like that was the answer she expected. Then whispered, almost too low to hear:

“Don’t make me chase you.”

That shook me a bit.

Not because she sounded afraid.

But because she didn’t.

I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t promise I wouldn’t disappear.

But my hand stayed over hers.

And for now—that was enough.

[baezen]

starving | j.a

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], touch starved!jack, loneliness, slight sub!jack, clingy!jack, call girl!reader, male moans/whimpering, dry humping, making out like handsy/horny teenagers, jack's a mess and makes a mess of you, cowgirl, jack begs, dirty talk, desperation, squirting, word count: 5585

summary: in which jack's loneliness causes him to reach out to someone he's surprised is very understanding

author's note: further continuation of this piece. i took so long to write this because i didn't want it to be rushed. i wanted to do his character justice and i hope i achieved that. i hope y'all enjoy

oneshot | masterlist

It started with a phone call, like always. New clients had to be screened, they had to form a working relationship with you. 

You’d had your fair share of sketchy clients. Some who had tried to push you past your limits, others refusing to pay. You’d made a new rule that they always had to pay half upfront, and show they had the rest of the cash on them when you met them. If they wanted to extend the booking, they had that option, but the charge always varied depending on what they wanted to do. 

Some wanted to cuddle, engaging in pillow talk. Some wanted to prove they could make you finish again, if only to gloat. Some simply wanted the time to shower together, helping you to clean up. 

Nothing was ever free. 

There was one client you had who simply liked to talk. The company of watching a movie together, of talking about his day. 

Needless to say, Jack had become one of your favourite clients. You looked forward to his texts, asking for your availability. You always made sure to get a nice hotel. Somewhere with a comfy sofa, a huge bed, and a spectacular view. 

Jack always praised the view. 

At first, you’d assumed it was a compliment for you. He’d said it while staring out the window, watching the sun set over the city. Still, he’d looked at you—looked through you—in order to stand in front of the window. 

You stood alongside him. Muttering something about the city and the night, the peace it brought you, and the smile that had tugged the corners of his mouth had been worth it. 

One of the first things you’d noticed about Jack was that he wore a wedding band. Most of your clients weren’t as obvious with their cheating, opting to take it off, but the tan line was still there. Jack had seen you staring. Hell, he saw everything you did. He was always watching, always paying attention. He hadn’t mentioned it, but you had. 

“She passed away a few years ago,” he had confessed quietly, voice thick and gravelly like he wasn’t used to talking about her. “Can’t bring myself to take it off.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” you had assured him softly. 

Something about him told you everything you needed to know. The faraway look to his eyes, the weight he carried on his shoulders. From the initial phone call, you hadn’t been sure what to make of him. Now that he was in front of you, it looked like he needed a friend more than anything else. So you’d suggested a movie, something easy to watch, and he’d joined you on the bed. 

Jack had sat upright for most of the movie, and you’d made yourself comfortable lying beside him. Head near his lap, his hand aimlessly playing with your hair—like it was muscle memory. His fingertips had scratched your scalp and you’d sighed, enjoying the feeling. The comfort. The familiarity. 

Over the next few months, your meetings had been much the same. Sometimes he made a few comments, thinly veiled jokes to break the tension. Most of the time, he preferred the quiet. Knowing someone was there with him when he was stuck in his head. 

You never pushed for him to talk. Never made him feel guilty for needing a friend to sit with him, even if that friend was being paid to spend time with him. 

You enjoyed it. The break from the norm. The ease you settled into once he picked a movie to watch. 

One time he brought dinner. Something he’d made earlier in the day. He’d been chatty that day, something you noticed he did when he didn’t know how to process what was going on in his head. 

“It’s her birthday,” he’d told you. The weight of his words, the anxious fiddling with his wedding band, the meal. It all made sense. 

He’d watched you pick up the phone to call room service. You’d ordered a bottle of bubbles with three glasses, as well as three slices of cake. You did it so effortlessly that he got a little choked up. No hesitation, no awkwardness, just a patient understanding. Acknowledging the woman he was still in love with, with grace and poise. 

He’d seen you in a new light that day. Over the toast you’d made to his wife, and the care you’d shown him. The understanding that grief was a process. Healing was a process. That you saw him as a friend, not just a client. 

Jack started to talk a little more with each meeting. About his day—you’d learned he was a doctor. About his wife—his smile was always a little brighter each time. About your day—you tried not to reveal too much, but talking to him was easy. He didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Didn’t push for details like some men did. He let you tell him what you were comfortable revealing. 

Hell, you’d even told him how you got into your line of work. He’d never passed judgement, or made you feel like you deserved better. He never suggested a change in career, but you’d told him you were taking classes and hoped one day to become a licensed child psychologist. 

“You’d be good at that,” he’d said with a smile. “There’s something about you that puts me at ease. That’s not an easy thing. Those kids would thrive with your guidance.”

“You really think so?” You’d asked. 

“I do.”

There was no doubt in his voice. It was firm, assertive, reassuring. Something you’d needed to hear but didn’t know how to go about getting it. And the fact that it came from Jack meant a lot more than you were willing to admit. 

Your body ached as you lowered yourself into the bath, iPad sitting on the tray hooked over the sides, along with a large glass of wine and some snacks. You pressed play on the screen, the intro to your comfort show starting within seconds. 

You didn’t have much time for simple pleasures these days, so you basked in the opportunity. Bubble mixture and rose oil added to the tub, the hot water soaking your aching muscles. The wine going down a treat, and the snacks curbing your hunger. 

The second episode had just started when you got a message from Jack. 

I know this is late notice, but can I see you tomorrow morning when I finish my shift? I need something to look forward to. 

I don’t have anywhere booked. Is a café okay?

You’re comfortable with that?

Absolutely, are you?

I finish at 7am. Will you find us someplace nice? 

I’ll have coffee and breakfast waiting for you. 

You sent him the name of the café you liked to frequent. You knew he worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, and it was only two blocks away. It was also nearby your campus, and you had two classes tomorrow with the first one starting at 10. You didn’t think meeting Jack would be that long, but you’d at least be able to get some study done for a paper you had due. 

The bath worked wonders. You felt relaxed, a little tipsy, and had something to look forward to in the morning. Setting an alarm for six, to give yourself enough time to get ready and pack your study bag. 

By the time the morning came around, your alarm pulled you from your sleep, and you made an effort while getting ready. A little touch of makeup to feel put together, hair styled just the way you liked, and a comfy coat that tied your outfit together. You packed your bag, and then you were off. Making your way to the cafe with a few minutes to spare, knowing Jack sill hadn’t finished work yet, but that he would be there shortly.

Coffee and food was ordered, and you took up a seat at a comfortable little table near the back. Grabbing your phone to see if there were any new messages from Jack, and being delighted to see a text he’d sent half an hour ago.

Might be a little late. Had a rough night. Looking forward to seeing you.

Take your time, I’ll see you when I see you.

You sipped your coffee when it arrived, having put a hold on the food for the time being. Waiting until Jack said he was officially on his way to the cafe before you asked the staff to start on breakfast.

Jack walked through the doors a couple of minutes later, backpack hanging off one shoulder, still dressed in his dark scrubs from the hospital. He wore a soft smile when he saw you, one you easily reciprocated.

“Hey,” he greeted easily, looking like the night had tested him one too many times. Still, he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat opposite you. 

“Hey,” you replied. “You’ve looked better.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled. “Thanks for meeting me, I know you don’t do this.”

“I had time,” you said simply. “You need a friend or a therapist today?”

Jack exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat and reaching for his coffee. “Neither. Both. I don’t know.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not about me,” he admitted. 

“You can be my sounding board for my research presentation later this week,” you decided, pulling your iPad out to flick through your notes. 

Jack looked more settled opposite you, and thanked the waitress for your meals. You gave her a polite smile, picking at a tomato before wasting no time starting your speech. 

You showed different graphs on slides to reiterate your point. Every now and then, Jack gestured to your plate, prompting you to pause and eat, but otherwise listened completely. He nodded along with facts and statistics, asked the odd question to continue along with your line of reasoning. 

When you were finished with your speech, he clapped politely, a smile gracing his face. 

“Any pointers?”

“Look more at whoever you’re giving the speech to,” he said. “Otherwise it was very good.”

You grinned as you packed your iPad away, reaching for your coffee and finishing it. Jack gestured to the empty mug. 

“Another?”

“Please.”

The remainder of your omelette had grown cold, but it was still good. When Jack rejoined you, you were finishing up your last bite. 

“So,” you started. “Bad night, huh?”

Jack sighed, scraping at the dusting off stubble along his jaw. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed with a half-smile.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you replied, giving him a pointed look.

He sighed. “No. We lost a vet. Young guy, did two tours overseas no problem, then gets hit by a drunk driver when he comes home. Just…hit a little too close to home.”

You nodded. He hadn’t told you much of his time with the army, but you knew that he had a history serving.

“Shit,” you cursed.  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been pretty early in your shift?”

Jack nodded. “Spent a few hours trying to contact the family. Eventually got in touch with his sister. It’s just…the worst news to receive over the phone, you know? It’s supposed to be done in person, but she won’t arrive until later today.”

“Will you be going back to speak to her?”

Jack shook his head. “I wrote a letter instead. Gave it to the dayshift to read on my behalf. That’s why I was running late; contemplating life and existence from the roof of the hospital.”

“Just don’t jump, yeah?”

He cracked a smile at that. “Would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

“That, and I don’t really have time in my schedule for a funeral,” you said, earning a genuine laugh.

“Robby said something similar.” He wore a smile. “Dayshift attending.”

“A friend?”

“A brother.”

“I’m glad you have someone who gets it,” you told him. “Thank you,” you said to the waitress who brought your coffees over. “How’s everything else going? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It’s been a bit existential.”

You didn’t say anything, giving him the time to decide if he wanted to. Instead, you sipped your coffee and watched him spin his in the saucer.

“Had a breakthrough with my therapist,” he said. “I guess I’ve been a little caught up in it.”

“You’re allowed to be,” you replied. “You look tired, Jack. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Just a crazy shift, is all,” he told you. “I’ll go home and sleep soon.”

“Good.” You smiled. 

“Are you free tonight?”

“For you, I can be.”

There was a slight tinge of colour that blossomed on Jack’s cheeks. “If you already have plans, I get it.”

“Jack, I don’t have any plans,” you assured him. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll book the usual room, but I’m not watching Mission Impossible again.”

“Understood,” he said, chuckling softly. 

Your day had been busy. Between your two classes, you’d attempted to record your presentation to see how long it actually was. You’d done some shopping for this evening, a little care package you’d decided to put together for Jack. 

It was what friends did, right? Something nice for each other when someone was feeling down? 

You hoped he’d appreciate it. Some nice skincare products, nothing too extraneous. Something soothing, for the days his leg hurt. Something hydrating, for the excessive hand-sanitising he does working at the hospital. Some nice chocolates from the bougie shop in town, since you knew he had a sweet tooth. A knife, because you could never have too many. Lastly, a set of cotton pyjamas. Something soft that wouldn’t irritate him, or get too hot in the warmer months. 

The basket sat on the bed of the hotel, all ready to give to him when he arrived, as you watched the news, waiting to hear back from Jack. He’d gone back to the hospital, despite it being his day off, to help with the shooting that the news was reporting. Several casualties had already been reported, with a lot of critical patients being routed to PTMC. 

From the coverage you knew it was bad. You knew he was doing the right thing by going in to help. His friends, his colleagues, would need the extra set of hands. 

So you waited anxiously, already a glass of wine deep amidst the devastation being reported, and hoped everyone who made it to the hospital survived. 

Sorry to make you wait. Have you eaten? I’ll grab something. On my way. 

Food is a good idea, grab anything you feel like. In our usual room. Did you think of a movie to watch?

No, but I need something lighthearted or funny. Your choice. I’ll see you soon. 

The School of Rock was waiting for you to press play by the time Jack arrived. For the second time today, he looked exhausted, and was still dressed in his dark scrubs. 

Surprisingly, he brought you in for a hug, holding you tightly, as if he needed to know you were real. You rested your head against his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Not thinking twice about the unexpected hug, or that he took a few shaky breaths. 

“Hey,” you greeted softly, only pulling back when he did. You didn’t notice he’d been balancing a pizza box in one hand, too wrapped up in the hug to register it. “Come in.”

Jack excused himself to the bathroom. He left the door open, splashing some water on his face, while you sat back on the bed and flipped the pizza box open. You were halfway through a slice when he joined you, dropping his backpack by the door and taking his shoes off. 

“Got you something,” you told him, gesturing to the basket you’d moved to the desk under the tv. Jack turned his attention to it, pulling it towards him. “Felt like you needed a pick me up, and that was before you went back into work.”

He chuckled softly. “Are those pyjamas?”

“Yeah. It was that or a teddy bear with some corny phrase embroidered onto the stomach,” you replied, earning another laugh. “You can shower if you want…change into them?”

“Later,” he promised, the smile still on his face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t judge the movie you picked. In fact, he’s grateful for the choice. Settling in beside you on the bed, the pizza box between you. Slices slowly disappeared while it was still hot, and silence washed over you as the movie played. 

Jack shuffled around to move the near-empty box, and you watched him remove his prosthetic and massage the stump as if it pained him. Brows drawn together, eyes closed, as if he did this all the time. 

Of course, it was the first time he’d done it in front of you. 

You reached for his free hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it—”

“Leave it off,” you told him. “If it’s bothering you, leave it off.”

He stared like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Like he was in over his head. Out of his depth. And maybe he was, just a little bit. It was you, after all. Always understanding. Always supportive, never judgemental. 

Maybe he did see you differently. Maybe the months of friendship had caused something to build—something real. He certainly felt like it, but the nagging voice in his head told him this was your job. That he was only a client to you. 

He hadn’t seen you for two months because the last meeting you’d had, you’d refused to take his money. 

“We’re friends, Jack. Friends don’t charge each other for their time,” you’d told him. 

There’d been no mention of money this morning. No talk of what tonight would cost him. You were throwing him off his rhythm. He felt uneasy, but not in a bad way. In a way that had his heart rate spike whenever he thought of you. 

The same way he felt when he first met his late wife. 

Jack swallowed thickly, trying to overcome the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

You smiled that sweet smile and patted the spot on the bed next to him. The spot that he shuffled towards, leaving no space between you. And still, you moved his arm to drape it around your shoulders, hand settling on his thigh, just above his knee. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he was looking at you. Still. Like you might disappear in front of him at any second. Like this was easy for you, comfortable, and yet you weren’t anywhere near as nervous as he was. 

Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it had been too long since he’d held another person, that he was seeing signs that weren’t there. 

The thoughtful gift—he was a client after all. Maybe you did that for everyone when they were having a tough time of it. 

The ease you displayed physical affection—again, maybe he was still only a client to you. Maybe this was all just part of the services you offered. 

Jack was tense. He felt like he couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy this for what it was. His brain was telling him to be reasonable, to not make this a bigger thing than it was, but his gut told him to take the leap. Even if it didn’t pay off, he would then have a definitive answer. 

The tapping on his leg was distracting, but it was working. You knew what he needed and did something to distract him. To pull him back to the present after getting lost in his head. 

“Is that Morse code telling me to breathe?”

Jack’s bewilderment was genuine and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Yeah. Figured talking might spook you,” you replied. “You went all tense and stopped breathing for a second.”

“Really? Sorry,” he replied, making a point to exhale loudly. “Army brat?” 

You hummed. “High school wasn’t challenging enough, so I taught myself to read braille and communicate in Morse code.”

“Nerd,” he commented, earning a small laugh. 

“Shut up and watch the movie,” you muttered, playfully pinching his leg. 

You saw his smile soften in the corner of your eye, but he didn’t immediately turn back to the tv. You tapped out w-e-i-r-d-o on his leg, only for him to tap back on your shoulder I-k-n-o-w. 

He only turned his attention back to the tv when you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, his fingers trailing aimlessly up and down your arm. It was comfortable. It felt good—natural. It made him feel warm inside. And that wasn’t something that happened often, so he allowed himself to enjoy it, if only for a moment. 

Jack’s hand found its way to your head, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp. 

“Keep doing that and I’ll start panting,” you mumbled. “It feels good.”

He hummed, making no sign of stopping. You sighed softly, contently, and snuggled a little closer to him. Hand flexing against his leg as you shifted. 

He smiled at you cuddled into his side, and was pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he did it all the time. 

“You always smell so good,” he spoke softly, resisting the urge to take a huge, obvious whiff. 

“You smell like hospital.”

“What’s that smell like?”

“Sanitizer. And sandalwood, but I think that’s just your cologne.”

He tucked his chin, sniffing his chest. “That’s sandalwood?”

“That’s delicious,” you replied with a laugh. 

“Delicious, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tsk’d, fighting back a smile. 

Jack hummed. “Too late.”

He was tapping out a message on your arm before he lost the nerve. 

I-w-a-n-t-2-k-i-s-s-u

You were turning to look at him before he finished his message, hand cupping his cheek and turning his head towards yours. Your gaze dropped to his lips, gasping as he cupped the back of your head and met your lips with his own. 

There was an urgency to his kiss, a desperation that leached into you. Your hand on his thigh gripped it a little tighter, your eyes closing at the rush that washed over you. The relief. 

You twisted a little more, trying to get a little more comfortable. Swinging your leg over his waist, his hand settled on your hip, aiding your movement as you straddled him. 

He groaned appreciatively, sinking deeper into the kiss. Into you, like you were a lifeline. You gasped as he tugged your hair, a sultry moan rumbling in your chest. His lips turned up, smiling against yours, only for him to gasp as you rolled your hips. 

Wicked, he thought. Struggling to gain composure as you did it again, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, parting his lips so his tongue could meet your own. 

You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed you like this. Like the tension had built so much—grown so hot—that you felt frantic. Kissing Jack was as thrilling as you thought it would be. The way he cupped your head, tugged your hair. The way he gripped your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh as he guided your movements.

And he was just as into it as you were, his erection pressing against your core, straining against his scrubs.

You wanted him to be the one to initiate things further. He hadn’t mentioned any specifics, but from how raw his grief was about losing his wife, you assumed this was the first time he was even kissing another woman. You didn’t want to do anything to spook him—he deserved to be comfortable—to not be pushed, even if your body was begging your brain not to listen to itself.

“I want this to last,” Jack mumbled. “Fuck, it won’t if you keep this up.”

You giggled, cupping his face as you kissed him slowly. “We have all night, Jack.”

You slowly, deliberately, rolled your hips, watching his eyes screw shut as he groaned. Both hands settled on your hips, anchoring you in place, stopping your oh-so-sweet torture.

“God, you’re the devil,” he said breathily.

You hummed, sliding your hands down his chest until you were tugging at the hem of your own shirt. You were more than comfortable being the only one naked—or semi-naked. Jack watched with hooked eyes and bated breath as you pulled the material over your head, throwing it somewhere across the room.

You’d find it later, or you wouldn’t. Maybe Jack would take it home as an excuse to see you again. That thought made you almost giddy.

Jack moaned your name, hands skimming up your sides. Thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

“Jack.” You sounded desperate even to yourself, but he looked at you so hungrily, so ready to devour, that you lost your train of thought. 

“Say my name again,” he pleaded.

You slowly rocked your hips, placing your hands on his and moving them to cup your breasts. “Jack,” you repeated, feeling your nipples harden under his palms. He looked like he was going to pass out, fingers squeezing your breasts, head dipping to capture a nipple in his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Jack.”

He growled lowly, the vibration sending shivers to your core. You stilled, legs squeezing either side of his waist, hands flying to his hair to tug it as his teeth grazed your nipple.

You hissed as he lightly bit down, back arching your chest further towards him. He closed his eyes and hummed, lightly raking his nails down your back. You shivered, skin prickling at the sensation.

Jack smiled as you tugged his shirt, hitching up the black scrub tee, as well as his pale undershirt. Your fingers trailed over his abdomen, his lips seeking yours once more as you worked his shirts higher. Jack groaned, briefly breaking the kiss to tear the shirts over his head.

His chest was spotted with freckles, a mixture of dark and light. You trailed your fingers over his collarbones, fingertips tickled by the hair covering his pecs. He leant back against the pillows, watching you curiously explore every protrusion, every defect. Evidence of his time in the military was more than just the prosthetic leg, but also the shrapnel scars and muscles.

God, he was magnificent—so fucking beautiful.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hips flex, cock straining desperately against his scrubs.

“Tell me what you want, Jack.”

It was a simple request,  yet one you weren’t sure was going to be answered. You thought for sure this was all that would happen, that his mind would win out and put a stop to this. You desperately didn’t want that to happen, but the ball was in his court—it had to be.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to process your words. Your hands settled around his head, fingers twirling his hair, scratching his scalp.

“You,” he eventually breathed out, like he was afraid of his own answer. “I want you.”

He sought your lips, slower this time—more calculated, like he wasn’t afraid to want. The desire still burned beneath your skin, one that was more intense, yet every bit as frantic—as dangerous.

The temperature in the room felt like it had been dialled right up. Perspiration dotted at your temples, Jack’s body just as hot beneath your touch. You rocked your hips slowly, gasping as he pinched one of your nipples, his hips rocking up to meet yours. 

“Jack.” 

Sinful, that was the only way Jack could describe it. The way you touched him, the way you kissed him. God, he was in over his head and about to cum in his pants like a starving teenaged boy. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, watching you put distance between the two of you. 

“I’m not,” you assured him, taking a second to tenderly cup his cheek. “I’m getting a condom.”

Jack felt stupid, laughing deliriously as you grabbed a condom from your bag. His chest rose and fell heavily, watching your tits sway with each step. How they hung when you bent over, and how good your ass looked in your pants. 

The foil packet was taunting him as you walked back to the bed. His cock strained agonisingly against his pants, desperate for relief. He lazily palmed himself, watching your eyes drop to his lap. 

You bit your lip and he groaned as he watched you tuck your thumbs into the side of your pants, slowly wiggling them down your body. 

“You’re killing me,” he panted. 

Jack watched you crawl towards him on the bed, hand roughly squeezing his cock as he took in your soft, supple body. Each dip, each mark, all signs of a life lived. 

You reached for his pants, untying the drawstring that kept them cinched tight at his waist. Jack exhaled heavily through his nose, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. Any sign that this wasn’t something you wanted. 

He didn’t see it. 

He felt your soft touch ghosting over his pelvic bone. He lifted his hips, helping you remove his pants, before he was pulling you into his lap again. You grinned as you straddled his waist, nothing between you now as you rolled your hips. 

Jack was a goner. The heat of your cunt wrapped around him, the way you kissed along his jaw. His fingers flexed against your waist, digging into your flesh, as your arousal coated his hard length. 

“Fucking hell,” he cursed lowly, desperately trying to gain some self-control. He felt way too close to the edge, too far gone, but you were everywhere. You were everything. “Please.”

“Please what, Jack?” You asked softly, nipping at his ear. You hummed as he gripped your hips a little tighter, an arm snaking around your lower back and holding you still. Body flush against his own. 

“I need you.” 

His voice sounded foreign to him. So husky, so distraught, so wildly aroused, but you looked exactly how he felt. Horny, needy, desperate. God, and here you were, sitting in his lap, bare pussy sliding against his cock, and he couldn't think—couldn’t breathe. 

Your lips found his, frantic. Teeth clashing, mouths bruising, tongues tasting like there was no time left. Like this was the pinnacle—the crux—his be all or end all. 

You fumbled with the foil wrapper, Jack’s arm snaking around your waist to keep you still–pinned against him.

“God, listen to you,” he said. “So fucking wet.”

Sinful. Jack couldn’t even think straight. 

“Jack,” you whined. 

He took the condom from you. You shuffled back, drawing him in for a kiss as he rolled the rubber onto his length. 

His fingers sought the spot between your legs that was drenched. The sloppy wetness was like music to his ear, reiterating that this wasn’t just one-sided. That you were as far gone as he was. 

He raised you, hands firmly gripping your ass as he held your gaze. Your hands locked behind his head, bottom lip taken between your teeth as his tip nestled at your entrance. 

When you lowered yourself onto him, neither of you dared breathe. The air felt electric, your bodies anchored together. 

Jack’s groan rumbled in his chest, rippling up his throat. “Fuck, baby.”

Your head was swimming. You inhaled raggedly, pressing your lips to Jack’s in an effort to ground you. But he was moaning, a delicious sound that had you clenching down around him. 

“Fuck, move. God, please,” he begged, voice strained as he desperately tried to hold his orgasm at bay. “Baby.”

You rocked your hips, pushing him back further into the pillows so you could raise your hips and sink yourself down onto him again. Hand splayed against his throat, lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. He cupped the back of your head, the other arm still wrapped tightly around your lower back. His own hips bucked, desperately seeking your thrusts. 

You gasped, cradling his head to your chest as you rose to your knees and he fucked up into you, the sound of his balls slapping your slick cunt flooding the room. 

“Ja-aa-aack,” you moaned, a desperate giggling falling past your lips. “I’m so close.”

“Shit,” he cursed, hips stilling as the hand that cupped your head slid between your bodies. Thick fingers circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come for me, baby.”

You were there. You were seeing stars, and Jack was relentless. His fingers, his cock, his words. Your head swam as you moaned, as your body reached its breaking point and he pushed you over the edge. 

Your body was a cacophony of euphoria. The tightness in your abdomen that snapped. The moans rippling from your chest from the man you cradled in your arms. The way he held you, even with your tidal wave of arousal surged from you. Unprepared. Unrelenting. Unwavering. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he held you tight, bodies joined together. And still, you throbbed around him. Body overcome with aftershocks—convulsions. The way you squeezed him just right as he spilled inside the condom, clinging to you desperately like he could lose himself if he dared let you go. 

It took a minute, maybe a couple, before your breaths calmed. Synchronised. His hand tenderly stroking your hair, bodies completely spent. 

B-a-t-h you tapped on his shoulder. 

Y-e-s he tapped back, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but neither of you making the effort to move just yet.