#pangs of recognition

[sleepy-bear-tm]

My oc Asher </3

[v-a-t-i-o]

letting musty ass hoes from last season piss me off in my own head... fetch me the no punishment greater than forgiveness no answer louder than silence or whatever image PLEASE

[smokesandsonatas]

Twisted Wonderland but make it grounded in dark reality. I drafted this around late 2023 and I just finished this now, haha. As always read at your own discretion and enjoy!

Warnings: Implied cannibalism. Dread.

Characters: Floyd and Jade, Leona, Ruggie, Rook, Idia, Lillia, Malleus, Others.

Not beta read.

Food.

- Any substance consumed by an organism for nutritional support. A means for survival.

You’ve always known most of them are peculiar creatures. Sharp teeth, mismatched eyes, monstrous forms, fins that glint with predatory sharpness, and horns that pierce the sky with arrogant pride. They embody the villains from the old fairy tales back in your world, grotesque and terrifying in equal measure. You suppose they function like civilized beings—they’ve learned to blend into human society, after all—but you can’t help but notice just how different, how unnervingly similar, they are to one thing: food.

The dishes at this college are like nothing you've ever tasted. Perhaps it's because many of them are children of royalty, so even the cafeteria food tastes like something out of a king's banquet. The pickiness of their palates is evident in every bite, in every carefully crafted dish. But there are things you find more intriguing than their refined taste; something almost hypnotic about the way they eat, especially when they don't mind you watching.

The scent of something delicious invaded Ramshackle Dorm in the dead of night. You assumed Grim was cooking, as ridiculous as that sounded, but found the little gremlin snoozing soundly beside you. Maybe it was the ghosts? But as you descended the stairs, you found the kitchen empty, devoid of any culinary activity. One glance at the night sky over Sage’s Island told you it was around 3 AM—far too early for breakfast, and far too late for dinner.

You tried to go back to sleep, but the tantalizing scent of roasted meat kept you awake, gnawing at your resolve until you could no longer ignore the hunger pangs twisting your stomach. Leaving Grim behind, you draped the sheets over his body, muttering a promise to return soon. Your curiosity and hunger led you to the cafeteria, which should have been deserted at this hour, but to your surprise…

They were all there. The ones you’ve grown closest to.

They were gathered around a long, elegant table, the atmosphere eerily reminiscent of Mostro Lounge—dim lights casting soft, ominous shadows across their faces. The table was laden with exquisite, expensive cuts of meat, arranged in a feast fit for monsters. And in the center of it all, a massive stack of roasted meat commanded your attention.

It looked…perfect. The tenderloin, you assumed, was butter-soft, with a thick, moist cut that bled a light pink from the center. The outer layer was roasted to a flawless crisp. But something about the presentation unnerved you, a chill creeping up your spine.

The pile of meat looked too much like the carcass of a person. Or a beast, perhaps. It was hard to tell. But you could almost see the outline of a body, as though someone—someone about five or six feet tall—had been subjected to the furnace’s extreme heat, roasted beyond recognition. Was that hair you saw near what should have been the head? Before you could inspect further, a voice called out to you.

"Ah! You're here! Come and join us, Shrimpy!" Floyd’s voice rang out, cheerful and disturbingly eager. His sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light, rows of jagged edges that could tear through flesh with ease. Beside him, Jade chuckled, slicing into a slab of meat with surgical precision, the knife gliding through like it was cutting butter.

Your eyes scanned the gathering. At the head of the table sat Tsunotaro—Malleus, the prince of fae. You frowned, under the impression that he usually is not invited in gatherings like this. But he nodded at you, a small, regal acknowledgment. “I was invited by Lilia,” he explained, his voice low and melodic. You glanced at his plate—a half-eaten steak submerged in a thick, red sauce. The metallic, almost fishy scent wafted up, assaulting your senses.

Before you could react, Lilia appeared beside you, his small hand guiding you to a seat. His right hand held a wine glass filled with a creamy red liquid that clung to the inside of the chalice. You tried to dismiss the fact that it looked too much like blood—thick, viscous blood. Surely, wine wasn’t supposed to look like that, but who were you to judge?

“Bonjour, Trickster! ~” Rook’s voice whispered in your ear, and when you turned, you were met with a sight that made your stomach turn. The smell hit you first—foul, putrid, like a freshly killed animal left to rot. It was too strong, the copper and iron scent so overpowering you had to fight to keep your expression neutral.

You hope your face does not betray the constriction of your throat.

“Rook,” you managed to say, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise. “What…uhm, what is that?”

Rook laughed, the sound as sharp as the glint in his eyes. “Liver pâté, my dear,” he said, twirling his fork. “If it’s a strong scent, I apologize. It’s from the raw liver I like to eat with the liver pâté.”

Raw…

You tried to ignore the word. Back in your world, people ate raw food—sushi, for instance. So whatever Rook had on his plate was none of your business. At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

“Shishishi, the food is sure delicious, especially when I’m getting it for free!” A voice cackled, startling you. You almost jumped out of your seat at the sight of Ruggie, devouring his meal with a voracious appetite. His sharp teeth ripped through the flesh with ease, tearing the meat from the bone in one swift motion. Red droplets—blood?—splattered across his chin, and you watched in horror as his tongue darted out to lick it clean.

“Oi, Ruggie, have some manners,” Leona growled from beside him, his voice gruff and annoyed. He wasn’t eating, his plate already littered with bones, but he was sipping from a glass filled with a red liquid. You wanted to believe it was wine, but the scent…The scent was as repugnant as the raw liver on Rook’s plate. It was metallic, nauseating

—blood.

A shiver trickled down your spine.

That same scent wafted from Malleus and Lilia’s glasses, clinging to the air like a dark cloud.

“You’re one to talk!” Ruggie retorted, his mouth full of meat. “You’ve never eaten a rat before, Leona-san.”

You blinked. Did you hear him right?

Your train of thought was interrupted by Malleus’s voice from your left.

“Shroud,” the prince of fae said, his tone commanding yet gentle, “drink this and replenish your energy.” You watched as Malleus offered Idia the same drink he was consuming. And to your shock, Idia accepted, his expression one of reluctance.

“I don’t really mind drinking this stuff, but I just don’t like eating much…” The Ignihyde dorm leader mumbled, his voice trailing off. You glanced at his plate—a barely touched piece of ‘steak’ with a small cut in the corner, oozing something you didn’t want to identify.

You could barely breathe as you watched Idia reluctantly take a sip of the viscous liquid from Malleus's chalice. His face remained as pale as ever, though a faint hint of color touched his cheeks. The sight was unsettling, and you couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread tightening around your chest.

"Not a fan of solid food?" Jade's voice slithered into your thoughts, pulling you from the trance. His mismatched eyes glinted in the dim light as he calmly sliced through his portion of meat, each movement precise and almost too graceful. "It's an acquired taste," he continued, offering you a smile that somehow did nothing to ease your growing anxiety.

Your gaze shifted to the plate in front of you, untouched and ominously inviting. The stack of meat in the center of the table loomed like a dark specter, its presence a constant reminder of the unease gnawing at your mind. You felt a pressure to partake, to show your acceptance of their world, but every fiber of your being screamed against it.

"Come now," Lilia's playful voice broke through the tension, "you should try it at least once. After all, it's not every day you get to dine with such esteemed company." He winked, the gesture meant to be comforting, but it only made you more wary.

You glanced around the table, noting the expectant gazes directed your way. Floyd’s sharp grin was still fixed on you, his eyes gleaming with mischief, while Ruggie gnawed contentedly on his bone, seemingly oblivious to the tension. Rook, watched you with a keen interest, his fork poised elegantly in his hand.

Leona’s gaze was the most unsettling, though. His amber eyes were half-lidded, seemingly bored, yet there was an intensity in them that made you feel like prey. His fingers drummed lazily on the table, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight curl of his lips, as if he was waiting for you to make a move.

Your gaze drifted across the table, stomach churning with a mix of disgust and dread. The dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance across their faces—no, across their true forms. You blinked, the image wavering as if your mind was trying to shield you from something it wasn’t ready to comprehend.

Floyd’s laughter echoed, a sound that grated against your nerves. For a split second, you saw something else—an elongated, sinuous form, slick with scales, teeth sharper than any blade, rows upon rows of them, stretching endlessly down a gaping maw that promised nothing but pain. You shuddered, the image vanishing as quickly as it appeared, leaving you staring at the harmless, smiling face of the boy who once called you Shrimpy. Jade is no better. You can see the muscles bulging as his back turns, with sharp rows of fins scattered along his spine. If you were behind him right now, you’re certain he would cut you in half.

Your eyes flicked to Ruggie, who was gnawing on the bone of his meal with unabashed relish. But in the periphery of your vision, his form distorted—muscles rippling beneath fur that was too thick, claws that scraped against the table, and a maw that was too wide, too hungry, filled with jagged fangs meant for tearing, ripping, devouring. He glanced up, catching your gaze, and you quickly looked away, the image of the beast-man fading back into the all-too-familiar figure of a mischievous boy. Leona on the other hand, sit still. The image of a lion assessing it's prey. You dare not look at his eyes burning holes through your skull—you feel it.

Idia, who sits apart from the others, his presence a dark shadow at the table. There’s something about him that feels different, even among these monsters. His connection to the underworld is undeniable, a guardian of the boundary between life and death. The flickering blue flames of his hair and the way his eyes pierce through the darkness suggest something far older and more terrifying than any of the others—a being who has seen what lies beyond the veil, and who has perhaps brought a piece of it back with him.

Rook, you cannot even begin to comprehend how a human—like yourself, is able to blend in with them.

But the worst was Malleus. The prince of the fae was calm, serene even, but there was something wrong—horribly wrong. His eyes glowed too brightly, their green hue pulsating with an otherworldly light. And then, for just a moment, you saw what lay beneath that regal facade—a towering figure, wings that stretched endlessly, blotting out the sky, horns that twisted and curled like a crown of dark thorns. His smile was too sharp, too knowing, as if he could see right through you, into the very depths of your soul.

You closed your eyes, refusing to look at anyone anymore.

You tried to swallow your saliva, but your throat was dry, your mouth parched. The air was thick with the scent of blood, the tang of iron clinging to your tongue. They were all looking at you now, waiting, expecting you to take a bite, to join them in this feast.

Lilia’s voice broke the silence, light and playful as ever. “Come now, dear. Don’t be shy. You wouldn’t want to insult your hosts, would you?”

The pressure was unbearable, the weight of their gazes pressing down on you, suffocating you. Your hand trembled as you reached for the fork, the silver glinting in the low light. You knew, deep down, that whatever you saw—whatever you thought you saw—a no mere trick of the light.

They were not like you. They were never like you.

"I," you hope your voice does not shake, "I am full." You nodded, convincing them. You let out a nervous laugh, quickly standing up as you find the place too suffocating. Chair scraping the floor. "I'm fine! Really, I—ah, I need to go back, I have to catch some sleep and Grim is alone."

Floyd is quick to be by your side. His smile, wide and filled with sharp teeth, is unsettling. "Eh, Shrimpy, do you not like the food?" He asks, worry in his voice. You know it's fake: he's mocking you.

"I am good," you say with a strained smile. Please let me go, please, please—

"I insist," Malleus interjects, his voice smooth but commanding. "This is a feast meant for sharing. It would be rude to leave before sampling a morsel."

As if on cue, the others start to close in. Rook leans in closer, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of curiosity and amusement. "The flavors are truly exquisite, you know. Not something one should miss out on."

Leona’s gaze is heavy and piercing, his voice low and rumbling. "I’ve seen your kind turn down more robust fare than this. Surely you can handle a small bite."

Your attempts to excuse yourself only seem to stoke their interest further. The way they move, their unnervingly smooth motions, reminds you of predators circling their prey.

You might just be one tonight.

Floyd’s grin widens as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Come on, Shrimpy. Just a taste. I promise it won’t hurt."

The pressure is mounting. They are pushing you to stay, to partake in their feast, and the atmosphere thickens with their silent insistence. Malleus’s eyes bore into you with a knowing gaze, his hand extending with a glass of the viscous red liquid. "Just a sip, if you please."

Every attempt to excuse yourself only seems to make their eyes narrow further, their smiles widen just a little more. The eerie calm of the feast surrounds you.

It is when you see the meat properly that you made up your mind to escape. It is in someone's plate, you do not know who.

It's in the shape of a finger. A charred fingernail dipped in red.

Floyd let out a yelp as you finally push him off of you, your steps quickening as you trace back where you came from: The path to Ramshackle dorm.

You heard Jade reprimand Floyd, the latter angry when you pushed him: How dare you Shrimpy was all you heard before you were out of their sight and you're running back, panting, to your safe space, Ramshackle.

Only to pause as Crowley stands in the steps of your door. His mask drowning the glint of yellow from holes that was supposed to be his eyes.

What... what the fuck.

Crowley approached you slowly, as if he's reaching out to a wounded prey, this is the first time you've ever seen him serious. You take a step back, should you run in the other direction? Where will you escape, Heartslabyul? Will they take you in there?

The headmaster let out a sigh, "My students here at Night Raven should perhaps know kindness from their teacher," he declared dramatically. Then he gave you pouch, full of madol. Thaumarks.

This is a bribe. Crowley is bribing you.

"Our little secret, alright?"

You blinked. What...?

"A little compensation for your troubles, for I am truly kind."

He then disappear, leaving you stunned.

At exactly 3:33 AM, a realization hit you. You are in the company of creatures far more dangerous than you ever imagined, their monstrous forms hidden just beneath the surface. One wrong step, one mistake, it can all come down. Crumbling to pieces.

It is inside when your knees give out, you slide through the door of the Ramshackle, too weak to stand anymore.

This is the truth: you are in the company of creatures mimicking humans, their monstrous forms hidden just beneath the normal exterior. But what terrifies you most is not the thought of what they are—but the thought that, perhaps, they see you as something less than human too.

The truth of what they were—what they really were—lurked just out of reach, like a shadow at the corner of your vision, waiting to pounce the moment you let your guard down.

But you knew better. Something had changed.

And as you sit there, the only protection you have are rotting woods that make up your dorm. You are just within the circle of monstrous beings in their friendly human skins. You are a magic-less, pathetic alien.

For in a world filled with monsters hiding in plain sight, the only question that remained was this:

What would happen when they decided they were tired of pretending?

Perhaps you will find out soon.

[alnilaem]

slobbering and whimpering at the thought of butcher!simon who also happens to be your socially inept neighbour <3

—

It’s the seedier side of Manchester you move to. To a flat with wet rot between each brick and the peal of police sirens on every other street.

Crammed into the corner of your block is a little gem found between flats and markets: a well-loved butcher shop.

It’s suffocating when you walk in. Dewy and damp and misty and permeating with the angry odour of metal, poorly offset by an overripe air freshener hanging above the entrance.

A man lurks behind the counter. He’s big. Huge. Demands too much space as the coarsely-sewn sheers of his shirt look like they’re about to burst at his biceps. His hair is tamed under a Man Utd cap, but a few odd-angled curls peek out. His arm, swathed in tattoos, flexes as he hacks at a red piece of meat, slicing through the tendons, as you meagrely clear your throat for his attention.

His eyes, sunken in his sallow sockets, hinge upwards to stare at you.

“Um, hope I’m not interrupting you.”

His eyebrows purse because obviously you are. He steps away from the counter, wiping his big, bloodied hands against his apron.

“Could I just-“ you sharply inhale, then belatedly regret it as the smell of raw meat invades your senses. You suppress a cough as to not offend him. He stands with his arms crossed, the papery crows feet of his eyes folding as he stares at you above his mask. “Ah… lamb shanks?”

He grunts. It’s curt, but it doesn’t seem rude. More like socially inept in the ways in which he regards you, and how he prepares your order in sparse, quick movements.

“£6.00.”

You fish in your pocket and bring out a thin handful of coins. He swipes it, doesn’t bother to count it, for some reason, and slides the lamb into a repurposed Tesco bag, handing it over the display.

You reach over, your gaze flitting to his name tag which features only the tail-end of his name, the rest of the ink smudged and washed away from years of hard work.

As you swipe the bag from his hold, his finger brushes yours. A gossamer-thin layer of blood stains your forefinger and marinates your skin in the middle of the exchange.

You pivot, throwing a soft thanks over your shoulder, and rub your thumb into his vestigial warmth on your finger.

—

It’s after dark when you slip outside your flat, bin bag slapping against your thigh. You’re in a large sweatshirt and some shorts, chucking the trash down the disposal, when the tinny, grating sound of metal-against-metal peals from the elevator.

You throw a cursory glance over your shoulder, but freeze as you spot a familiar figure ducking under the roof of the lift and stepping onto your floor. The butcher.

He is clad in a filmy jacket, arms laden with shopping bags as he helps an elderly lady into her flat.

She says “Thank you, Simon,” and Simon nods, closing the door on his way out.

He fishes through his pockets for his keys and shoulders past you. You think he doesn’t recognise you, or worse, pointedly ignores you.

And for some reason, the latter thought causes a pang of sadness to seize you.

However, halfway down the corridor, in front of the flat next to your own, Simon turns around.

“You’re the new neighbour? Room 146?”

His eyes flicker from your legs to your face. A film of recognition glosses his eyes. Your mouth suddenly feels dry and you dumbly nod, preening under his intimidating eyes.

“Walls are thin,” he says, jamming his keys into the lock, “try keeping quiet, love. Some of us’ve got work in the mornings, yeah?”

Before you can reply, the conversation is already over with the slam of Simon’s door swinging shut.

[novaursa]

Good evening love

I was thinking about that last night!

When Daemon and Rhaenyra goes to brothel they sleep together and obviously she’s pregnant and coz it’s just before her wedding (we will says it just before) everyone thing it’s Leanor.

She gave birth to a little girl all Targaryen looks. They’re was always some rumors but since she looks like every targ it’s easier for her. Harwin played dad role for her and she’s really protective of her brother.

more time passed and everyone can clearly see that she looked exactly like daemon physically and mentally.

And it’s finally during the funeral of her aunt, Daemon see her and he understand that she is his. She’s everything he want and have a special bound with her (first child, heir of the throne, powerful dragon)

Fire in Her Veins

- Summary: During Laena’s funeral, Daemon recognizes you as his own blood. 

- Paring: (daughter) targ!reader/(father) Daemon Targaryen (platonic)

- Note: The reader is the firstborn child and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. The reader is also bonded to Vermithor.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sea air on Driftmark is filled with salt and sorrow, the crashing waves of the Narrow Sea providing a mournful backdrop to the solemn gathering. You stand with your brothers on the stone cliffs of the island, your hands clasped tightly together in front of you as the funeral procession moves solemnly forward. Lady Laena’s casket is adorned with pearls and driftwood, her body wrapped in the traditional Velaryon colors, and you can feel the weight of your family’s grief pressing heavily upon your shoulders.

The mood is somber, the sky above gray and heavy, as if even the gods mourn the loss of Laena Velaryon. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, and from where you stand, you see the faces of the royal family—Alicent and her children, all clustered together, keeping their distance from you and your brothers. Their green dresses stand out like bright flames against the dark ocean and black mourning attire. 

You feel a familiar pang of protectiveness as you glance toward your brothers, who are standing just to your right, their small faces grim and pale. You notice how Jacaerys keeps his head down, avoiding the stern gazes from across the gathering. You recognize the unspoken tension between the two halves of the family, an invisible line that divides you all.

Behind you, you hear the murmurs of the court, soft whispers that seem to follow you wherever you go. They speak of many things—the death of Lady Laena, the grief of her husband Daemon, and the unspoken truth that seems to hang in the air around you. The truth of who you are. 

"She looks more like him every day," you overhear a noblewoman whisper, though she thinks she is being quiet enough to go unnoticed.

And you know who they mean. Not Laenor Velaryon, who raised you as his own. Not Harwin Strong, who shielded you when you were small, his fierce protectiveness marking him as a father figure in your life. But Daemon.

Your eyes, so like his—stormy, burning with fire—scan the crowd until they land on him.

Daemon Targaryen stands just beyond the gathering of mourners, his face half-hidden beneath his hood, his silver hair blowing in the wind. There is something wild about him, something untamed, as though he belongs to the sea and the sky more than he belongs to the earth. He looks broken today, mourning his wife, but in his eyes there is a flicker of something as he catches your gaze—recognition, perhaps.

Your heart beats harder, and you lift your chin, a Targaryen through and through. You are not afraid to meet his gaze. In fact, there’s something in you that draws you closer to him, though your feet remain rooted to the ground.

Daemon's eyes narrow, the brief glint of recognition becoming a full realization. His mouth parts slightly as if he is going to speak, but no words come out. You see the flicker of memory in his gaze, a moment that stretches back to the night you were conceived—the night Rhaenyra escaped into the shadows of King's Landing, into his arms, if only for a single stolen moment.

The likeness between the two of you is undeniable, your shared features as plain as day to anyone who cared to look closely. Your high cheekbones, the curve of your lips, the storm in your gaze. And there is something more than just the physical—an energy, a fierceness that burns in you as much as it does in him.

"Y/N," Daemon murmurs your name under his breath as he steps forward, moving as though drawn to you by some unseen force.

You do not step back. You hold your ground, standing taller, your spine straight. You are not the little girl who needed protection anymore. You are Rhaenyra’s daughter, the rider of Vermithor, a dragon like no other. 

Your brothers shift uncomfortably beside you as Daemon approaches, and you gently place a hand on Jacaerys’ shoulder, a silent reassurance that you will protect them. They are yours, just as much as you are theirs, and no one, not even Daemon, can change that.

“Do you remember me?” Daemon’s voice is low, so low that only you can hear it. His eyes never leave yours.

Your lips part, but words fail you for a moment. You do remember him through your memory as he was a ghost—and the stories your mother told you, the truths she revealed as you grew older. You remember the fire that courses through your veins, the unyielding bond with your dragon, the instincts that set you apart. It all comes from him.

"How could I not?" you reply, your voice steady, even though inside you feel like a storm is brewing.

Daemon’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile—it’s something darker, something more conflicted. He glances toward your mother, Rhaenyra, who stands a little ways off, her eyes firmly fixed on Laena’s casket. There is a tension between them as well, a history that lingers in the air, unspoken but understood.

“You look like her,” Daemon says quietly, but his eyes say otherwise. He knows you look like him. 

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. You have always heard the whispers, the stories, but standing before him now, there is something more intimate in the way he observes you. He is seeing himself in you, recognizing the dragon fire in your blood, the legacy of your shared heritage.

“I look like myself,” you correct, your tone sharper now. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

“And mine,” Daemon replies, his voice a murmur carried by the wind.

You hold his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest, but you do not back down. For years, you had wondered what it would be like to stand face to face with the man whose blood flows in your veins. Now that you are here, you find that you do not need his acknowledgment. You do not need his approval.

You are who you are, no matter who claims you.

"I didn’t need you before," you say, your voice low but firm. "I don’t need you now."

The wind blows harder, carrying your words with it, and Daemon stares at you for a long moment before he nods, almost imperceptibly. There is something in his eyes now—perhaps regret, perhaps something else entirely.

"You are strong," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "That much is clear."

You nod, not offering him anything more, and you turn away, your brothers following you as you lead them away from the cliff’s edge and back toward the safety of your family. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you walk away from Daemon, though you can still feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you go.

As the sea crashes against the rocks below, you feel a sense of finality, but also a strange kind of peace. You are your mother’s daughter. You are bonded to a dragon as mighty as Vermithor. You do not need anyone to tell you who you are.

And yet, you cannot help but wonder what it might mean to carry the fire of both Rhaenyra and Daemon, to have the blood of two dragons raging inside of you.

[the-winter-spider]

Mine | One Shot

Parings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: Probably the fluffiest thing ive ever written, of course angst.

A/N: Yall this AU bucky branch ive extended has been life changing for me lmaoooo

The first time you meet Bucky Barnes, he’s already looking at you, a soft, open look in his eyes that sends a jolt through you. You’ve just started a new job in town and ended up here at a cozy, dimly lit bar one night after work. You sit down a few stools away, glancing over at him—he’s warm, approachable, not exactly the type you’d expect to find sitting alone.

You look away quickly, heart suddenly racing, though you’re not sure why. He’s a stranger, just someone you’ll see tonight and probably never again, but something about him feels safe in a way you haven’t felt in years.

A few minutes later, he moves closer, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Rough day?” he asks, voice gentle, as if he’s been waiting for you to say something first.

You nod, a little surprised by both his forwardness and the kindness in his tone. You’re used to handling things on your own, keeping walls up that no one’s ever bothered to climb. But something about Bucky makes you want to drop your guard, if only for a moment.

You offer Bucky a small smile, feeling strangely at ease under his gaze. “Yeah, you could say that,” you reply, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s been… a long week. Just finished my first week at a new job, and I’m still finding my footing. Everything’s just a bit overwhelming, you know?”

Bucky nods, understanding flashing in his eyes. “New job, new town?” he asks, his tone inviting, like he genuinely wants to know, not just make conversation.

You nod, surprised at how easy it feels to open up. “Yeah, both, actually. I just moved here, so it’s been a lot of… adjustment.”

He tilts his head, his expression warm and reassuring. “That’s a lot to take on. I remember when I first moved here… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a smooth transition.” He chuckles softly, the sound low and comforting, and you can’t help but smile.

“Really?” you ask, curious despite yourself. “What brought you here?”

His gaze softens as he considers the question, as though he’s debating just how much to share. “Needed a fresh start,” he says simply, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes. “Figured this was a good place to do that.”

You feel a pang of recognition—you understand that need to start over, to build something new. “I get that,” you murmur. “Sometimes… sometimes you just need a change to get things back on track.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his eyes brightening as he leans a little closer. “Sounds like we might have a bit in common, then.”

There’s a brief silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s like the two of you are sharing something without needing to say it outright. You feel your usual guardedness slipping, replaced by a warmth that’s both thrilling and unsettling. It’s strange—he’s still a stranger, and yet he feels familiar, like someone you could trust, someone who understands.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his voice gentle, his gaze steady. “Just to celebrate surviving the first week. It’s no small thing.”

You smile, nodding as a rush of gratitude fills you. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bucky signals to the bartender, ordering two drinks and settling back beside you, his posture relaxed. Bucky leans in, a warm smile lighting up his face as he listens, his full attention on you. It’s like he’s hanging on every word, nodding and chuckling at all the right moments, his eyes crinkling at the corners every time you say something that amuses him.

“So, then,” you continue, trying to hold back a laugh as you recall the memory, “I walked into what I thought was the meeting room, you know, just trying to make a good first impression… only to realize it was the break room. And everyone just kind of stared at me like I was some intruder there to steal their coffee.”

Bucky lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no! And you didn’t just play it cool?”

You grin, rolling your eyes. “Nope, not at all. I panicked and mumbled something about being ‘lost’—in the most literal sense. And then, to top it off, I nearly backed into a coffee machine trying to escape!"

He laughs harder, the sound warm and genuine, filling the space between you. “I think that’s endearing,” he says, his tone sincere. “Bet they thought you were charming.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say sarcastically, unable to hide your smile. “If by ‘charming’ you mean they think I’m the odd one in the office now, then yeah, absolutely. As if being the 'new girl' wasnt enough"

He smirks, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches you, that mischievous glint still in his eyes. “Hey, at least you’re memorable. It’s not every day people meet someone with personality.”

You laugh, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so I have ‘personality’ now?”

“Definitely,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re… different. In a good way.” His gaze softens, and for a moment, you see something more serious flicker in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

Trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest, you shake your head, focusing on lightening the mood. “So,” you say, grinning, “what about you? Any embarrassing first-day stories?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, way too many,” he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “When I started at my last job, they had this big company lunch. I was so nervous that I accidentally grabbed the CEO’s sandwich off his plate, thinking it was from the catering table.”

Your jaw drops. “No! What did you do?”

He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “Honestly? I didn’t even realize until I’d taken the first bite. The CEO looked at me, just stunned, and I kind of just froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth. I thought for sure I was going to get fired on the spot.”

You’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your drink. “So, did he say anything?”

“Oh, he said plenty,” Bucky says, chuckling along with you. “But, somehow, he found it funny. Or maybe he just took pity on me, who knows? Either way, I survived, but I don’t think I’ll ever live it down.”

You both sit there, laughter fading into comfortable silence as you sip your drinks, sharing those lighthearted moments and embarrassing stories that somehow make you feel closer. After a few beats, he glances at you, his expression softening.

“It’s nice, you know… hearing all this,” he says quietly. “Feels like I’m getting to know the real you.”

Your cheeks flush, but his words make you feel seen in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. “Yeah… I think maybe you are,” you say softly.

His gaze holds yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you. And as you sit together, in the dim light of the bar with laughter still lingering in the air, you realize that this—this feeling of being understood, of being truly known—is something you didn’t even know you were missing. And with Bucky, it feels like you’re finally finding it.

By the time you’re finishing your second drink, you’re feeling lighter, the weight of the past week fading away, replaced by a warmth that seems to linger between you and Bucky.

“Well,” he says after a moment, glancing at his watch but making no move to leave. “Thank you for letting me share your first-week celebration. I don’t know about you, but I’d say this is the best part of any first week—meeting someone you didn’t expect to.”

You blush, looking down with a shy smile. “Yeah… me too.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, and in the back of your mind, you realize you’re hoping this won’t be the last time you see him. Maybe he feels the same way, because as you gather your things to leave, he clears his throat, a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes.

“So, listen… if you ever want some company after work or need someone to talk to about the craziness of starting over, I’d be happy to be that person,” he says, his voice soft, a little uncertain.

Your heart skips a beat, and you smile, feeling that warmth spread through you again. “I’d like that, Bucky. I’d really like that.”

With one last shared smile, you both exchange numbers, a quiet promise lingering in the air that this, whatever it is, isn’t just a fleeting moment.

“You know,” he says, after a quiet moment, “if you’re free tomorrow, i can show you the best place for coffee in the morning.”

For reasons you can’t explain, you say yes. And it’s the first of many yeses you’ll say to him, even if you can’t shake the feeling that opening up to someone can only lead to getting hurt.

The next morning, you meet Bucky outside a quaint little café, the kind with mismatched chairs and hanging plants that give it a cozy, lived-in feel. Sunlight spills across the sidewalk, and there’s a crispness in the air that makes everything feel brighter, more hopeful.

You both order coffee and pastries and find a table outside. As you settle in, he looks over at you with that same soft, open smile that feels like a balm to your heart. You’re not sure if it’s the warmth of the coffee or his presence, but somehow you feel yourself letting go, leaning into the morning with him as if it’s a part of something bigger.

“So, did you always know you wanted to be here?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours.

You shake your head with a little laugh. “Not exactly. Moving here was… spontaneous. I just needed a change, I guess. I don’t know if it’s where I want to end up, but it feels like a good place to be, at least for now.”

He nods thoughtfully, a smile tugging at his lips. “I get that. Change is… good sometimes. Scary, but good.”

There’s a brief silence before you turn the question back on him. “What about you? Have you always been here?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I bounced around a lot before I landed here. I’m from Brooklyn, actually. Grew up in a small apartment with my mom and sister, Rebecca. It wasn’t much, but it was home.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting, and you can see a fondness there, mingled with nostalgia. “My sister used to make me these ridiculous lunches for school. You know those sandwiches where it’s way too much peanut butter, like it’d practically glue your mouth shut?”

You laugh, picturing a young Bucky struggling with a lopsided sandwich. “So what, she was trying to get you to stop talking?”

“Maybe! It probably worked a few times,” he says with a grin. “She was older than me, and she loved teasing me. But she’d also defend me to the ends of the earth if I needed it. She was tough but loyal—still is. We used to spend summers playing stickball in the streets or riding our bikes down to the pier until the sun set. Those were good days.”

You find yourself smiling, caught up in the warmth of his stories. There’s something about the way he talks about his sister and his childhood that feels so genuine, so open, and it makes you feel safe somehow, like you could share parts of yourself that you usually keep hidden.

“Sounds like you were close,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “We still are, even though we don’t see each other as much these days. But you know how it is. Life gets busy, people drift….” He trails off, looking a little pensive, but then he catches your gaze and offers a reassuring smile. “But we still check in. She likes to give me a hard time about how I’ve ‘softened up’ over the years.”

“Oh, so you used to be a real troublemaker, huh?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe a little,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But only in the fun ways. My friends and I—especially my best friend, Steve—always found ways to keep things interesting. Steve was the wild one, though, always dragging me into things. He’d get these ideas—like, one summer, he convinced me we could make a raft and take it out on the East River.”

“Wait, you didn’t actually try that, did you?” you ask, laughing as you imagine two boys clinging to a makeshift raft.

“Oh, we tried,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “It was a disaster. We were out there for maybe ten minutes before the whole thing started falling apart, and we ended up soaking wet, half-drowning, while everyone on the shore was just watching and laughing. My mom nearly had a heart attack when she found out.”

You laugh, clutching your coffee cup as you picture the scene. “So, I guess you didn’t end up the next great explorers of Brooklyn?”

“Nope, that dream died real fast,” he says, grinning. “But that was Steve for you—big dreams, no plans. I think that’s why we were close, though. He’d always push me to do things I wouldn’t even think about trying. He’d challenge me in ways that I didn’t know I needed. Kind of made me who I am today.”

You see a glimmer of nostalgia and perhaps a little sadness in his eyes as he talks about Steve, and you wonder if they’re still close. But before you can ask, he leans forward, his expression softening as he looks at you.

“So, how about you?” he asks, changing the subject. “Any siblings?”

You nod, taking a small sip of your coffee. “Yeah, an older brother. We were close growing up, but life kind of… pulled us in different directions. He was the one who kept me out of trouble, actually. He fled home as soon as he was old enough” You chuckle sadly “Always thought he was the responsible one, and I was the daydreamer. Guess some things never change.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, as if he’s seeing a new side of you. “Daydreamer, huh? What kind of dreams?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. But then you feel that familiar warmth between you, the kind that feels safe, inviting you to share a little more of yourself.

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore,” you admit softly. “I guess that’s part of why I moved here. Trying to figure it out, trying to find something that feels… real.”

He nods, his gaze understanding, as if he sees right through you in a way that’s both comforting and a little terrifying. “Well, I think that’s brave,” he says quietly. “Taking a leap, starting fresh… not everyone has the guts to do that.”

The way he says it, so genuine and reassuring, makes you feel like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, like maybe the path isn’t as uncertain as it once felt.

The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, and you both take a moment to sip your coffee and enjoy the warmth of the sun. After a while, he leans back, his expression thoughtful as he looks over at you.

“You know, meeting someone like you… it’s kind of a rare thing,” he says, his voice soft but full of a sincerity that takes you by surprise. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels… right.”

His words settle into your heart, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, a connection that feels deeper than anything you expected to find in a new town, with a man you’ve only just met. And in that moment, with the sunlight catching in his eyes, you feel a quiet certainty that this—whatever this is—might be the beginning of something real.

Over the next few weeks, life begins to settle into a new rhythm. Days are marked by coffee dates that turn into long walks down the quiet streets, and those walks stretch into late-night conversations on park benches under streetlights. Bucky has quickly become your favorite part of the day, and even though neither of you has spoken about how you feel, there’s a growing closeness—a feeling of inevitability that’s hard to ignore.

One night, after a cozy dinner together, you find yourselves lingering on a quiet bench, watching the lights of the city reflected on the river. The silence between you is easy, comfortable, but there’s an unspoken tension there, too—something that hovers in the space between words, in the quiet glances you both share.

Bucky looks over at you, a warm smile playing at his lips. “I can’t believe it’s only been a few weeks,” he says, his voice soft. “Feels like I’ve known you… longer.”

You nod, feeling your heart race at the sincerity in his eyes. “I know what you mean,” you murmur, glancing down to hide your own smile. “I don’t usually… open up to people like this. But with you, it just feels easy.”

He grins, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “So you’re saying I’m easy to talk to?”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Don’t get too cocky, Barnes. I’m just saying you have… potential.”

“Oh, potential, huh?” he teases, giving you a mock-hurt look. “Wow. Just when I thought I was doing well.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in a long time. Somehow, Bucky has a way of making you feel like yourself, like you don’t have to be anything other than exactly who you are.

As the night deepens, you both head home, reluctantly parting with lingering glances and unspoken words hanging in the air. But when you finally get home, your phone lights up with a text, and you feel a thrill run through you as you see Bucky’s name.

Bucky: So, I’m not getting cocky, but… any chance I passed the “potential” test?

You laugh, typing out a reply.

You: I’d say you’re doing okay… so far.

Almost immediately, he texts back.

Bucky: Just okay? You’re killing me here. I might have to try harder.

You: I think I can handle that.

There’s a pause, and you watch as the typing bubble pops up again, wondering what he’ll say next.

Bucky: Just so we’re clear, I’m pretty sure you’re the highlight of my day. Don’t tell anyone—I’ve got a reputation to maintain.

You feel your cheeks warm, smiling at your phone. It’s strange how quickly he’s managed to find his way into your heart, and even stranger how natural it feels to be talking to him like this.

You: Highlight of your day, huh? That’s some big talk, Barnes.

Bucky: It’s not just talk, sweet girl....I mean it.

You pause, taking in the sincerity of his words. For a second, you wonder if he can feel the same pull you do, the same feeling that this could be something real.

You: Guess I’ll see what you come up with next time.

Bucky: Oh, so now I’m being challenged? I’ll have to think of something special.

You: Good luck with that, I’m a tough critic.

Bucky: Challenge accepted, darling.

His use of the word “darling” sends a thrill through you, and you feel yourself blush, biting your lip as you smile at the screen. The lighthearted back-and-forth carries on into the night, each text feeling like another step closer to something you’re both tiptoeing around, something you’re both afraid to fully acknowledge yet.

And as you finally say goodnight, you feel a contented warmth settle over you, the kind that promises there’s something real here, something waiting to unfold. But for now, the unspoken words, the quiet glances, and the sweet, flirty texts are more than enough, leaving you falling asleep with a smile on your face.

--

One night, you’re both walking through a nearby park, the cool evening air wrapping around you. It’s late enough that the world feels almost empty, like the two of you are the only ones who know this quiet part of the city. You’re talking about your favorite childhood movies, laughing over memories, and you feel a lightness in you, a happiness that’s been dormant for so long you’d nearly forgotten it was there.

“So you’re telling me,” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow as he glances over at you, “that you actually dressed up as an elf for three Halloweens in a row because of Lord of the Rings?”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “Yes! I was obsessed. It was all I wanted to do for years. I think I had pointy ears stashed in every drawer.”

Bucky grins, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe I missed out on that... bet you made a cute elf.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, trying to stifle a laugh. “It was… an intense phase. I still cringe a little thinking about it.”

“I don’t know,” he says, nudging you playfully. “I think it sounds perfect. I used to dress up as a knight when I was a kid. One time, I even convinced Steve to be the dragon.”

You laugh, picturing a younger version of him, full of life and laughter. “Please tell me there’s photographic evidence of that.”

“There might be,” he teases, smirking. “But I think you’re going to have to stick around a little longer before I start sharing the embarrassing childhood photos.”

Something in his tone, playful yet sincere, makes your heart skip a beat. You realize how much you look forward to these moments, how he’s become a part of your life in a way you never saw coming. There’s a softness about him that pulls you in, a kindness that makes you feel safe, and the thought of seeing where this goes fills you with a quiet excitement.

You walk a bit further, the silence between you comfortable, and he glances over, a question lingering in his eyes. “So,” he starts, a little hesitant. “Are you… happy here? I mean, you said you needed a change. Do you feel like this is it?”

You think about his question, about how you arrived here hoping to find a fresh start, not knowing if it would ever feel like home. But now, as you stand beside him, there’s a sense of belonging that surprises you.

“Honestly?” you say, your voice soft. “I think I am. It’s strange, but being here… it’s like I can breathe again. Like maybe I can finally be myself, without all the expectations I left behind.”

Bucky nods, his expression thoughtful, and he stops walking for a moment, turning to face you. “I’m glad,” he says quietly, his gaze holding yours. “You deserve that. You deserve… to feel free.”

His words sink into you, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him, taking in the gentleness in his eyes, the warmth in his smile. It’s almost too much—the idea that someone could see you this clearly, understand you so deeply.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

He reaches out, brushing his fingers against yours in a simple, tender gesture. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I’m just glad I get to know you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re both standing there, the world around you quiet and still. You want to say something, to let him know how much he’s come to mean to you, how his presence feels like a light that’s brought you back to yourself. But the words catch in your throat, so instead, you simply squeeze his hand, letting the warmth of his touch speak for you.

----

Another evening, you’re both sitting on a small bench at the edge of the park, looking up at the stars. Bucky has his arm around you, pulling you close against the chill of the night, and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling a peace you haven’t felt in years.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks suddenly, his voice soft, as though he’s been thinking about the question for a while.

You’re quiet for a moment, surprised by the question. You used to avoid thinking about the future, unsure of where you fit in, always second-guessing yourself. But now, with him, the idea of the future doesn’t feel as daunting.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “I do. But it’s different now. I guess… I’m not so afraid of it anymore.”

He nods, a small smile on his face. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. He hesitates, glancing over at you. “I know we’re just… starting this, whatever it is, but I hope you know that I’m here, for all of it. I don’t… plan on going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his words makes you catch your breath, and you feel that familiar warmth rising in your chest, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. You don’t say anything, instead reaching up to brush a gentle hand against his cheek, letting him know that you feel the same, even if the words are still forming in your heart.

As the night deepens, you sit there in a comfortable silence, his arm around you, his steady presence grounding you. And as you look up at the stars, you realize that for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of what lies ahead.

But yet, every time he leans a little closer, touches your hand, or tells you something vulnerable, you can’t help but feel that old anxiety creeping in, telling you to be careful. It’s as if you’re back to being a kid, watching your parents’ marriage shatter right in front of you. You’ve told yourself for years that love can’t be trusted, that letting people in only leads to pain.

---

One evening, when you’re sitting beside him at your favorite spot near the river, he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re safe with me, you know?” he says softly, sensing the hesitation in your gaze.

The words linger in the air, and you look down, feeling your defenses rise again. “I don’t think you understand,” you murmur. “People leave. Or worse, they hurt you without even meaning to.”

Bucky takes your hand, holding it gently, grounding you. “I know,” he says quietly. “But maybe… maybe you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The river flows quietly beside you both, the soft murmur of water filling the silence between you. Bucky’s hand is still gently wrapped around yours, grounding you with a warmth that feels both comforting and unfamiliar. Part of you wants to pull away, to shield yourself from the vulnerability you feel creeping in, but there’s something about him that makes you feel safe, even when the memories are so raw.

You take a shaky breath, finally letting your eyes meet his. “My parents… they didn’t have the kind of love that you read about, or see in movies. It was messy and… destructive. They fought constantly—screaming, blaming each other for everything wrong in their lives. Growing up, I thought that was just how it was supposed to be. That love was meant to hurt.”

Bucky listens intently, his expression softening as you continue, no hint of judgment in his gaze. He’s just… there, holding space for you in a way that makes you feel seen, like you don’t have to hide.

You swallow, feeling the ache of those memories resurface. “I used to tell myself that when I grew up, I’d find someone who was different. Someone who wouldn’t treat me like my father treated my mother.” Your voice drops, barely a whisper now. “But when I left home, I fell for someone who was just like him. He was… careless, selfish. I gave everything I had because I thought that was what love was. And he hurt me, Bucky, over and over, but I convinced myself it was my fault, that if I just tried harder, he’d change.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand tightens, his gaze filled with a fierce protectiveness that you didn’t expect. You can see his jaw clench, as though he’s holding back words he wants to say, but he lets you continue, giving you the space you need.

“When he finally left,” you continue, your voice breaking slightly, “I felt… empty. Like I’d failed. Everyone always leaves, and somehow, I believed it was because of something I did or something I wasn’t. For a long time, I thought I didn’t deserve anything better.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and before you can brush it away, Bucky reaches out, gently wiping it with his thumb. His touch is so tender, so careful, that it breaks something inside you, a wall you didn’t realize you were still holding up.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says softly, his voice full of conviction. “None of it. And it wasn’t your fault.”

You try to look away, the old shame rising up, but he places a gentle hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at me.”

You meet his gaze, and the kindness there is almost too much to bear.

“I don’t care what your past looked like,” he says, his voice steady and certain. “None of that changes how I feel about you. You are worth more than any of the pain you’ve been through. You deserve love that feels safe, that feels steady. You deserve someone who chooses you, every single day, this is worth the risk to me, you're worth it to me"

The words sink into you, healing in a way you never thought possible. His hand rests on your cheek, grounding you, and for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be right. That maybe love doesn’t have to hurt.

Bucky leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his voice a soft promise. “I’m not going anywhere. I know it’s hard to believe, and I know trust doesn’t come easy. But I want to be here for you. Every single day.”

Your eyes close, and you feel his warmth surrounding you, filling the empty spaces you’ve carried for so long. He stays close, his presence steady and unyielding, like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

When you finally find your voice, it’s soft, almost trembling. “How can you be so sure?”

He smiles, a gentle, understanding smile that melts every last piece of fear you’re holding onto. “Because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I also know that finding someone who understands, who sees you for who you really are… that’s worth everything.”

In that moment, you feel a shift inside you, a glimmer of hope where there used to be only fear. Bucky is everything you thought you’d never find—kind, patient, willing to fight for you even when you’re not sure you can fight for yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek, but this time it’s not one of sadness. It’s the relief of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’re not alone anymore.

“I don’t know if I know how to love like that,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand gently trails down to your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his. “Then we’ll learn together,” he says softly, his gaze filled with a warmth and patience that takes your breath away. “One day at a time.”

And as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close against the quiet backdrop of the river, you let yourself believe that this—this love, this kindness, this man—might just be the home you’ve been searching for all along..

You stay there together by the river, wrapped in the warmth of Bucky’s arms as the soft murmur of the water flows beside you. His steady heartbeat under your cheek is calming, and you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the safety of the moment. It’s as if time has slowed, like the world has paused just for the two of you, letting you both breathe.

After a while, he pulls back slightly, enough to look down at you, his hand still resting gently against your cheek. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that mirrors your own, as if he’s waiting for just the right moment.

His thumb traces a soft line along your cheek, and he hesitates, as though he’s searching for the right words. Finally, he takes a deep breath, his voice low and steady, full of a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“Will you do me the honor,” he begins, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, “of being mine, darling?”

The question hangs in the air, his words so simple yet carrying so much weight, so much love. You feel the familiar urge to pull back, to put up your defenses, but with Bucky standing there, his gaze unwavering, you realize that you don’t want to run anymore. Not from him.

A warmth spreads through you, a quiet happiness that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment all along. You meet his gaze, feeling every ounce of his love and devotion, and you realize that, with him, you don’t have to be afraid. Not of love, not of loss—because he’s here, and he’s choosing you.

With a soft, shaky breath, you nod, a smile breaking across your face as you whisper, “Yes, Bucky. I’m yours.”

A look of pure joy lights up his face, and he pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as he lets out a relieved laugh, as if he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. His hand cups the back of your neck, and he murmurs softly, his voice full of warmth and certainty, “I'm not going anywhere ever, your stuck with me angel"

He leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips, and in that moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other, and you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

As he pulls you back into his arms, holding you close against the night, you know that this—this love, this connection, this man—is home. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe love doesn’t have to hurt; maybe it can be kind, steady, and true.

---

Over the next few months, Bucky weaves his way into every part of your life, becoming as familiar and comforting as home itself. He’s there for all of it—the quiet, mundane moments, the small victories, and the heavy days when the past creeps in and weighs on you. It’s as if he knows exactly when to be there, a steady presence who never asks more of you than you’re ready to give.

One day, after a long day, you find yourself curled up on the couch with him, your head resting against his shoulder. You’re both wrapped in a comfortable silence, but he can sense that something’s weighing on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, his fingers trailing soothingly along your arm. He doesn’t push, just leaves the door open, giving you the choice.

You hesitate for a moment, the familiar fear creeping in, but with him, it’s easier to let down your guard. You take a breath, leaning into his warmth as you begin to speak.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever stop carrying all of it with me,” you admit softly. “My parents… their anger was everywhere. They’d go from silence to shouting, always blaming each other. As a kid, I used to hide in my room, but I could still feel it, like their anger was seeping through the walls.”

Bucky’s hand stills, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his eyes filled with a quiet empathy that makes it easier to continue.

“I used to think it was normal, that that was just… how love looked. Chaotic, painful. When I got older, I started building walls, just to keep people at a distance. It felt safer that way.”

He nods, squeezing your hand gently. “That must have been so hard,” he says quietly, his voice laced with understanding. “To grow up thinking that’s all there was to love.”

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. “I know it sounds strange, but I thought maybe I’d somehow inherited that anger, that chaos. Like… if I let anyone close, it would just repeat. That I’d end up hurting them, or they’d hurt me.”

Bucky’s gaze softens, and he shifts slightly, turning so that he’s fully facing you, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. “You’re not them,” he whispers, his voice steady and sure. “And you don’t have to carry their mistakes.”

The kindness in his eyes, the unwavering gentleness, makes you feel like a knot is loosening in your chest. You hadn’t realized how heavy those fears had become, how deeply they’d settled into you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “For being here. For listening.”

“Always,” he says, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I’ll be here, no matter what.”

On a lighter day, Bucky’s there for your small victories, too, celebrating them as if they’re his own. You remember a Friday afternoon, when you’d finally completed a major project at work, one you’d been stressing over for weeks. You’d texted him, excited but exhausted, and by the time you got home, you found him standing in your kitchen with a bottle of champagne and a cake with “You did it!” iced onto it in wobbly, uneven letters.

“You did all this… for me?” you ask, laughing as you read the words on the cake.

“Of course,” he says, grinning as he pops the cork on the champagne. “You’ve been working so hard, and I thought you deserved a little celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of his joy for you radiate through the room. “You know, no one’s ever celebrated something like this with me before.”

“Well,” he says, pouring two glasses and handing you one, “then it’s about time someone did, and in honoured it gets to be me"

You clink glasses, and as you take a sip, you realize just how much he’s become part of your life, filling the empty spaces you’d once thought would always be there.

You sip the champagne, feeling the bubbles dance on your tongue as you look at Bucky, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a blanket. He’s watching you with that easy, genuine smile, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. You’d been working so hard, pouring everything you had into that project, and it was like he knew exactly how much you needed someone to see you, to be there, to celebrate this small victory with you.

“Really,” you say, setting down your glass and shaking your head with a laugh. “I still can’t believe you did all of this… for me. The cake, the champagne… It’s so thoughtful.”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “You deserve it. I know how hard you’ve been working.” He glances at the cake, chuckling a little. “Even if the cake looks like it was made by a five-year-old.”

“It’s perfect,” you say, a laugh escaping you as you look at the uneven letters again, and he grins, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up his eyes.

Over the past few weeks, he’s taken to saying those three words to you—quietly, simply, as if he’s known them all along. It usually happens in those gentle moments, the ones that sneak up on you and make you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. The first time he’d said it, you’d felt the words catch in your throat, and he’d squeezed your hand, smiling softly.

“It’s okay,” he’d whispered. “You don’t have to say it back. I just… wanted you to know.”

And he’s been true to his word, never pressuring you, never expecting more than you’re ready to give. He says it without hesitation, as though his love for you is as natural as breathing, and each time, it feels like another piece of the armor around your heart softens. You’ve been holding those words close, letting them settle, and tonight, with him standing here in your kitchen, celebrating you, it’s like they’re finally ready to take flight.

You take a breath, setting your glass down and looking at him, really looking at him. He’s so patient, so steady, just waiting for you to be ready, and in that moment, the words slip out, simple and true.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

For a moment, he looks surprised, his eyes widening just slightly. Then a slow, radiant smile spreads across his face, and he lets out a soft, relieved laugh, like he’s been holding onto a breath he didn’t realize he’d taken.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, and there’s a gentleness in his gaze that makes your heart feel like it’s glowing.

You nod, a warmth blooming in your chest as you watch him, feeling the weight of those words sink in, wrapping around the two of you. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I love you.”

He takes a step closer, reaching out to take your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in that familiar way that makes you feel safe, cherished. He doesn’t say anything else—he doesn’t have to. The way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in his world, says it all.

You stand there together, the sound of quiet laughter and clinking glasses filling the air, and as you look into his eyes, you know this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

---

One night, over a year after that moment by the river, you’re sitting on the back porch with him, wrapped in a blanket as you watch the stars. It’s quiet, peaceful, and he has his arm around you, pulling you close as you lean into him.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur, breaking the silence.

“Anything,” he replies, his voice soft.

“Do you ever… I don’t know… feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” you ask, the vulnerability of the question catching in your throat. “Like things are too good, and maybe it won’t last?”

He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s considering your words, and then he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I used to,” he admits. “But then I realized that waiting for something to go wrong just robs you of all the good things you’ve got right here, right now.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. He has a way of grounding you, of making the fears that once felt so overwhelming seem smaller, more manageable.

“Look,” he says, pulling back slightly so he can look into your eyes, “I know you still have walls up baby, I know you’ve been through things I can’t even imagine. But none of that changes how I feel about you. You’re it for me sweet heart"

The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart race, and you feel that familiar warmth, that sense of safety you’ve come to cherish with him. You open your mouth to respond, but he reaches out, crashes his lips to yours, as his lips meet yours, everything else fades away. The quiet of the night, the cool breeze, the blanket wrapped around you both—none of it matters except the feel of him, warm and steady and here. His hand cradles the back of your head, gentle yet certain, as if he’s savoring this moment just as much as you are. There’s a tender urgency in the way he kisses you, a depth of feeling that words could never fully capture.

His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you find yourself letting go, allowing the barriers you’ve held up for so long to slip away. In his arms, every lingering fear, every shadow of doubt feels smaller, quieter. He’s the one constant you never thought you’d find, and here, beneath the blanket of stars, you feel safe enough to let him see all of you.

You run your hands along his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the solidity, as if to reassure yourself that he’s real, that he’s yours. He senses the hesitation in your touch and gently deepens the kiss, pouring his own quiet reassurance into each soft brush of his lips against yours. He’s unhurried, savoring the closeness, the warmth shared between you, as if he has all the time in the world.

When you finally pull back to catch your breath, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes soft and full of that familiar warmth that’s always steadied you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering as he looks at you, his gaze tender and unguarded.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp. “I hope you know that.”

Your heart swells, and you can’t help but reach up, your fingers tracing his jaw, memorizing the lines of his face. “I do,” you whisper, smiling as you take in the love shining in his eyes. “And you’re everything to me, too.”

The moment is gentle, intimate, a quiet affirmation of all that you’ve come to mean to each other. As the night drifts on, you find yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging soft kisses and whispered promises, the world around you falling away until it’s just you and him, together in the safe haven you’ve created.

---

It isn’t until months later, on a quiet afternoon in your small apartment, that you realize how much he’s changed you. You’re both in the kitchen, making dinner, when he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. In that moment, feeling the solid warmth of him, something inside you finally softens, and you feel that long-buried fear of love start to melt away.

Turning around to face him, you look into his eyes, your heart pounding but steady. “You’re… you’re home,” you say softly, finally daring to voice the truth you’ve been feeling for so long.

Bucky smiles, and it’s the warmest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. “And so are you,” he murmurs, brushing a gentle kiss across your forehead. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

As you lean into him, you feel a deep sense of peace—a peace that tells you love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real, that sometimes, it’s okay to let yourself be someone else’s. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that you can be loved without fear.

In his arms, you know that no matter where life takes you, he’ll always be there, steady as ever, reminding you every day that you’re his, and he’s yours.

The soft simmering of the pot on the stove fades into the background as you hold each other in the kitchen, wrapped in a quiet warmth that feels like it’s seeped into every corner of your life together. The room is filled with the comforting scent of herbs and spices, but all you can focus on is him—his arms around you, his steady breathing, the familiar warmth of his presence.

You look up at him, and there’s a softness in his eyes, a light you’ve come to recognize as the kind of love that expects nothing but offers everything.

“I don’t know if I tell you this enough,” he murmurs, running his fingers gently along your back. “But you… you make me feel whole. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

His words settle over you like a balm, soothing any lingering fear you still carry. There’s a deep sincerity in his gaze, a warmth that has become your comfort, your safety. You feel your heart swell, a surge of gratitude that he’s here, that he chose you even with all the jagged edges you thought would push people away.

“Bucky,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “I never thought I’d find this. Find… you.”

He smiles, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to trust me. But you’re everything I ever wanted… everything I never thought I deserved.”

You laugh softly, the sound breaking through the quiet as you realize how much he’s come to mean to you, how he’s become the constant in your life, the calm in your storms. “You deserve all of it, love....Every bit of happiness there is.”

His eyes soften, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, lingering as if he’s savoring the moment, as if he’s savoring you. “Then stay with me,” he whispers, his voice low and full of emotion. “For as long as we have… let’s make this our forever.”

Your heart races as his words sink in, and you feel a warmth bloom within you, a peace that you’ve only known with him. The future, once clouded by fear and doubt, now feels open, full of possibility, and you realize that with him, you’re no longer afraid of what lies ahead.

You take his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of his palms, the strength that’s always there, supporting you. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say, looking up into his eyes. “I’m yours, Bucky. Completely.”

He smiles, a look of relief mixed with pure joy lighting up his face, and he pulls you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he holds you like he never intends to let go.

“I’ll remind you of that every day,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice a soft promise. “You’re mine. And I love you… more than I could ever put into words.”

In that quiet moment, held close in his arms, you feel it—this deep, steady love that you never believed could be yours. And you know, as long as you have him, you are finally, truly home.

Bucky’s arms wrap around you a little tighter, pulling you closer, and in his embrace, you feel every ounce of love and devotion he’s offered you so freely. His hands rest at the small of your back, gentle but firm, grounding you. The simmering sounds from the stove fade into the background as he holds you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this shared moment.

He dips his head, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that’s unhurried, tender, but filled with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hand moves to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your jawline, a soft reverence in his touch, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

You feel the roughness of his palms as his hands settle along your waist, his fingers splaying across your back, drawing you even closer. The air between you feels charged, a steady, simmering warmth that’s both comforting and thrilling. You let your fingers trail up his shoulders, feeling the strength and warmth there, feeling safe and cherished.

“Bucky,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean into him, pressing soft kisses along his jawline, savoring the way his breathing hitches ever so slightly at your touch.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. “You’re everything,” he whispers, his forehead resting gently against yours as he closes his eyes, breathing you in. “Everything I never knew I could have.”

---

A few months later, everything feels like it’s slipping out of your hands. Work is stressful, you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself let alone with Bucky, and the anxieties that you thought you’d buried start creeping back in, tainting every small moment of happiness with doubt. Bucky notices, of course. He’s always paying attention, always picking up on the little things.

After a long, exhausting day, you come home and find him waiting for you in your small, cluttered living room. He’s made dinner, and the smell of pasta fills the apartment, a small act of love that you know he did just to make you feel better.

But instead of feeling grateful, all you feel is overwhelmed.

As you set your bag down, you glance at him, trying to ignore the pressure building in your chest. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. “I don’t need you to take care of me all the time, i can do it myself!"

He blinks, taken aback by the edge in your tone. “I know you can baby, ” he says carefully. “I just wanted to make things a little easier tonight"

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need you to!” you snap, unable to hold back the frustration boiling over inside. “I’m fine on my own....I’ve always been fine on my own!"

Bucky’s face falls, and he sets down the plate he was holding, his gaze steady but pained. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks quietly.

You don’t know how to answer, not when everything feels so confusing and raw. “Maybe… maybe we were a mistake,” you murmur, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Maybe we got too close too fast.”

His jaw clenches, hurt flashing across his face. “Do you really mean that?” His voice is low, almost breaking. “Or are you just scared?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, because he’s right. You are scared—scared of getting hurt, scared of being vulnerable, and scared of what it means to love someone so deeply. And yet, instead of admitting it, you double down, pushing him further away.

“What if I am scared, Bucky?” you snap, crossing your arms. “Maybe I don’t want to put myself through this. People always leave, and were in so deep! I, I’m just—” You stop, your voice catching as the memories of your parents’ fights come rushing back, the anger, the silence, the way love had turned to something dark and painful.

Bucky steps forward, his expression softened but resolute. “I’m not your Father, we're not your parents” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m not going to walk away just because things get hard.”

You turn away, trying to hide the tears that have started to well up. “How can you say that? You don’t know… what it was like.”

He takes a breath, his hand reaching out to yours, fingers warm and steady around yours. “Then tell me,” he says, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Help me understand, so I can be here for you the way you need.”

The walls you’ve built around your heart feel like they’re crumbling, and you struggle to keep them in place, to hold onto the safety they give you. But Bucky’s still there, holding your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

With a shaky breath, you finally let go, everything you've been keeping inside for the last couple weeks pours out of you, your eyes like waterfalls. Bucky has his arms wrapped around faster than you could wipe your tears away. His grip firm, as he rubs circles on your back. Holding you close, and you feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, filling the empty spaces with a warmth you were about to let yourself lose.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs softly, his fingers brushing soothingly along your back. “No matter how scared you get, I’m here. You’re not alone, you’re worth it, i promise angel”

You pull back, looking up at him, feeling the truth of his words sink into you. The fear is still there, lingering around the edges, but somehow it feels smaller now, less overwhelming.

As you hold his gaze, you realize that this—this moment, where you’re both standing on the edge of your fears and still choosing each other—is what love is meant to be. It’s not about perfection or never fighting. It’s about standing together, even when things get messy, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean it, ant of it Bucky I’m just… scared of losing you.”

He smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Then hold onto me,” he says softly “Because I’m not letting you go"

---

Bucky has been working long hours lately, pulling extra shifts and coming home exhausted. You’ve noticed how he’s barely had a moment to breathe, how he comes home later every night, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as he falls onto the couch. You’ve asked him if everything’s okay, and every time, he just smiles, brushes a kiss across your forehead, and says he’s fine, just a little busy.

What you don’t know is that Bucky’s been saving up for something big, something he’s been dreaming about since the day he realized he couldn’t imagine a life without you. He’s been setting aside every extra dollar to buy you a ring, one that feels worthy of you. But between work and stress, his nerves are stretched thin, and even though he tries to be patient, exhaustion is starting to get the better of him.

You come home from work and find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at a half-prepared dinner, his face worn and tired. You reach out to touch his arm, concerned. “Bucky, you don’t have to do everything, you know. I could’ve picked something up.”

He doesn’t look at you, just sighs, his voice tense. “I’m fine doll, I can handle it.”

You press a little further, sensing something beneath his words. “Are you sure? You’ve been so… distant lately. I just feel like we barely talk anymore.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffen, and he glances over at you, a flicker of frustration in his gaze. “I don’t get why you’re always questioning me,” he snaps, voice sharper than usual. “I’m here, aren’t I? It’s not like I’m going anywhere, i've told you"

You flinch at his words, feeling a familiar ache settle in your chest. “I’m not… I just don’t understand why you’re shutting me out.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’m not shutting you out, alright? Not everything has to be a big deal.”

The words feel dismissive, and something inside you snaps, the old fears rising up. “I just… I need to know what’s going on, Bucky, you know this, I-I....You say you’re here, but it doesn’t feel like it right now, It’s like you’re already halfway gone already..."

The moment you say it, his expression changes, a spark of hurt flashing across his face. “Are you serious?” he asks, his tone suddenly defensive. “I’ve been working myself to the bone for us, trying to make things better. I’m here every night, putting in the effort, and you’re just waiting for me to mess up. Waiting for an excuse to push me away! "

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “That’s not fair,” you say, voice trembling. “You know why I have a hard time trusting people, why I get scared. You’re the one who made me feel safe again. And now it’s like… it’s like you’re proving me right.”

He looks away, jaw clenched, but the frustration and exhaustion finally get the better of him. “Maybe I don’t know how to prove it to you, then,” he mutters, anger shading his words. “I don’t know what more you need from me!"

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and suddenly the air feels too thick, the walls of your house are suddenly too close. Without thinking, you grab your coat, needing to escape the pain before it breaks you completely.

“Where are you going?” he calls after you, the anger giving way to worry as he realizes you’re actually leaving. “It’s 2:30AM! Y-you cant just walk out!

You pause at the door, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look back at him, the hurt and fear finally spilling over“I’m leaving before you leave me,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “I told you would! Everyone always does.”

With that, you slip out the door, stepping into the quiet, empty street. You start walking, the chill of the night biting into your skin as you try to hold back the tears. The memory of his words lingers, replaying in your mind, amplifying every insecurity you’ve ever felt.

But then you hear footsteps behind you, and before you can turn, Bucky’s voice reaches you, a soft, desperate sound. “Wait, Baby please, just… stop for a second"

You hesitate, swallowing down the sob that’s caught in your throat as he steps closer, his face a mix of regret and something you can’t name. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, his own tears spilling over “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You take a shaky breath, your voice full of the hurt you can’t hide. “You’re right, though. I don’t know how to believe you’ll stay. I can’t get rid of this feeling that you’ll change your mind.”

He closes the gap between you, his gaze softening as he reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice gentle, grounding. “I’m not going anywhere. You know why I’ve been working so much?”

You shake your head, your mind still reeling.

He lets out a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket, a small, worn ring box. “This...This is why I’ve been putting in those hours. Because I want to be with you, forever....For good.”

You stare at the box in his hand, the realization washing over you like a wave. Bucky steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been saving up to buy you a ring. Because all I want is a life with you. No running, no more fears. Just us...till death do us part and all..."

The words sink in, and your heart feels like it’s breaking open and mending at the same time. “Bucky, I… I didn’t know.”

“I know, you weren't suppose to sweet girl” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. “I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was just… scared, too. Scared that maybe you’d never really believe I’d stay or be too scared to stay yourself.."

You cling to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace seep into you, grounding you. For the first time, you let yourself feel the truth in his words, the steady, unyielding love he’s shown you all along.

As he holds you in the quiet of the night, you finally feel something shift deep inside, a sense of peace replacing the old fears. And as you look up into his blue eyes, you know, without a doubt, that this is what home looks like.

Bucky holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you both stand on the empty street, the quiet stillness of the night surrounding you. You can feel the steady beat of his heart as he holds you, each thump anchoring you back into the moment, reminding you of everything he’s done to show you he’s here to stay.

After a few moments, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft and full of a warmth that nearly takes your breath away. He glances down at the small ring box in his hand, then back up at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I was planning this whole big thing, you know,” he says, a soft laugh escaping him as he looks at you, his eyes bright with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. “A perfect night, the right words… I wanted it to be special. Because you deserve that, you deserve everything.”

Your breath catches, your eyes filling with tears again, but this time they’re tears of joy, of a hope that’s finally free of the shadows that used to hold you back.

“But somehow,” he continues, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek, “this feels right. Standing here with you, just… us, no walls, no fears.”

Slowly, Bucky lowers himself down onto one knee, opening the small ring box to reveal a simple but beautiful ring that catches the glow of the streetlight. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know we’ve both been through a lot, and I know we’ve still got our fears,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, each word carrying the weight of everything he feels. “But there’s no one else I’d rather face them with. You’re it for me. You’re my home, my everything.”

He takes a steadying breath, his gaze unwavering as he holds the ring up to you. “Will you marry me? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m never going to leave?”

You feel the tears spill over, but this time you don’t bother wiping them away. Nodding, you barely manage to whisper, the easiest words you ever said before “Yes...Yes, Bucky, I’ll marry you"

A bright smile breaks across his face as he slips the ring onto your finger, then rises to his feet, pulling you back into his arms. He kisses you softly, a lingering kiss filled with every unspoken promise between you "I love you Bucky Barnes"

As he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a smile playing on his lips. "And I love you, forever" he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and certainty. “You’re the best thing that's ever been mine,”

[its-avalon-08]

can i request max, oscar or logan x reader

he started talking to her because of a bet but he fell in love with her and is scared to come clean..she accidentally finds out and is hurt but he tries to fix things (sorry a little cliche but i do love this trope)

was it worth it? (op81)

✦ pairing - oscar piastri x female!reader

✦ genre - it started off as a bet, a LOT angst, alot of tears

The club was alive with pulsating beats, flashing lights, and a sea of bodies moving in sync with the rhythm. The scent of perfume, cologne, and sweat filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol. Oscar Piastri sat at a corner table with a few of his fellow drivers, the remnants of laughter hanging in the air from a joke Pierre Gasly had just told.

Oscar sipped his drink, his eyes scanning the crowd absentmindedly until they landed on a woman dancing with her friends. She moved effortlessly to the music, her laughter ringing out above the din. She was stunning, with a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room. For a moment, their eyes met, and she offered a coy smile before turning back to her friends.

"Who are you staring at, Piastri?" Lando Norris nudged him, following his line of sight. A mischievous grin spread across Lando’s face. "You like what you see?"

Oscar shook his head with a chuckle. "She’s just…really pretty."

"Pretty enough to go talk to?" Charles Leclerc teased, leaning in with a knowing look.

Before Oscar could respond, Pierre chimed in. "I bet you can’t get her number."

The challenge hung in the air, a playful smirk on each driver's face. The conversation quickly escalated into a full-fledged bet, the terms becoming more outrageous with each passing second. Finally, it was settled: whoever could sleep with her first would win.

Oscar felt a pang of discomfort at the idea. It was stupid, juvenile, but the competitive atmosphere among the drivers was hard to resist. With a sigh, he stood up, brushing off his nerves.

"Fine, I’ll go talk to her," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

As he weaved through the crowd, the music seemed to grow louder, the lights brighter. He approached her, heart pounding, rehearsing what he would say. She noticed him as he neared, a curious smile playing on her lips.

"Hi, I’m Oscar," he said, his voice barely audible over the music.

"Y/N," she replied, her smile widening. "Nice to meet you, Oscar."

Her voice was warm and inviting, and any remaining apprehension melted away. They started to chat, and to his surprise, the conversation flowed effortlessly. She was witty, intelligent, and kind—everything he found irresistible.

"What brings you here tonight?" he asked, leaning in to hear her better.

"Just out with some friends," she replied, gesturing to the group she had been dancing with. "What about you?"

"Same," he said, glancing back at his table. "Just needed a break from work."

"Work? What do you do?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"I’m a Formula 1 driver," he said, trying to sound casual.

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, that’s impressive! I’ve heard about you guys, but I’ve never met one in person."

They talked for hours, the bet forgotten as Oscar found himself drawn deeper into her charm. They laughed, shared stories, and even danced a little. The connection was undeniable, and by the end of the night, he felt something real brewing between them.

"Can I get your number?" he asked as the night was winding down.

She smiled, taking his phone and entering her number. "I’d like that."

As they parted ways, Oscar couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and guilt. The bet loomed in the back of his mind, but the night had been too perfect for it to matter. He had genuinely enjoyed her company, and he was determined to see her again.

He returned to the table, greeted by cheers and jeers from his friends. "Well, did you get her number?" Lando asked, a smug grin on his face.

Oscar nodded, holding up his phone. "Yeah, I did."

"Looks like you’re in the lead," Pierre said, clapping him on the back.

Later that night Y/N and Oscar were in his hotel room. His lips latched on her neck as she let out a soft moan. He loved that sound as he sucked on the sweet spot. His hands travelled down and pulled her closer. Her perfume filled the air as dresses came off and shirts were unbuttoned.

(sorry i don't write smut)

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Y/N stirred, her head resting on Oscar’s chest, her hand splayed over his heart. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, a comforting reminder of the night they had shared.

Oscar lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The previous night had been perfect—more than perfect. He had never felt such a connection with anyone before, and the realization both thrilled and terrified him. The bet, however, loomed in the back of his mind, a dark cloud over an otherwise beautiful morning.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, a sudden intrusion into the peaceful silence. He reached over carefully, trying not to wake Y/N. A notification flashed on the screen: a group message from the drivers congratulating him, along with several payment notifications. They had all transferred their share of the bet money.

His stomach churned with guilt as he read the messages:

landonorrizz: "Looks like you won, mate! Enjoy the spoils!"

pierreakatripod: "Didn’t think you had it in you, Piastri. Well done!"

charlesadoptivefather: "Payment sent. Drinks on you next time!"

Oscar's face paled, the reality of the situation hitting him like a freight train. He had won the bet, but at what cost? His feelings for Y/N were real, but this tainted the purity of their relationship. He knew he had to come clean, but the thought of losing her was unbearable.

As he was lost in his thoughts, Y/N stirred beside him, slowly waking up. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the light, and then she smiled up at him, her expression warm and content.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," he replied, forcing a smile.

She snuggled closer, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "Last night was amazing. I’m so glad we met, Oscar."

His heart ached at her words, knowing he was keeping something from her. "Yeah, it really was."

Just then, she noticed his phone in his hand, the screen still lit up with notifications. "Who’s messaging you so early?"

Oscar’s grip tightened on the phone, panic rising. "Oh, just the guys. You know, racing stuff." Y/N giggles and settled back down on his chest.

fast forward 11 months

Eleven months had passed since that fateful night in the club. Oscar and Y/N’s relationship had blossomed into something beautiful and profound. They had moved in together, creating a cozy home filled with love and laughter. Their days were spent sharing dreams and planning futures, their nights wrapped in each other’s embrace.

One sunny afternoon, they had some friends over for a casual get-together. Lando, Charles, Carlos, Max and Pierre were all lounging in the living room, the air filled with the sounds of friendly banter and laughter. Y/N was in the kitchen, preparing snacks while Oscar chatted with the guys.

"Hey, remember when we thought Oscar wouldn't have the guts to talk to Y/N?" Lando joked, nudging Charles.

Charles laughed. "Yeah, and look at them now. Guess that bet was the best thing that ever happened to him."

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Lando, don’t—" he started, his voice tense.

But it was too late. Y/N stepped into the room just as Lando continued, oblivious to the growing horror on Oscar's face.

"Come on, Y/N knew about the bet, right?" Lando laughed. "You know, the one where we dared Oscar to get her number and then see who could sleep with her first? Classic stuff."

The room fell deathly silent. Y/N stood frozen, the tray of snacks trembling in her hands. Her face paled, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal. The words hung in the air, echoing painfully in the sudden stillness.

"W-What?" Y/N's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes darting to Oscar. "A fucking bet?"

Oscar jumped up, his heart pounding. "Y/N, I can explain—"

But she was already backing away, her eyes filling with tears. "So it was all a lie? Our entire fucking relationship started because of a bet?"

"Y/N, please, it’s not what you think," Oscar pleaded, his voice desperate. "It started that way, but it became real. I fell in love with you. I love you."

"How can I believe anything you say now?" she cried, the tears spilling over. "Was anything real, Oscar? Was any of it real?"

"It was, it is!" Oscar insisted, stepping toward her. "I made a mistake, a stupid mistake, but everything after that night was real. You have to believe me."

She shook her head, the betrayal cutting deep. "How could you do this to me? How could you let me fall in love with you knowing this?"

Oscar’s heart shattered at the sight of her tears. "Y/N, please, I was scared to tell you. I didn’t want to lose you."

"You’ve already lost me," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Was winning the bet worth losing me, Oscar? Because you just lost me."

"Y/N, don’t say that," he begged, reaching out for her. "Please, don’t leave. I can’t lose you."

She pulled away, her sobs shaking her entire body. "I can’t stay here. I can’t be with someone who lied to me from the start."

Oscar watched helplessly as she turned and fled to their bedroom. The door slammed shut behind her, and he stood there, the reality of his actions crashing down on him. The room was silent, the friends who had inadvertently revealed the truth now looking on with a mix of regret and sympathy.

Lando finally broke the silence. "Mate, I thought she knew. I’m so fucking sorry. I had no idea"

Oscar shook his head, the weight of his mistake too heavy to bear. "I can't - I just. Fuck man."

He walked to the bedroom door, his heart aching with every step. He knocked softly. "Y/N, please, let me in. Let’s talk."

There was no answer, only the sound of her muffled sobs. He rested his forehead against the door, tears streaming down his face. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I love you more than anything. Please, give me a chance to make this right."

Inside the room, Y/N sat on the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her world had crumbled in an instant, and the man she loved had been the one to destroy it. She wanted to believe him, to trust that his love was real, but the pain was too raw, the betrayal too deep.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room. The once lively atmosphere was now heavy with sorrow and regret. The guys had left quietly, offering subdued apologies and words of support that did little to ease Oscar's heartache. The apartment was eerily silent, except for the faint sound of Y/N's muffled sobs from behind the closed bedroom door.

Oscar sat on the couch, his head in his hands, replaying the events of the day over and over in his mind. Each time he thought about Y/N's face, the look of betrayal in her eyes, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

The sound of the bedroom door opening snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Y/N standing there, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She was holding a suitcase, her movements frantic as she began to pack her things.

"Y/N, please, don’t do this," Oscar pleaded, rushing to her side. He tried to grab the suitcase from her hands, but she pulled it away, her sobs intensifying.

"I have to, Oscar," she cried, her voice trembling. "I can’t stay here. I can’t be with you."

"Please, just let me explain," he begged, his own tears flowing freely. "I love you, Y/N. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but I love you. Please, don’t leave."

She paused, looking at him with eyes full of pain. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to always be second?" she asked, her voice breaking. "My whole life, I’ve always felt like I was never enough. Second best in school, second best to my friends, even in my own family. I thought you were different, Oscar. I thought you saw me for who I really am, and I believed that I was finally someone’s first choice."

"You are my first choice," he said desperately, reaching out to touch her arm.

She pulled away, shaking her head. "No, Oscar. I was just a bet to you. A game. You won the bet, but you’ve lost me. And no one has ever hurt me more than you have."

Her words pierced through him, each one like a dagger to his heart. "I didn’t mean to hurt you," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I was an idiot, a coward. I should have told you the truth from the beginning. I love you, Y/N. More than anything. Please, don’t go."

"I can’t stay," she sobbed, her hands trembling as she continued to pack. "Every time I look at you, I’ll be reminded of this. Of how I was just a challenge to you. I need to go. I need to find a way to heal from this."

Oscar dropped to his knees, his heart shattering with every passing second. "Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just give me a chance."

She stopped packing, looking down at him with tears streaming down her face. "How can I ever trust you again, Oscar? How can I believe that anything we had was real?"

"It was real," he insisted, his voice raw with emotion. "Every moment we shared, every laugh, every kiss—it was all real to me. I love you more than words can say. Please, don’t leave me."

She closed her eyes, the pain overwhelming. "I need to go," she said softly, her voice barely audible. "I need to find myself again. Without you."

He watched helplessly as she zipped up her suitcase and walked to the door. "Y/N," he called out, his voice breaking. "Please, don’t go."

She paused at the door, looking back at him one last time. "Goodbye, Oscar," she whispered, and then she was gone.

Oscar sat there on the floor, his heart in pieces, the sound of the door closing echoing in his ears. He had lost her, the woman he loved more than anything in the world, because of a stupid, reckless bet. And now, all he could do was hope that one day, she might find it in her heart to forgive him and come back. But for now, he was left with the unbearable weight of his mistakes and the hollow ache of her absence.

a few hours later

Y/N sat in her apartment, the quiet solitude of the space amplifying her heartbreak. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched a hoodie that belonged to Oscar, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a bittersweet memory. Her phone was filled with pictures of the two of them, each snapshot a testament to the love they had shared. She scrolled through them, her heart breaking a little more with every smile, every kiss, every laugh they had captured.

A bouquet of wilted flowers Oscar had given her on their last anniversary sat on the table, and she fingered the petals absentmindedly, recalling the tenderness in his eyes when he had handed them to her. The apartment felt like a museum of their love, every corner holding a memory that now felt tainted by his betrayal.

Meanwhile, Oscar was pacing his own apartment, wracking his brain for a way to make things right. He glanced around, his eyes landing on a Polaroid picture of Y/N that he had taken one sunny afternoon. She was laughing, her hair blowing in the wind, her eyes sparkling with joy. The sight of her in that picture filled him with a renewed determination. He had to show her how much she meant to him, how deeply he loved her.

Grabbing a bouquet of fresh flowers, he rushed out of his apartment and drove to Y/N's place. When he arrived, he stood at her door, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. He knocked gently at first, then more urgently when there was no answer.

"Y/N, please, let me in," he called out, his voice thick with emotion. "I need to talk to you."

Inside, Y/N heard his voice but couldn’t bring herself to move. She was too hurt, too shattered. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing quietly.

Oscar’s heart sank when there was no response. Desperate, he pulled out his phone and found her favorite song on a jukebox app. He placed it on the ground outside her door and hit play. The familiar melody filled the air, and he began to speak, his voice shaking with sincerity.

Oscar stood outside Y/N’s door, his heart pounding in his chest as he played her favorite song on his phone. The music filled the air, a bittersweet melody that mirrored the emotions swirling inside him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands, and began to speak, his voice filled with raw emotion.

"Y/N, please, just hear me out," he started, his voice breaking. "I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. But I need you to know how deeply I love you. From the moment I met you, you changed my world, and every day since then, I’ve fallen more and more in love with you."

He paused, wiping away the tears that streamed down his face. "I love the way you scrunch your nose when you're thinking hard about something. It’s one of the cutest things I've ever seen. I love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you're passionate about. Your enthusiasm is contagious, and it makes me want to be a better person."

Oscar’s voice trembled as he continued, "I love the way you laugh. It's the most beautiful sound in the world, and it can brighten even my darkest days. I love how you always insist on dancing in the kitchen, even when there’s no music. Those moments, just you and me, they’re the ones I cherish the most."

He took a shaky breath, his tears falling freely now. "I love how you always leave little notes for me to find, reminding me to smile or telling me you love me. Those notes mean everything to me. I love how you remember every detail about my day, how you listen to me, and how you make me feel valued and important."

Oscar’s voice cracked with emotion as he continued, "I love the way you care for others, how you’re always looking out for the people you love. You have the biggest heart, Y/N, and I am so incredibly lucky to be loved by you. I love every single thing about you, from your kindness to your strength, from your laughter to your tears."

He wiped his eyes, his voice growing more desperate. "I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you in a way that might never fully heal. But I am begging you, from the bottom of my heart, to give me a chance to make this right. I will spend every day of my life proving to you that you are my first choice, my only choice."

Oscar took a step closer to the door, his voice filled with unwavering sincerity. "Please, Y/N, don’t walk away from what we have. I can’t lose you. I’ll do anything to earn back your trust, to show you that my love for you is real and true. Please, let me prove to you that you mean everything to me."

His voice broke again, a sob escaping his lips. "I love you, Y/N. I love you more than words can express. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, and I promise you, I will never hurt you like this again. Please, open the door and let me in. Let me be with you, let me show you how much I care."

The silence that followed was agonizing. Oscar stood there, his heart aching, praying that she would give him a chance. Just as he felt his hope begin to waver, the door slowly creaked open.

Y/N stood there, tears streaming down her face, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at him, taking in the flowers, the pain, and love in his eyes. "Oscar," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How can I trust you again?"

He stepped forward, his heart breaking at the sight of her tears. "I know it’s going to take time," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "And I’m willing to wait as long as it takes. I’ll spend every day showing you that you can trust me again. I love you, Y/N. You are my everything."

She hesitated, then slowly reached out to take the flowers from his hands. The touch of her fingers against his sent a wave of hope through him. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for any hint of deceit, but all she saw was raw, honest love.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But it’s going to take time, Oscar."

He nodded, tears of relief streaming down his face. "I understand. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Just please, let me be with you."

She stepped aside, allowing him to enter, and as he did, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. They stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the pain of the past mingling with the hope for the future.

"I love you, Y/N," he murmured into her hair. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Oscar," she whispered back, her tears soaking into his shirt. "Just don’t ever hurt me like this again."

"I won’t," he promised, his voice firm. "Never again."

As they held each other, the music playing softly in the background, they both knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but they were willing to walk it together, one step at a time.

[dark-dawn]

₊˚ ⊹｡ BIRDS OF A FEATHER ｡ ⊹ kageyama tobio

✭ summary: perhaps even in the vast, chaotic expanse of all the planets and stars and galaxies, you would always find each other. in every world, every universe, again and again. or, your photo shoot is interrupted by your ex-boyfriend.

✭ pairing: kageyama tobio x model!reader

✭ contains: exes still in love, mutual pining, slight angst, post-timeskip, alcohol + smoking, everyone is very touch-starved and can't keep their hands to themselves, longing and devotion!!, happy ending <3

✭ word count: 3.6k ✭ a/n: i recently watched the movie, and now i can't stop thinking about kageyama. so here we are :)

you were nineteen when you broke up with tobio.

back then, the world seemed to constrict around you – streets narrowing, air thinning – as if the universe itself conspired to magnify the ache in your lungs. it was as though every passing moment folded in on itself, squeezing tighter with each breath, until you felt suffocated by the weight of your own existence.

but maybe you were just nineteen, and everything felt worse then.

you find comfort in the idea that among the countless universes unfurling across the cosmos, there exists one where you and him are together, where the threads of fate intertwine just right. perhaps you first meet in a quaint coffee shop on a rainy afternoon, where you’ve forgotten your umbrella, and he offers to share his own. or maybe it’s a bustling bookstore, where your hands reach for the same novel, and your eyes meet with a spark of recognition, as if your souls can recognise each other through touch alone.

and maybe there is a universe where he doesn’t become a professional athlete. he’s just tobio, a boy with kind eyes and dreams that don’t pull him miles away from you. there, perhaps, saturday mornings are spent in bed, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries lingering in the air. golden morning light would filter through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over your bodies, and your joy would radiate so intensely that your vision is filled only with each other. you’d fight over silly things, like whose turn it is to do the dishes or whether the couch should be moved two inches to the left. but even in those moments, there’s a comfort, a certainty that at the end of the day you’d still find yourselves curled up together, sharing the warmth of the same bed.

in another universe, maybe it’s not so perfect. there are arguments that sting, silence that stretches too long. and yet despite the cracks and the flaws, you choose each other, again and again.

but here, in this reality, you were nineteen when you broke up with tobio. you cried until there were no tears left, until the numbness set in and the world seemed dull and grey.

and then you learned to navigate life without him, because the world wouldn’t end because you broke up with your boyfriend. 

three years later, tobio is... well, he’s still a professional athlete, at the peak of his career now. sometimes, his name pops up on your social media feed, accompanied by images of him on the court, sweat glistening, determination etched into every muscle, into every pore. it still feels strange, seeing him there, and not by your side.

there’s an undeniable magnetism to him, a gravitational pull that draws your gaze despite your best efforts to look away. he’s a force of nature, like a raging wildfire or relentless flood; more natural disaster than a man of flesh and bone. you can’t help but feel a pang of something – nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe a twinge of envy. you always liked to watch him play, but now you’re really on the sidelines. 

seeing him on your phone is always a reminder of just how far apart your worlds have drifted, how different your paths have become. he’s soared to unimaginable heights, and you can’t reach him anymore.

you miss him. it’s an ache you can’t seem to shake.

but you’re not doing bad per se. you’re a model now, signed to an agency, and getting semi-regular jobs, too. it’s a far cry from your nineteen-year-old self who was too insecure to ever apply. you remember how daunting it was at first, the fear of rejection teetering on your shoulder blades. it lingers still, in the long hours and perfectionism, but you’re proud of yourself.

you just miss him.

---

you’re at a club when you find out you landed the most significant booking of your career.

you’re not exactly thrilled to be there – a promoter had convinced you to come, and, well, you needed the money.

the bass thumps through the floor, reverberating up your legs as you stand near the bar, nursing a drink. neon lights dance across the crowd, illuminating the faces of strangers lost in a haze of alcohol. you take a sip, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat, momentarily distracting you from the mess around you.

you pull out your phone, the screen casting a faint glow against the darkness of the club. your fingers fumble for a moment before you manage to unlock it, the pulsing music and jostling bodies making it hard to focus. a notification from your agent pops up, and you squint at the words, trying to make sense of them in the dim light. you blink, then read it again, just to be sure.

you got the job.

it’s for an athletic brand. not exactly the glamour you’ve dreamt of, but the pay... the pay is good. and working for them means exposure, means more opportunities down the line. sure, it’s not the pinnacle of your aspirations, but it’s a step – a big one – in the right direction. and right now, that’s all that matters.

you’ll celebrate later, you decide, once you’re somewhere quieter, somewhere you can properly let it sink in. maybe with friends and family, but definitely not with a text to your ex, telling him how well you’re doing, how he would be proud of you.

you wonder if there will be a day when you don’t think about him.

---

kageyama did not cry when you broke up with him. he had wanted to, he thinks, but at the time he just felt numb – like a cold emptiness had settled deep within his chest, drowning any semblance of feeling.

in the days that followed, he replayed the conversation in his mind, searching for some hidden meaning, some clue as to why it had all fallen apart. but the truth eluded him, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. he only remembers the disbelief, as if the ground had suddenly dropped out from beneath him.

but tears? they didn’t come. just a hollow ache, a void where your presence used to be.

and so, he buried himself in his work, throwing himself into training like usual. volleyball has always been his world – not just a game, but a language he speaks fluently. from the moment he first picked up a ball, he knew he had found his calling, his purpose in life. it was the very essence of who he was and is.

he still remembers a conversation you had with him – about how rare it was to know what you were destined for, to have a passion that consumed you so completely. he sometimes wonders if that’s why you had drifted apart. but he couldn’t blame the sport, not really.

sometimes, in the quiet moments between matches, he allows himself to wonder what could have been if things had ended differently between you. he envisions alternate paths, where your story together didn’t reach its abrupt conclusion – where you shared an apartment in tokyo and spent sunday mornings tangled in sheets. where every glance, every touch, was infused with a sense of belonging, of being exactly where you were meant to be.

but as quickly as these visions materialise, they dissipate into mist, swept away by the roar of the crowd. he makes a conscious effort to redirect his focus, reminding himself that the only path worth pursuing is the one ahead – toward the next serve, the next point, the next victory.

because the world didn’t end when you broke up with him. and kageyama, ever the competitor, refused to let it break him.

three years later, it had honed him to a razor’s edge, forged him into one of japan’s best players.

his pride in his career runs deep – every milestone, every hard-fought victory, every bruise and callus on his hands stands as a testament to his dedication and skill. he finds solace in the rhythm of the game, the familiar feel of the ball in his hands. it’s a dance he knows well, a symphony he conducts with ease. and in those moments, when he’s completely immersed in volleyball, the ache fades to the background, and he feels whole again.

and yet, he still misses you – still loves you. he doesn’t think he will ever stop. you were more than just a memory, you were a part of him, too. a missing piece that no amount of success or recognition could replace.

in the end, he accepts it. the longing, the ache – they’re part of the same drive that makes him excel on the court. he channels that energy, that unresolved emotion, into every match, every practice session, pushing himself to be better, to achieve more.

he finds himself tangled, however, in a web of obligations he never quite anticipated. adverts, interviews, appearances – the demands weigh heavy on his shoulders. it’s not what he signed up for, but he grits his teeth through the endless photo shoots, smiles plastered on his face for the cameras. he knows it’s all part of the game.

he can almost picture your reaction, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you watch him stumble through the world of fame and publicity. he was never one for the spotlight – comfortable only around a select few, always at ease with you.

as he scrolls through his emails, a notification from his manager catches his eye. his next commitment is for an athletic brand – a familiar name that he’s collaborated with in the past. he quickly scans the details, noting the time and location of the shoot. it’s familiar territory, a well-worn path he’s treaded many times before. at least with this one, he’s just advertising sportswear – something he practically lives in already.

he just didn’t expect to do be doing the campaign with you.

---

your agent had given you the heads up beforehand. “it’s the usual routine,” she assured you, though her tone betrayed a hint of urgency. “but there’s a chance a well-known athlete might join for some test shots. don’t worry about it, just be professional.” it was patronising, but you appreciated the warning nonetheless. dropping that you’d be working with a celebrity isn’t out of character for her; she has a talent for delivering bombshells with the same nonchalance she’d use to tell you it might rain.

like when she casually mentioned that your recent shoot would be featured in a major magazine, just as you were about to walk out the door. or the time she informed you, in between sips of her almond-milk latte, that a renowned director would be on set to “observe”. these little surprises were her specialty, and you had come to expect them, even if they never failed to set your nerves on edge.

arriving at the studio, you’re greeted by the usual hustle and bustle. anxious, over-worked assistants scurry around, trying to ensure everything is in place. the aroma of coffee brewing in the corner wafts through the air, mixing with the faint scent of hairspray. you take a breath, letting the atmosphere ground you. celebrity or not, you know what you’re doing.

like usual, you’re ushered into the wardrobe area, shedding your street clothes for a sports bra and leggings. the stylists swarm around you like bees, their skilled hands darting in a flurry of motion. they adjust, pin, and tweak, ensuring every seam and fold falls perfectly into place. it is a carefully curated illusion designed to sell as much merchandise as possible, and you are just another product on display.

the crew members move with practiced efficiency, adjusting lights and tweaking camera angles until everything is just right. the photographer, a tall man with an air of calm authority, greets you with a small smile. “let’s start with some warm-up shots,” he suggests, positioning you in front of the camera.

you begin with basic poses, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, finding your balance. the photographer’s assistant calls out directions, “chin up a bit, shoulders back, hold that!” the camera clicks incessantly, capturing every subtle movement.

and then, just as you’re settling into it, you hear a voice to the side of you – familiar, unmistakable. turning around, you find yourself face to face with a figure from a chapter you believed firmly closed: your ex, the famous athlete you’re supposed to be working with.

the boy you broke up with when you were nineteen.

the shoot halts momentarily as the director moves to make introductions, but –

“we already know each other.”

he’s just as handsome as you remember, maybe even more so. time has been kind to him, sculpting lean muscle and a confidence that wasn’t there when you were younger.

he’s standing there, just mere feet away, and every detail of his face is still seared into your mind – the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the furrow of his brow. you know him well, even now. every hidden scar, every freckle. you would know him blind.

he doesn’t even glance in your direction.

perhaps he intends to keep things strictly formal, a prospect that suits you just fine. it would be easier, you think, to feign ignorance, to spare both of you the discomfort of awkward interactions when you had once loved each other so fiercely.

it’s strange to be so close to him and not be able to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips.

you realise with sudden clarity that you still want to touch him.

but you can’t think like that. not right now. you have a job to do.

“we’ll get a couple of shots of you together and then you’ll be done for the day!”

---

you thought he wouldn’t be good at modelling, too stiff, perhaps, but your bodies still recognise each other, still remember how to fit together side by side.

it’s almost unfair how effortlessly pretty he is.

you’ve always felt like you had to work twice as hard just to feel remotely confident in your own skin. your beauty doesn’t come naturally, and you suppose the modelling industry thrives on that. on contorting and sculpting a new image, a new person, with every photo.

you wonder if he feels similarly, in interviews and adverts and under the scrutiny of the public eye. it must weigh heavy on him too, you think.

you hope he’s okay, and you realise you could ask him, maybe, if that’s still okay?

as the photoshoot gradually draws to a close, you find yourself hesitating, unsure whether to linger or to swiftly retreat. part of you wants more time, to look at him for a little longer, to be by his side once more. but another part of you, perhaps the more cautious side, warns against overstaying your welcome, against stirring up old emotions that may be better left untouched. you glance at him, catching his eye for a brief moment, before turning away.

you quietly pack your bag and step outside for a smoke, seeking comfort in the familiar ritual. it was a bad habit – one you had picked up about a year ago from a girl you did a casting with. the cool air offers a brief respite from the swirling thoughts in your mind, but as you exhale a plume of smoke, you can’t shake the uncertainty gnawing at your insides. you’re so unsure of yourself – you hadn’t felt this way since you were sixteen, nervous about your first date with the boy on your school’s volleyball team. do you want to say hi? do you want scream at him? both? neither?

he makes the decision for you. he always was so decisive.

“this wasn’t where i’d expected to find you.”

“no?” you’re not sure if you should be offended or not. does he mean modelling?

“what’s that supposed to mean, kageyama?” the words come out blunter than you intended – they’re not the words you had planned late at night, missing his body next to yours.

but it’s been years since you’ve spoken to him.

“tobio.” he smiles reflexively – your voice always had that effect on him. 

“what?”

“you never called me kageyama.”

“tobio.” his name still reminds you of home, but it clings to your tongue like honey, sweet and heavy, coating every word.

“what do you mean?” self-doubt trickles down your throat. you wonder if you will ever stop caring what he thinks of you.

“i suppose i just pictured you somewhere far away from this world,” he pauses. “stupid, really. you’ve always been so pretty.”

you’re not sure how to respond to that, either.

“listen, i..." he begins again, then hesitates, as if grappling with his own thoughts. “i just meant to say i hope you’re doing well. that you’re happy.”

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “you know, before we left school, i gave it – what – two years before you were on japan’s team. you always were an overachiever.”

“i had good motivation, wanted to make you proud.”

the wind shifts, blowing his hair across his face. you extend your hand, fingers instinctively brushing away the strands. he stares at you, unflinching, as if the world outside you and him no longer exists. like he never wants to look away.

“you have always made me proud,” you confess.

a moment of silence, then, “i miss you.” he says it like a prayer, faithful and devoted. still, after all this time.

“don’t say that.”

“why not?”

“if today didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have seen me again.”

“i would’ve found you.”

“and how could you be so sure?”

“because some things are inevitable. fate, i suppose.”

“you can’t just say things like that, tobio,”

“i’m not saying it lightly. i mean it.”

“i know, but it’s been years. people change.”

“maybe,” he concedes, taking a step closer. “but some things don’t.”

you were already aware of his fixations long before your paths crossed – achieving what he has demands an undercurrent of obsession to temper the blaze of brilliance. you did not predict how that obsession might manifest when directed towards a person. how it might feel.

you’ve never been kind enough to refrain from taking everything he lets you, never had the sense to check the depth of a river before wading in. perhaps you will always stumble blindly into the waters, ignorant of the depths that may swallow you whole, heedless of the currents that may drag you under.

and so you kiss him.

a little noise of surprise leaves his lips, but he quickly recovers, as if he had anticipated this turn in the conversation. like it was inevitable, instinctual.

you can feel the contours of muscle through his shirt, his uneven breaths, the overwhelming intensity of his lips against yours. there’s a hint of indecision in his touch, wavering between tenderness and urgency. soft, gentle kisses intermingled with fervent, desperate ones, like he can’t decide between cherishing and consuming.

he leaves you breathless and desperately needing more as his lips trail along your jawline. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if afraid to let go, as if this moment might slip away like a dream.

you wanted this. wanted him. you don’t think you ever stopped.

“you drive me mad,” he breathes. “always, always on my mind.”

but you were nineteen when you broke up with tobio, and now three years have slipped by.

(and you’re outside a photo studio, thankfully deserted, but that’s beside the point.)

so you draw back slightly, breaking the intensity of the moment but still close enough to feel his warmth. his touch lingers, torn between holding on and letting go.

you had been in his presence for just a few hours and you felt raw, like skin scraped against pavement after a fall, exposed and stinging with every touch.  

“this is a terrible idea,” you whisper, the words heavy.

“i don’t care. i’ll follow you wherever you go.” he has always been one to worship, always the type to pour the entirety of his being into his devotions.

and who were you to argue with him – to oppose such faith?

---

the photos of you and him go viral. oddly enough, you’re not surprised – there’s something about the way you fit together, the connection evident in every frame. people comment on how familiar the two of you look, how effortlessly intimate.

then, one of tobio’s fans unearths old pictures of you and him together, tucked away in the depths of his twitter account. you both look so young, almost unrecognisable compared to the refined public images you now project. there’s a rawness to the photographs, a sense of innocence preserved in pixels. you stand shoulder to shoulder, his arm draped casually around your shoulders, and you both radiate such genuine happiness.

his previous tweets were a monotonous stream of game highlights and obligatory promotions, and it’s clear he rarely uses his account for personal matters. yet, among the myriad of mundane updates, there is a tweet asking him if the two of you are back together.

and then, in a move that could only be described as infuriatingly nonchalant, he responds with a single word.

“yes.”

[bebe-writes-stuff]

Baji x reader smut

I'm not even gonna lie, after i saw this panel, I COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT BAJI, BRO LOOKKKK

HE PICKED THAT THANG UPPP, w one hand is crazyyy.

..

"Remind me why we're here again, Kei?" you asked, stifling a yawn in mid-sentence.

Baji rolled his eyes for what seemed like the billionth time. "I already told you, Y/N, Mom wanted me to run out and get some groceries."

"Ah, I remember now. But, last time I checked, that sounded like a YOU problem," you retorted, causing him to frown.

"You know, you should really stop being an ass," he commented, picking up some fresh vegetables and placing them in the shopping basket.

"Huh, you literally dragged me out of bed in the middle of the day to come with you! I was sleeping! You're the ass," you whispered, trying to keep your voice down as a few shoppers glanced your way.

"Tch, whatever. I didn't want to come here on my own. It's more fun with you," he pouted, his tone softening.

Feeling a pang of guilt almost instantly, you wrapped your hands around his arm. "Aww, look at you being adorable," you teased, your voice laced with affection.

His face flushed a light pink, and he mumbled, "You're so corny." Despite his words, he pulled you closer to him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

As you both continued through the aisles, you noticed how he carefully selected each item, making sure to get exactly what his mom needed. There was something endearing about his dedication, even if it was just for a simple grocery run.

Eventually, you made your way to the checkout counter. The cashier scanned the items while you and Baji exchanged playful glances and whispered jokes. When everything was bagged up and paid for, the two of you headed towards the exit, arms full of grocery bags.

Stepping outside, you both breathed in the fresh air. "Finally," you sighed, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face.

As you walked, you suddenly noticed that Baji was still carrying the shopping basket. "Uh, Kei, we still have the basket."

He looked down and groaned. "Fuck me. I'll take it back. You wait here."

You nodded, watching as he turned back towards the store. Leaning against a building, you pulled out your phone to pass the time. Moments later, a group of kids your age approached, their eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Hey, isn't that Baji's girlfriend?" one of them sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

Before you could respond, they started crowding around you, their taunts growing bolder. "What's it like dating a thug?" one asked, while another added, "Bet he drags you into all kinds of trouble."

"Fuck off," you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady. "You don't know anything about us."

"Oh, feisty," one of them laughed, stepping closer. "Let's see how you are without your boyfriend around."

Just as you were about to defend yourself, Baji was back, his eyes blazing with fury. In an instant, he was on them, fists flying with brutal precision. They didn't stand a chance. They were on the ground, groaning in pain, before they even knew what hit them.

Breathing heavily, Baji finally stepped back, his knuckles bloodied. He turned to you, his expression a mix of rage and regret. "Let's go," he said, his voice tight.

The walk back to his house was silent. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his usually confident stride stiff with anger. When you arrived, he handed the groceries to his mom without a word and headed straight to his room. You followed, closing the door behind you.

Inside, Baji sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have let that happen."

"It's not your fault," you said softly, sitting next to him. "They were out of line."

He shook his head, his jaw clenched. "I dragged you out there. I should've protected you."

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I'm not hurt, Kei. I'm right here."

Baji pulled you closer, almost onto his lap, his eyes dark with a mix of emotions. Without another word, he captured your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss. His anger from earlier seemed to fuel the intensity, his lips pressing hard against yours as his hands threaded into your hair, pulling you even closer. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers tugged at your hair, sending shivers down your spine.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shirt as you tried to keep up with his fervor. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to your waist while the other moved to grope your chest, making you gasp. The sound seemed to encourage him, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with possessive fervor.

Finally, he broke the kiss, both of you panting for breath. His dark eyes locked onto yours, his voice low and husky as he spoke. "I'm going to mark you, Y/N. So everyone knows you belong to me."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and sank his teeth into your neck, the sharp sensation making you yelp. He soothed the sting with his tongue, trailing kisses along your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of love marks in his wake. You bit your lip, trying to stifle your moans, knowing his mom was just downstairs.

"Kei," you whispered, your voice trembling with both pleasure and concern. "Your mom..."

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. "Just try to be quiet."

His lips moved from your neck to your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with desire, "I can't get enough of you."

You shifted slightly on his lap, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the movement only made you more aware of how hard he was. A soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, causing Baji to pause and look up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"What's wrong?" he teased, his hands sliding under your shirt to caress your bare skin. "Does it feel good?"

You nodded, closing your eyes, surrendering to the sensations. Baji's hands slid lower, tracing the waistband of your jeans before slipping inside, his fingers brushing against your wet folds, before finally pushing them inside your tight cunt. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily, and he took that as encouragement, his fingers moving with deliberate, torturous slowness.

"Kei," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please…"

He groaned softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I love hearing you beg," he murmured, his fingers picking up speed, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "You're so beautiful when you're desperate for me."

--ALRIGHT THATS ENOUGH, I'll probably make a part 2 and continue this bcs I like where this went ngl, let me know if yall liked it --

[torukmaktoskxawng]

the perfect fit

Pairing: Aged up!Ao'nung x Aged up Fem!Metkayina!Reader

Request by: @froggieface

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI, aged-up characters, rough smut, p in v, mentions of choking, nudity, creampie, cock warming, dirty talk, etc.

Words: 3k+

Taglist: @aonungmyaddiction (because you wanted to be tagged in anything Ao'nung related. I hope that's still okay!)

Prompts used: #17, Stealing or Sharing Clothes

Na'vi Words: ilu - plesiosaur like animal, marui - home/pod, tewng - loincloth, yawne - beloved, tsaheylu - the bond

A/N: Doesn't correlate with any Kinktober prompts, except for choking but we already surpassed that lol. Thanks for the wait and enjoy my first avatar x reader smut :) I did stray away from certain aspects from the original request so I'm sorry about that, was desperate to get it done.

~~~~~~~~~

It all started when Ao'nung had been in an ilu incident earlier that week. When helping herd a predator away from the reef, his ilu was startled and began to buck and swim wildly to the point where the poor thing couldn't figure out which way was up or down. Amidst the chaos, Ao'nung had been flung and shoved into bystanding coral, cutting up part of his right arm. His hunting party brought him home immediately after scaring away the danger. It was only a superficial, non-threatening wound. The cut was long but not deep, and Ao'nung had barely bled, but to refrain from swelling, his mother advised him not to wear his usual adornments on his arm for the rest of the week.

This brings Y/n to her current predicament, trying to find something new to wear for tonight's upcoming celebration for the new season. Scrounging around hers and Ao'nung's shared marui, she was partially frustrated that she hadn't made something new for this event even though she had known about it for weeks. Rummaging through her things, she had come up with some old tops and loincloths she hadn't worn in a while and thought they would be perfect for tonight's event. She might as well refresh her old style and make it new and exciting as she wanted to stand out, but over the years, she had started changing her style so much to the point where none of her current jewelry matched the older clothes. So now she was frustrated with herself that she, yet again, didn't make anything new for the festivities. 

She decides to rummage around her mate's things and immediately finds his armband, the one Ao'nung always wore but currently wasn't due to his small arm injury. Y/n beams while holding the armband, running her thumb over the sea hemp weaving and the scattered iridescent shell chips. She goes to place the band on her respective arm and feels a small pang of disappointment when she realizes it was too large. At the same time, she felt amused, and her cheeks felt warm, knowing that her mate's arms were more prominent. Scrambling for ideas on what to do with the armband instead, a small, devious thought crossed Y/n's mind.

~~~~~~~~~

Later at the celebration, Ao'nung will see what devious thought that would be for himself. He hadn't been able to meet back up with Y/n before the day turned to night and the festivities rolled around.  The communal fire was set ablaze, and the drums and singing had already started before Ao'nung finally caught a glance of his lovely mate.

He and Rotxo were standing off to the side and watching the dancers swirl around the fire like a wave, working forward and back on the shoreline. Ao'nung was looking around to see if he could spot Y/n among all the dancers before Rotxo nudged him, grabbing his attention. His friend is pointing off to the long row of dancers, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and recognition.

"Hey. Isn't that your armband?"

Ao'nung follows Rotxo's gaze and his finger, finally finding Y/n in the crowd. She was wearing a beautifully beaded top and a matching loincloth that Ao'nung didn't recognize, but greatly appreciated the way the outfit looked on his mate's body, admiring how the band holding up her loincloth hugged her hips and accentuated the color of her skin, making the cloth itself look as though its covering Y/n by itself. The top was made of seagrass dyed a light blue color, so light to the point where it nearly blended in with the rest of Y/n, giving off the impression she was practically nude. Many bystanders' jaws dropped and they had to look a second time just to realize that she was, in fact, clothed, then they all continued to watch her in awe. Y/n was none the wiser, more focused on the dancing than the people around her.

And settled around her neck, acting as a choker, was Ao'nung's favorite iridescent shell armband.

Ao'nung's eyes could not leave her neck, gaze completely fixated on that very familiar armband that Y/n was treating as a necklace. It was a perfect fit, he noted in amazement and a growing fascination. A band that could easily fit over his arm was now perfectly snug against his mate's beautiful neck and Ao'nung almost envied it. He envied the fact that his armband was currently wrapped around Y/n's neck and whatever warmth that was growing in his gut made it known. The flash of hot jealousy blazes through Ao'nung's body, heating up his skin in a way the communal fire couldn't, his envy perfectly residing alongside the hot desire he also felt. He had to refrain from gaping like a fool by clamping his mouth shut, forcefully swallowing back whatever stupid sounds he nearly let out at the sight of his woman.

Y/n could feel eyes on her, all around the ceremonial fires. So many people were looking at her, and while she didn't visibly show it, her skin was hot under so much attention, but her mind was only focused on one. Her gaze flicks to the spot where she last saw Ao'nung, and to her delight, he was already staring at her, unwavering while Rotxo was none the wiser. Y/n knew that look from anywhere, and a warm stirring made itself known between her legs, fired by the heated gaze that was her mate. Suddenly, Y/n didn't feel up to dancing anymore. At least, not the public celebrating kind.

She easily slipped away from the party without any protests, waiting until the song changed to swiftly break from the dance circle. Her skin cooled as she drew further away from the bonfires, walking into the night, her feet sinking into the sand. Y/n made her way to the nearest floating pathway and lifted herself up, standing up straight and peering over her shoulder back the way she came. Sure enough, another figure had crept away from the celebration, and her adrenaline stirred once more when she recognized the hair and tattoos anywhere. The figure was heading toward Y/n, picking up speed, and so, while barely containing her excitement, the young woman turned and sprinted down the walkways weaving through the village, never taking the time to look back again until she could get to the marui.  

Not a second into stepping into her home, Y/n was ambushed by the figure that caught up behind her, a laugh forced out of her lungs when large, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and carried her further into the pod. Catching her breath, Y/n's laughter was quickly replaced by breathy moans as Ao'nung swiftly hid his face and kissed her neck. He didn't start off slow or gentle, his teeth only determined to mark and brand, especially around the area where his armband rested around her neck.

The moment she tried to grind her backside against his loincloth earned a low growl from him before he purposely pulled away, spinning her around to face him. Y/n immediately leaned in for a kiss, but instead, Ao'nung grabbed her arms and shoved her down onto the sleeping mat, just hard enough to get her to gracefully trip and get his point across. Once lying on her back, Y/n's heart stuttered with the way her mate stood over her, strong shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths, muscles clenching up and down his arms as his hands curled into tight fists. He looked feral, teeth grinding together to further show just how much he was restraining himself from practically tearing her apart, only doing so with his eyes, the color in his orbs vanished in exchange for the deep-rooted hunger.

Ao'nung watches his woman for a moment, her body laid out on the mat, squirming under his gaze, eyes completely fixed on him. Her top was barely covering her hardening nipples, her breasts rising and falling quickly to compliment her small, excited gasps of air. She makes a subtle movement, her knees knocking together as she closes her legs. She thought Ao'nung wouldn't notice, but all of his senses were heightened in his arousal and his eyes quickly darted to the small movement. Y/n whimpered, wishing to rub her legs together for some much-needed friction, but felt her whole body freeze under her husband's gaze, unwilling to move without his permission.

The marui slipped into silence while Ao'nung's eyes raked up and down her body, analyzing her, before another growl slipped out of his lips and he knelt down, crawling over his mate's body and pressing his hips to flush against hers. She lets out a small gasp, arching her back to meet his body heat, wishing more than anything to grind against his loincloth. Aside from pressing down onto her, he doesn't move the way she needs him to. Instead, he ducked his head back down into the juncture of her neck, his words hot and prickling her skin, "You have no idea what you do to me, wearing that around your neck. Do you have any idea how much self-control I had to quickly gain before I could foolishly march over to you and put my hand around its respective spot, right around your throat?"

She felt her whole body shiver, closing her eyes as she tried to imagine it. Her womb definitely flutters at the idea of Ao'nung marching up to her in the middle of a party, not caring if other people see when he wraps his hand around her neck and squeezes. She imagined other things, too, like Ao'nung taking her right in the middle of that celebration, never letting up until she orgasmed at least three times. 

Her thoughts are cut short as he begins to kiss down her body while his hand lightly rests on her collar, just shy of her neck, "Imagine all the restraint I had to possess before I could make it known how jealous I was to see my armband around your throat when my hands are literally right here, ma'yawntu."

His kisses reach below her belly button and her legs move on their own to create room for him, spreading apart despite the desire to rub together and create friction. She finds comfort in his weight pressing down between her legs, pushing her tewng aside as she sighs up at the ceiling, "I'm sorry. You can wrap your hands around me now, husband. Right where they belong."

"No," she squirms and whimpers as his hot breath fans over the wetness that began to slowly leak from her pussy, "You don't get whatever you want after pulling a stunt like that. You don't get to have the rush of my fingers tightening around your throat tonight. You should've thought of that before taking my armband as a replacement," his fingers that lay on her collar faintly tap the shells of her new choker, "Now, as punishment, you get to keep wearing this... and only this."

He pulls away from the heat of her cunt and she softly cries at the loss. He moves his way up her body again, removing both of their clothing as he goes, until there is nothing left between them other than the choker, as promised. And Eywa above, the moon was peeking through their home and reflecting off of the damned piece of jewelry, hugging Y/n's neck gently and glowing as if it was made of magic. She looked like a goddess, her cheeks flushed and hair in disarray, the glowing necklace further complimenting the lust in her eyes, half-lidded while looking up at her mate. Ao'nung would normally take the time to memorize this moment, distracted by her beauty and wishing to draw out every soft sigh and moan out of her perfectly formed lips. But the glint coming off of the choker quickly reminded him of the possessiveness he felt earlier, and suddenly he was going back to ravaging her body, relentless in making her squeal and move either away or toward his mouth wherever he kissed or bit down. He was charged up and barely able to form a clear thought through the haze in his head, his instincts only focusing on one thing.

She was so caught up in the bites and kisses mapping out her skin, she failed to notice that Ao'nung had moved his other hand down his own body and ran his fingers along his bulging slit, urging his huge, leaking erection to slip out. She's not given a warning before she feels his large cock slowly push into her, a little snug and making the most obscured squelching noises. Y/n stutters out a loud gasp, squeezing her eyes shut, "Ah-- agnh-!"

She's barely wet enough to make the intrusion easy, so there's a pleasant pain mixing in with the pleasure, that familiar tightness deep in her gut slowly forming, warm with a promise of undeniable pleasure. With her eyes closed, she's unable to see when Ao'nung will be fully seated into her, so the sensation that he was still slowly pushing in only heightened her desperation for more. Imagine her surprise when she thought he was all the way in and he still kept going. It was agonizingly slow and she held her breath through it all, right up until she felt the tip of his cock prod against the soft wall of her womb, his pelvis now flushed against hers once again, finally fully seating him inside her tight, warm walls.

There wasn't any time for adjusting as Ao'nung quickly pulled out and thrust back in, moving his mate up the mat at the force of his hips. Y/n could only take it, knowing her own hips would bruise in the morning by the strength of his thrusts, pistoning in and out of her wet heat, "Ah-- Ao'nung! W-Wait--"

Her words had the opposite effect, and Ao'nung's hands reached down to tightly grab hold of her legs, lifting them up into the air and pressing them down against Y/n until her knees were practically hugging her head, folding her in half. It's just the leverage he needed to go faster, mercilessly pounding into her body, showing off his fangs as he watched his cock spread her glistening lower lips apart, the tight muscle ring hugging around him now puffy from the abuse. The stretch is erotic and borderline painful, filling Y/n without any chance of leaving any room inside while her hands frantically look for a perch to hold onto. One hand grabs the back of her own thigh while the other finds its home around the back of Ao'nung's neck. The pinch of her eyebrows that usually represents pain finally smoothens out into pleasure around the same time Ao'nung noticed it was getting easier to thrust in and out, the wet slick from her pussy drenching both of their thighs and sticking whenever their hips meet. 

Ao'nung slips out a groan when he feels the tightness of her walls clenching around his length, gripping him in waves of ecstasy, "Feels... so good..."

"Don't stop," Y/n tilts her head back to lean against the mat, her neck fully exposed and presenting that sinful armband that got this whole thing started, "Oh, Eywa, please don't stop!"

"First you wanted me to wait, now you don't want meet to stop," the glint in his eye was dangerous as a grin slowly formed on his lips, presenting his fangs again. He clicks his tongue while shaking his head, "Tsk, which will it be, yawne?"

"Mmf!" Her answer is silenced by the sharp thrust of his hips pushing into hers once more, the tip of his cock hitting just the right spot to make her see stars, "O- Oh! Do that again, please! Feel so good, Ao'nung-! So strong and--"

She cuts herself off when his cock thrusts back in and hits her sweet spot once more, drawing an elongated moan out of her lips. Taking a deep breath, Y/n pleasantly feels her new choker gently hugging her neck when inhaling, only for the air to get knocked out of her again when Ao'nung pulls out and shoves his way back into her dripping pussy, gritting through his teeth when feeling his length begin to tighten and leak, "And?"

Tears began to prick in the corner of her eyes. Her peak felt so close and yet so far away like a crash waving that was quickly receding back and forth, back and forth, denying her that climax, "Big! It's so big. Please, my love, please don't stop!"

A coil snaps and Ao'nung's movements suddenly turn primal. He stops thrusting for only a moment, making Y/n cry and spill her tears, desperate and frustrated for her release. He makes quick work to lie down on his side and pull Y/n into his arms, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of her. Tightening his strong arms completely around her body, he's got his mate completely restrained, pressed tightly against the front of his body as he finally moves his hips again, quicker than before and pounding into her bruised cunt without any sign of stopping. Y/n's cries and hot pants in his ear only drive the animal out of him, his arms further tightening around her like a constricting snake, taking whatever he wants without any room for denial. His cock was so unbelievably hard now and pulsing, desperate for release, his thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic, "Yawne... fuck, yawne I need you to cum before me. Can you do that? Can you cum on this cock before this cock cums inside you?"

The promise of Ao'nung finishing inside her thrills Y/n to the point she felt lightheaded, her imagination running wild with her pussy clenching around his cock at the very thought of it, drawing out another string of curses from him. He has one of her legs wrapped around his waist in this position, splitting her open on his fat cock and dragging his length against her walls over and over again, each time hitting her cervix with his tip, right where he knows will have her seeing stars. Her thighs begin to tremble, unable to writh against him with his arms so tight around her.

She whimpered as he purposely stopped and dragged a slow, long thrust in and out of her, not speeding up until she finally remembered to answer, "Yes-- Yes! I wanna cum on your cock, Ao'nung. I need it so bad, fuck! I need you to cum inside of me. Please, claim me."

His hips pick up speed again and she has to bite her tongue to refrain from screaming, instead letting choked-out whines escape her throat. On top of his hips thrusting in and out of her, Ao'nung also uses his arms to move Y/n up and down on his cock, her nipples dragging up and down along his chest as he does so and driving her to gasp and spill all sorts of words out of her lips, praises and nicknames and curses and none of them entirely put together. The coil in her belly is wound so tight, practically oozing out the warm honey within, but not snapping and releasing. It's all too much and not enough to the point that Y/n is dumb on words and spewing nonsense. 

All she could smell was sweat and arousal and him, eyes still stinging with tears while the inside of her thighs are full of slick and Ao'nung's cock, pulsing inside her whenever he thrusts in, just as desperate to let go. She tilts her head up to look at him and watches as he grits his teeth, eyebrows furrowed together with eyes screwed shut, trying to focus so as not to cum early. He's whining and moaning, hissing between his teeth, his sweat sticking his curls to his face. He opens his eyes and looks down, seeing her eyes on him. Without a second thought, he reaches a hand up and curls into the hair on the back of her head, pulling until she bares her neck to him. Pain blooms where he pulled her hair and further blooms on her neck as he sinks his teeth into it, his growl vibrating into her skin and sending shockwaves down her body, "Cum for me, mate. Cum on my cock now."

She screams, holding onto him for dear life as the coil finally snaps, sending both herself and Ao'nung over the edge. Her walls were sporadically fluttering around him as she climaxes, strangling his cock until Ao'nung let out a guttural noise and his cock finally spills everything inside her, coating her walls and spurting thick ropes into her cervix. He couldn't help the loud panting groans he let out into her neck as his balls continued to empty, keeping it all trapped inside his mate.

He initially tries to stop, stilling his hips while continuing to pump and fill his love to the brim, but then her hands find his waist and urge him closer. Her voice is broken and a little hoarse as she desperately grinds down onto his dick, "Keep going... keep going, please!"

He does what she begs for and it's fucking amazing. Ao'nung had to grind his teeth together so that his moans and whimpers weren't heard outside of their marui, his cock now oversensitive from the continuous friction, a feeling he's never felt before since he's never fully ridden out his high. The friction also hits Y/n's clit with how close they're pressed together, and her eyes roll back into her head as another wave of pleasure runs through her, though more calm and minuscule compared to the last.

Ao'nung finally slows to a stop but doesn't pull out, keeping his softening cock inside of her, too warm and comfortable to even think about moving, her walls now rhythmically pulsing around him. The exhaustion doesn't hesitate to take over, arms and legs wrapped around one another to a point where it's uncertain where one begins and another ends. Y/n pleasantly wonders if she should wear Ao'nung's armband more often, and perhaps the next time he decides to fuck her to oblivion they will remember to form tsaheylu before they get too desperate to properly think.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Y/n's ceremonial outfit is a small nod toward Marilyn Monroe's "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" dress, when the dress gave off the initial impression that Marilyn was nude and sent the audience gasping in shock when she walked on stage and took off her coat.

[iri-desky]

Hey do you think that the reason Till is constantly so angry with himself is that he lost his mom but he never learned why. And no one ever bothered to tell him what really happened so he always blamed himself and he was taken away from her so young he barely remembers anything. And he barely consciously remembers her face anymore but every time he looks in the mirror he recognizes her face because he's the spitting image of his mom and can't help but feel a pang of love and recognition and despair and anger all at once. And he never can fully understand where these emotions really come from. No? Okay.

[sleepy-bear-tm]

Tried to make a poster for my story <3

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Honkai: Star Rail) Stelle, March 7th, Himeko, Natasha, Seele, Bronya, and Firefly missing you

Alternate title: "From the Aqueous Star with Love"

A song from Zeta Gundam got me feelin a certain way, so we doing a song fic. Whether reader is dead or not, tis up to interpretation. (Song: Mizu no Hoshi he Ai wo Komete - KOM_I)

Aoku nemuru mizu no hoshi ni sotto Kissing softly the star of water that sleeps in blue,

Stelle watches the waves of the ocean crash against the shore.

This time, the Astral Express took her to a planet mostly consisting of water, it was a beautiful sight that she got to indulge herself in, along with her companions.

She instinctually looked to her left, about to make some witty comment regarding how such a romantic view was so cliche-

...Only to remember you aren't here with her.

The smile that was originally forming vanishes quickly, her expression growing more somber.

As much as the pain in her heart aches, she knows that you wouldn't want her to dwell on your absence.

Forge ahead, that was the way of the Trailblazer.

(Stelle) "One day, I'll get to tell you about this planet."

Fists clenching, she walks along the path, not looking back.

Stelle's phone wallpaper of you and her smiling together is what reminds her to keep pressing on.

Kuchizuke shite inochi no hi wo tomosu hito yo A person who lights fire of life,

March sits on the side of her bed, staring at her wall of photos, each one bringing a bright smile to her face as she recalled each memory.

But it was shortlived, as her sight inevitably caught sight of the side of you and her together.

Throughout her journey on the Astral Express, she had met countless individuals. Plenty of which she cherished like dear friends and missed them dearly, and plenty more she hoped to never see again in the vast universe.

And there was no one March missed more than you at this very moment.

The photos she took of you two ranged from hilarious to lovey-dovey, to kinda inappropriate for the situation, but each one inflicted a pang of sadness and joy.

Standing up from the bed, March walked over and grabbed one of her favorite photos: One where she was dramatically kissing your cheek as you were laughing, a moment she recalled with perfect clarity.

(March 7th) sigh "I'll add some new photos onto this wall, just you wait!"

Toki to iu kin'iro no sazanami wa The time, the golden ripple,

Himeko put down her coffee as the Astral Express was still in transit, watching as the stars slowly passed her by.

Her eyes glanced to her left, feeling something missing in her usual routine.

And of course this moment didn't feel right: after all, her lover was currently absent.

But that didn't stop her from always putting your favorite teacup next to hers, in some small hope that you'd take your spot like always.

Himeko knew better, logically it made no sense for you to show up right now.

Even so, it was a sign, that she'd be waiting to see you again, no matter where the Astral Express takes her, she'll be able to have you in her arms sometime, somewhere.

Instead of saying anything, she quietly chuckles to herself, going back to her coffee.

Yet, there was a hint of sadness in her recognition, one that her friends could always sense everyday that you were gone.

Ozora no kuchibiru ni umareta toiki ne is sigh from the lips of the sky,

Natasha slumps down on her bed, sighing as she felt how cold it was to the touch.

Another long day taken care of, with many more patients out of her office.

Usually it didn't bother her as much, but these days the solitude was starting to become deafening.

Especially when you weren't here to greet her like always.

Natasha's hands massage her temple, knowing that spiraling wouldn't bring you home, any more than her patiently waiting.

Even the Moles could tell that Natasha wasn't the same without you here to wrangle them in, or give her a loving embrace.

Rolling to her side, she turns to the empty side of the bed, her hand reaching out and feeling only a cold sheet.

(Natasha) "...Just be patient, Nat..."

Saying nothing else, Natasha eventually falls asleep, the only warmth coming from her blanket.

Kokoro ni uzumoreta yasashisa no hoshitachi ga hono age yobiau The stars of kindness buried in heart flame up and call to each other,

Seele just kept herself busy instead of thinking about how much she missed your voice.

There was plenty to do, but every now and then, she would catch herself thinking that she couldn't wait to tell you a story from that day, or something interesting she found.

Only for the excitement to be culled instantly, remembering that you aren't here.

(Seele) sigh "Damn it..."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Seele shakes her head and looks up to the sky longingly.

(Seele) "...Don't keep me waiting too long before I see you again."

Next time she saw you, it'd probably result in both a punch and a kiss.

Seele thought you drove her insane when you were actually here.

She had no idea how much she'd miss that feeling when you were gone.

Namima sasurau nampasen no yo ni Like wrecked ships wandering on the waves,

Being the Supreme Guardian was no easy task, but it was work she found satisfaction in.

Especially now that her people didn't have to live in constant fear anymore.

She had help from the Astral Express, Seele, Natasha, and so much more.

Yet, it was your aid she craved the most, and was one she wouldn't be able to receive or reciprocate it.

Bronya exhales from her nose, putting down her pen for just a moment.

Looking at the picture frame of you and her smiling brought a small tear to her eye, one she quickly wiped off.

It wasn't goodbye, not really. At least to her.

(Bronya) "You're not gone…You're…just not here right now."

One way or another, she'll be able to tell you everything that's happened when she sees you again.

Mo nakanaide ima anata wo sagashite iru hito ga iru kara Don't cry, any more, because now there is a person looking for you, Omae ni aitai yo to Dying to see you...

Firefly strolled quietly through this planet's field, feeling the wind against her skin blow gently.

It was nights like these that usually got her thinking about plenty of things that brought all sorts of emotions out.

This night being no exception, especially since you were on her mind.

Firefly closed her eyes as a pang of sadness tugged at her heart, but that wouldn't stop her.

Even if it took the rest of her life, she would wait for you.

...No, she would find you first. She'd burn so bright, that it'd be impossible for you to miss her, no matter where you are.

(Firefly) "There isn't anyone in this world who can live alone...Not even you."

Taking a deep breath, she let her armor rapidly form, before the thrusters let her take off at blinding speeds, shooting off towards the stars.

[nottsbitch]

Casual - T.N.

Summary: Just a girl and her favorite situationship, who are strictly "casual". 18+ contains smut.

Frat Boy Theo

✩✩✩✩

In the semi-dark house, all that could be heard was blaring music, making it impossible to hold a conversation.

You had regretted your decision to come as the smell of sweat surrounded you. But unfortunately for you when Theo wasn’t answering your text you knew exactly where to find him.

Every Friday night his frat would throw a themed party, and when this was going on it was almost impossible to get a hold of him.

As you navigated through the large crowd, you finally spotted Theo on the far side of the room, engaged in animated conversation with a girl you didn’t recognize. Her hand rested casually on his arm, and the way Theo laughed at something she said made a pang of jealousy twist in your gut.

The music seemed to drown out, leaving just the sight of them and the gnawing feeling that perhaps he wasn’t as committed to you as you had hoped. It stung to see him so at ease with someone else, and despite the thrumming bass that filled the room, the ache of your jealousy felt deafening.

You took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd, determination set in your stride. When you reached Theo and the girl, you tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

His smile faltered as he turned to face you, the recognition in his eyes quickly replaced by a flicker of surprise. "Theo, we need to talk," you said, your voice steady but edged with frustration.

The girl looked between you two, clearly sensing the tension, and took a step back, giving you both space. Theo's expression shifted from confusion to concern as he tried to gauge the situation. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

"Oh, I thought something might be wrong, but I’m just thrilled to see you’re perfectly fine here, chatting away." Your tone dripped with sarcasm as you gestured toward the girl he’d been talking to.

"Alright let's talk upstairs, Now," He said quickly pushing you to the stairs trying to avoid any onlookers who may have been listening to the conversation.

Once in his bedroom, Theo was quick with attaching his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your waist as he tried to pull you closer and closer.

As he started walking you backwards towards the bed his lips moved down to your neck.

"This isn't talking" You pushed out trying to hold back your moan, Choosing to attempt to stand your ground upset by the way he was acting.

"Can't we talk about this later?" The look he gave you immediately shutting you up.

You watched as Theo walked to his bed sitting down on the edge before motioning you over "Come here" It came out as a whisper as he gestured to his lap.

As much as you didn't want to you found yourself walking towards him, your arms going around his neck when you reached him pulling him in for another kiss. This went on for what felt like forever your lips together, his hands twisting and pulling at your hair every few minutes.

"You know you're my number one girl." He said smiling as his hands began to tug your shirt over your head. He left a trail of kisses on your exposed skin, as he continued to talk about how you had nothing to worry about, though your anger was long forgotten.

You pulled Theo's head back up to yours, your hands running through his hair before you guys were back to undressing each other.

"You're so gorgeous" Was all you heard from Theo which you almost missed because of how low it came out. "Your not leaving this bed until the only thing you remember is my name."

Shivers ran up your spine as you pulled him down to kiss you for the millionth time, this kiss more aggressive than the rest. Theo had his hands on your sides as he moved over your body. Once situated he moved his hands to yours interlacing your fingers as he pinned you into the mattress. Your tongues fought for dominance the only sound heard was the quiet moans coming from both of your mouths. You could feel the warmth radiating off of his body as you used your legs to pull him even closer.

You pulled apart for one moment "I'll never get tired of looking at you" He said, as his eyes hungrily took in your naked body.

You bit your lip trying not to let his words have too much of an effect on you, remembering that sex was the only thing you were ever going to get from this man.

Your core tightened as you guys made eye contact. The feeling of his skin on yours always left you feeling speechless.

When you leaned back in you kissed him more desperate then you ever had before. Not being able to hold back your moans as you ran your hands from his hair to his shoulders, using them to pull him closer if that was even possible.

He bit your lip before pulling away, much to your displeasure. He had his body positioned between your legs. He gripped your hips painfully tight as he started kissing up your thigh.

As you closed your eyes letting out soft whimpers he took the time to look at you, before slowly pushing one long finger into you and quickly pulling it out again. This causes you to open your eyes and look at him. He admired your wetness on his finger before bringing it to his lips and sucking it clean.

You heart was racing out of control at this point just waiting for him to make a move.

"I want to hear every noise you make, Don't try and stay quiet. Got it?" The most you could do was nod your head. He ran his hand through your hair, moving down your body until he reached where you needed him most.

The next thing you knew, his fingers were on you clit, rubbing slowly. You let out a cry from the pleasure "Theo... Don't stop!"

And he didn't, his fingers continued to work as he moved his head next to yours whispering in your ear "I wouldn't dream of stopping now."

The feeling of his hand caused your arousal to take over your mind. Your legs were starting to shake as your head fell back, every sound coming out of your mouth like you couldn't hold it in. The sounds were going to his head causing him to speed up his pace bringing you closer and closer to your release.

She had never felt this much pleasure moaning loudly as he held your hips, stopping you from grinding against his hand. Then before you expected it a wave of pleasure came over your entire body.

You cried out sharply as Theo continued his pace letting you ride out your orgasm.

That was the start of your night and later as you laid next to a snoring Theo, you could only think how things didn't feel so casual to you .

✩✩✩✩

I'm literally so bad at writing smut if this is bad just let me stay blissfully ignorant

[calicoheartz]

could you do dating Caitlin and when your out some girl recognizes her and asks for pictures and reader gets a lil jealous with smut?!?!?!

Envy’s Veil ; Caitlin Clark

꣑୧ — summary | Caitlin x jealous!reader

wc ; 1.4k

— warnings | NSFW under the cut ! praise (lots of it) so much sweet tension , teasing , fingering (r! receiving)

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : the time has finally arrived for my first ever smut fic 😈 pls forgive me as it is very light as im slowly easing myself into it , buuut i hope u guys enjoy ! ◡̈

After a week of long practices and conflicting schedules, you and Caitlin decided to take some time and unwind at a local bar. The atmosphere was lively, with music playing in the background, and the sound of chatter and laughter filling your ears around you. You found a cozy booth in the corner and settled in, simply enjoying the time with your girlfriend, grateful at the opportunity to spend time with her.

As you sipped your respective drinks and continued your conversation, the brunettes eyes widened in recognition, as you saw a young woman excitedly approach your table from the corner of your eye.

“Oh my gosh! Caitlin Clark right??” the woman exclaimed, her phone already out and grasped around her hand, ready for a selfie.

Caitlin smiled softly, nodding slightly, “thats me, would you like a picture?”

The woman nodded eagerly, wrapping her arm around your girlfriend's waist and Cait stood up to pose with her. You watched from the booth, a small pang of jealousy tugging at your heart. You knew Cait was just being friendly, but you couldn't help but feel a tad bit overprotective over her. I mean, that was YOUR girlfriend, and the woman was practically throwing herself at her ???? But you couldn't help but feel a little bit insecure.

You kindly offered to take their picture, and it ended as quickly as it started. The woman gave a quick thank you, before rushing back to the booth where her friends were. But even after it was all over, you still couldn't shake the feeling of insecurity and jealousy.

Caitlin, noticing something was off, as the evening continued you seemed quiet, almost as if something was on your mind. She grabs your face, caressing your cheek softly, her other free hand wrapping her fingers against yours. She softly whispers , “hey, is everything ok?”

You give her a small, but doubtful smile. Reassuring her you were okay and just tired. For the rest of the night, you were anxiously attached to her at the hip. Whether it was asking for a few kisses every now and then, or asking to hold her hand, this definitely made the brunette aware that you were in fact, not okay. And that beneath the surface there was something bothering you, she just couldn’t figure out what.

Eventually, Caitlin couldn’t take it anymore. She gently grabbed your wrist and led you to the bar’s exit, and proceeded to drive the both of you back to your shared apartment. Among the confusement, you simply figured that the brunette had caught onto your message. But obviously you yourself were never going to mention it, it wasn’t typically like you to get jealous, plus it really wasn’t that big of a deal. All you wanted right now was to go home, get into bed, and forget that it ever even happened.

Well…that isn’t what happened.

As soon as you got home, you proceeded with your everyday nighttime routine. Beginning to slowly slip off your heels, and beginning to remove your jacket. You hadn’t really spoken much to Caitlin during the drive, and you wanted to keep it that way. The last thing you wanted her to know was how badly you wanted her to show you that she was yours, and obviously that you were even jealous to begin with.

Caitlin on the other hand, noticed your behavior (to be fair, you didn’t even try to hide it), and how you also hadn’t said anything during your drive back home. She wasn’t sure exactly how to make sure you were okay, as to her knowledge; you rarely acted like this.

You made your way to the living room and plopped onto the corner of the couch, with Caitlin following right behind you. She took a deep sigh before breaking the silence, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” your eyes widened at her sudden comment, as your fingers found their way to the hem of your blouse, you started fiddling with it slightly, only giving her a small pout in reply.

The brunette noticed this, and it immediately all clicked.

Oh. that’s why you were acting weird.

As soon she took note of this, she quickly scooched closer to you, wrapping her arms around your figure and burying her face in your neck, leaving small kisses over the piece of skin. A small moan escaped from your lips as a surprise at the sudden contact, Caitlin began tracing sweet shapes on the inside of your thigh, as she slowly whispered, “why don’t i show you how much you really mean to me, yeah?”

You nodded your head slightly, taken completely aback by her statement. But the idea of Caitlin doing anything to you in general is enough to have you completely soaked. She gently lifted you up, carrying you from the living room and into your shared bed, and softly putting you down. She had a feral look in her eye, but you knew deep down she would take good care of you. She tugged at the beautiful black fitted dress you were wearing, waiting for your approval to remove it, once she got it; she wasted no time slowly unzipping the back and gently slipping it off you. Caitlin had begun to feel your entire body, running her finger tips up and down your arms, slowly itching her way down your sides, before the began rubbing the inside of your thighs again.

You allowed a small whimper to leave your mouth at Cait’s free hand sliding down your exposed stomach, her lips kissing your neck and jawline as she allowed her fingers to wander closer and closer to your aching core.

“Do you want me to touch you here, my sweet girl?” she hummed into you, the special spot on your neck vibrating. You let out a light, but breathy moan. “Yes please, cait.” you said back, watching as her hand rested teasingly on your pussy. Your words seemed to have been good enough for her, as her palm lifted up, fingers feeling around for a certain nub.

You let out a pornographic moan when she briefly brushed against it, purposefully trying not to touch you at first. Your eyes were hazed with want, watching her long and slender fingers touch you, and only you while she sucked and kissed at your neck.

“Here?” she asked, as she slowly circled your clit with her thumb, pressing down on the nub while doing so. You let out a gasp at the sudden rush of pleasure. Your breath hitched as you let out a desperate plea for more. Two of her fingers joined together to rub you, her fingers working slowly and softly. Carefully rubbing your clit, up and down, side to side. Playing with it, toying with you-

She smiled smugly, giving you the most delicate kiss on your lips. As soon as she accumulated enough of your slick on her fingers, she wasted no time slowly prodding at your entrance, slipping 2 fingers into your core, as she listened for your reaction. She didnt have to listen very hard, as the moan you let out left her own wetness pooling in between her thighs.

Caitlin studied your face, observing the way it contorted from both the plain and pleasure, giving you enough time to adjust to the sudden pleasure before slowly pumping her fingers in and out, before quickening her pace.

“You’re doing so good for me,” she whispered sweetly, not taking her eyes off of you. “Look at you, taking me so well, just like a good girl should.”

She begins to tease you slightly, slowing her pace down and slowly rubbing your clit, but shes pushing her fingers so deep that you have to screw your eyes shut.

Caitlin knows youre sensitive, melting at slightest touch, you can feel your insides slowly begin to squeeze around her fingers, indicating that youre close.

“Yes just like that baby, come on, youre almost there” she whispers, “such a good girl, do you wanna cum on my fingers?” she asks teasingly. You eagerly nod your head, words not even daring to come our of your mouth due to the immense pleasure that youre feeling.

Your buried your head into her shoulder as you reached your high, your sweet cries muffled by the fabric of her shirt. She held her fingers in your for a couple of seconds, helping you through your orgasm; before carefully sliding them out. Your entire body shivering at the mere absence of them.

She smirked proudly, slowly bringing her fingers to her mouth before sucking them clean. A ritual she does after every time she makes you finish with her fingers.

She pulled you into a hug, kissing your head softly, “You did so good for me, good job baby”, as she gently rubbed circles onto your back.

“If that does show you how much i want you, then Im not sure what will”

omg wait that was lowkey…ok miss camiii 🫣👀 , anywhooo not sure how I feel about writing nsfw , but I will definitely keep it in mind for the future. As always , tysm for reading !

[latenightreadingpdf]

Brewed Connections - Spencer Reid

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: After his favourite coffee shop closes unexpectedly, Spencer Reid discovers Y/N's charming coffee shop and becomes a regular customer. Bonding over their shared love for literature, the two develop a close friendship.

The sun filtered through the windows of the quaint little coffee shop, casting a warm glow over the mismatched wooden tables and chairs. Spencer Reid, with his usual mop of messy hair and earnest expression, peered through the window. He had been searching for a new coffee spot since his regular one closed down. This one, with its shelves brimming with old books and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air, seemed promising.

As the bells above the door chimed, Y/N looked up from her work station, her eyes meeting Spencer’s. Her heart did a tiny flip. "Hi there," she greeted with a radiant smile.

"Uh, h-hi," Spencer stuttered, a shy smile crossing his face as he approached the counter. "Could I get coffee with lots of sugar, please?"

"Of course," she said, her fingers dancing over the coffee machine. "One super sweet coffee coming right up." She couldn’t help but notice his adorable awkwardness, finding it endearing.

With his coffee in hand, Spencer retreated to a cozy corner booth, selecting a book from the nearby shelf. But his attention kept drifting back to Y/N, who was now humming softly to herself as she worked.

Caught in the act of staring, Spencer quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks warming. He tried to focus on his book, but thoughts of the enchanting barista lingered.

Before leaving for work, Spencer bid farewell to the woman behind the counter. "Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting hers once more.

Y/N’s smile widened. "Have a good day!"

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The next day, Spencer made a deliberate effort with his appearance, donning his favorite glasses and a smart sweater vest. As the chime of the bell announced his entrance, Y/N’s face lit up in recognition.

"Welcome back!" she greeted cheerfully. "Glad you enjoyed your coffee yesterday."

Spencer was momentarily speechless, struck by how captivating she looked. "Um, thank you," he managed, his gaze taking in her outfit, dark jeans and a Doctor Who tee shirt. "I like your shirt. Are you a Doctor Who fan?"

Y/N’s eyes sparkled. "Yes, I am! Are you?"

A spirited conversation about the show ensued, with Spencer’s coffee prepared and handed to him along with a complimentary chocolate chip muffin.

"I didn’t order this," Spencer remarked, confusion evident in his voice.

"It’s on the house," Y/N said with a wink. "Consider it an incentive to come back."

Blushing, Spencer stammered out his thanks. "I’ll see you tomorrow," he promised before hurrying out.

Their morning encounters became a cherished routine. Y/N had his order memorized and always added a little extra treat, delighting in Spencer’s surprised expressions. They shared their love for literature during Y/N’s breaks, their discussions ranging from classic novels to obscure scientific journals.

Soon enough, they exchanged phone numbers, their connection extending beyond the confines of the coffee shop.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

One day, Spencer sent a text explaining his absence due to a case. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment but understood. Meanwhile his colleagues noticed his unusual attachment to his phone.

"Derek, what's up with Reid? He's been glued to his phone all day," Emily remarked.

"Yeah, it's weird," Derek added, eyeing Spencer suspiciously.

Cornered by his friends, Spencer denied any attachment to the device. However, Derek managed to snatch his phone and discovered the playful exchanges between them.

"Ooooh, pretty boy’s got a girlfriend!" Derek teased, waving the phone in the air.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Spencer protested, cheeks aflame.

Blushing furiously, he tried to reclaim his phone from Derek's grasp. "Give it back, Derek!"

Derek held the phone out of reach, his grin widening. "Not until you admit you've got a thing for this girl."

"I do not have a 'thing' for her," Spencer insisted, though his flushed cheeks and stuttering protest said otherwise.

Penelope, ever the tech wizard, chimed in, "Oh, come on, Pretty Boy! We've all seen the way you light up when you're texting her."

"Yeah," Emily agreed, "It's adorable."

Aaron Hotchner, trying to maintain some semblance of order, intervened, "Enough, Derek. Give him his phone back."

With a dramatic sigh, Derek handed the phone back to Spencer, but not before sending a wink his way. "You should invite her to meet us sometime."

Spencer rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "We'll see," he said, tucking his phone safely into his pocket.

The team exchanged knowing glances, eagerly awaiting the day they would finally meet the mysterious Y/N who had captured Spencer's attention so completely.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The bell above the door chimed, and Y/N glanced up to find Spencer standing there, looking a little sheepish. Without thinking, she rushed around the counter, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were back!" she exclaimed, pulling back to look at him.

"I wanted to surprise you," Spencer admitted, a shy smile gracing his lips.

After serving him his coffee, Y/N declared a break, eager to catch up with the intriguing man who had become such an essential part of her daily routine.

As they sat together, coffee in hand, Spencer and Y/N realized that their connection went beyond shared interests and sweet treats. And as the days turned into weeks, their bond only grows stronger, proving that sometimes, the best relationships start over a cup of coffee.