#thank you so so much for the kind words ❤️

[fawniswriting]

Omg you have no idea how much this means to me!!! 🥹 Thank youuu so much for the kind words, I appreciate you taking the time to read this story. Pt 2 is definitely coming!! I also hope to post more fics in the future, and I'm very excited for you and everyone else to read them as well ❤️ Thank you againnn lovely 💕

Before I Could Say It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky almost confessed his love to you, and the one time he finally does.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning(s): can be read as gn!reader bcs I didn't use any gender-specific words (pls advise me if this isn't true). canon divergence. no use of Y/N. use of the nicknames sugar and sweetheart. insecure thoughts. bucky feeling like he's not good enough. unrequited love (or is it?). alcohol consumption. a bit hurt/comfort. profanities. use of weaponry, including but not limited to guns and knives. depictions of violence, blood, injuries, and murder. (near) death experience. angst. fluff. open ending.

Author's Note: Hii guys. I know I should be focusing all of my energy on Faithfully Yours right now, but I had the idea for this story and just couldn't pass it up!! We have a bit of an open ending here. I wasn't planning on making a part two but I'll see what the general consensus say and will decide whether or not a part two is due from the responses. anywayy hope you enjoy this one xx don't forget to comment, like, and reblog!!

When Bucky tried to think about the beginning, his mind always drew a blank.

It had been five years since the first time destiny orchestrated your paths to cross, six if one were to count the one-year cryogenic sleep that Bucky spent in Wakanda. The Soldat met you first, back when you, Steve, Sam, and Nat fought him on that highway shoot-out that revealed his identity. After that, you were everywhere—in Bucharest with Steve to coax him out of hiding, on the tarmac battle where you went against half of your own family for his sake, and even in Wakanda, where your eyes became one of the last pairs he saw before his body succumbed to the unforgiving clutches of darkness.

And when he was finally woken up, you were there, too, waiting for him.

Since then, Bucky struggled to remember a time when you weren't there. You supervised his deprogramming in Wakanda, becoming Steve's eyes and ears while the Captain roamed the world as both a fugitive and a vigilante. When the Sokovia Accords turned void, and the scientists in Wakanda assured Bucky that his mind wasn't going to betray his heart anymore, you took him back to New York, offering solace in the form of your warmth pressing against his side on the plane ride to the States. 

Even once the two of you landed on the compound's grounds, you never strayed too far—standing between Bucky and a begrudging Tony as if you were ready to launch yourself forward should the billionaire try to do anything untoward. As if the ruthless Winter Soldier needed a human shield to prevent him from shattering into fragile little pieces.

Before Bucky knew it, his entire routine—his entire life—became you.

From your morning spar sessions in the gym, the long walks around Brooklyn in the afternoon, to the weekly movie nights that you roped him into in the name of reacquainting him with pop culture—everything in Bucky’s life started to shape and smell like you. 

It was a constant. 

You were Bucky’s new constant.

And somewhere along the way, Bucky’s little troublemaker of a heart decided, once and for all, to anchor itself to yours.

True to his fashion, Steve was the first person to notice. All of the lingering touches and longing glances, the hard-etched lines of Bucky’s countenance that seemed to soften every time you were near—they spoke of an affection beyond a mere loyalty one might harbor for their teammate. It spoke of love, one that was so unadulteratedly pure and raw that Steve was sure there was no room left in the crevices of Bucky’s heart where a piece of you didn’t reside in.

“You’ve gotta say something, Buck,” Steve said to Bucky one evening.

The two of them were standing in the convention hall of a lavish hotel deep in the heart of Manhattan, surrounded by a guestlist of people that Bucky was assured were some of the most influential figures of the twenty-first century. People tried to swarm him since the moment he entered the party, shoving business cards to his face and dropping names that Bucky knew should have meant something to him. He paid none of them any mind—not when his eyes immediately found you in that sea of ties and ball gowns, just like a moth enticed to a flame.

You were all dolled up for the night, wearing a fancy little number that screams you if only with a little bit of additional sparkles sprinkled on top. Bucky watched you move through the ocean of people, confidence oozing out of every step, a blinding smile as you received each handshake with an indisputable poise. Bucky’s head whipped towards your direction at every echo of laughter, searching for the source, drinking in your infectious glee as if it were the only way to sustain the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Bucky shifted in his feet, Steve’s unprompted advice forcing him to tear his eyes away from where you were standing by Natasha’s side. The blond beside him smiled knowingly, a teasing yet sincere tilt in his voice as he added, “You’ve gotta tell at some point, pal. Better sooner rather than later.”

The line in Bucky’s jaw ticked. He brought the glass of champagne to his lips, tipping the drink back as though the liquid stood a chance against his enhanced metabolism. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Buck.”

“Punk.”

The Captain sighed, reaching for a drink of his own. “At least ask for a dance, will you?”

Before Bucky could register what was happening, Steve had shoved Bucky forward, sending him stumbling forth towards the direction of your canorous laughter. Steve hid his amused smile behind his drink when Bucky flipped him the finger, the latter continuing his steps on wobbly feet, trying to ignore the pounding travelling up his bloodstreams.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted as soon as he had reached you. The smile on your face could rival the sun even on its brightest day, and Bucky prayed to every divine being in the universe that he could be on the receiving end of that smile for the rest of his days.

“Barnes.” Natasha nodded. 

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” Bucky attempted a smile, tugging at the ridiculous material of his bow tie that Tony had insisted him to wear. In fact, Tony was the one who forced Bucky to attend this whole shindig in the first place—something about showing a united front to prove to the public that there was no bad blood within the Avengers’ team. 

It was a shit ton of bullshit, in Bucky’s opinion.

But at least, the party gave him a chance to see you all dressed up to the nines.

“Nothing much.” You shrugged, tilting your head slightly to the side. “Did you need something?”

“No. I mean, I do. I was, um, wondering—” Bucky cleared his throat, “—I actually wanted to see if you’d care to join me for a dance?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Natasha’s eyes widen slightly. The redhead immediately scurried to the side, feigning interest in the tower of chocolate fondue just a couple of feet away.

Bucky’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest when you extended your palm towards him. “I would love to, Buck. Lead the way.”

Your fingers emitted warmth inside his hand, and for a moment, Bucky faltered. He kept his composure enough to guide you through the sea of couples on the dancefloor, willing the erratic thumping in his chest to quieten down as he pulled you flush against his body. The scent of your perfume slithered through the air, filling Bucky’s lungs, attacking each part of his senses until everything Bucky saw, heard, smelled, and felt was you.

“You look beautiful tonight, Sugar.”

The admission tumbled from his lips before Bucky had a chance to stop them, before he could thoroughly process the implications of such candor. You didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, your persistent smile widened ever so slightly, your eyes twinkling under the glimmering lights of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“Why, you look plenty dashing yourself, Bucky.” You hummed appreciatively, raking your eyes up and down Bucky’s suit-clad figure. “I must say, I was sad to see your long hair gone, but this looks great as well.”

Your fingers skimmed the hard contour of Bucky’s shoulder, leaving goosebumps on their wake, before sneaking through the short tendrils on the nape of his neck. He fought off a groan at the contact, the heavenly feeling of your fingers tugging at his hair sending shivers all throughout his body. Meanwhile, you were still smiling up at him all sweetly, completely oblivious to the rush of heat that you delivered through Bucky’s entire being.

“Sugar,” the nickname fell off Bucky’s lips in a low grunt, and for the first time that night, your composure staggered. 

Your breath hitched around a squeak when Bucky managed to tug you closer, circling his arms around your waist until there was barely room for air between both of your bodies. All around you, the world ceased to exist. The only thing that remained were your bated breaths, a raucous disruption through the electric field buzzing between where you and Bucky were pressed against one another. 

“I need to tell you something,” Bucky revealed, his voice low and sheer, stripped by unease and something akin to fear. 

Your forehead furrowed, undoubtedly sensing the trepidation shining out of the blue of Bucky’s eyes. “What’s the matter, Buck?”

Your palm landed on his stubbled cheek, and Bucky had to fight the urge to lean in, to chase more of your warmth like you were an oasis in the middle of his desert of a life. He grappled for the confession to come, for the feelings in his chest to solidify into something comprehensible. All Bucky had to do was open his mouth and seize the moment.

But just as quickly as it had arrived, the moment splintered through his fingertips.

“Good evening, everyone!”

Bucky's whole body jerked in surprise, his accusatory eyes instantly finding the MC standing on the stage at the front of the room. The music had stopped, replaced by the MC's welcoming remarks addressed towards a dozen supposedly prominent names that Bucky couldn't care less about.

“Hey, let's go find a seat,” you suggested, circling your tender fingers around Bucky's wrist before leading him through the maze of tables.

The two of you sat down just in time for Tony to deliver his opening speech as a representative of the Avengers. You glanced at Bucky in the middle of Tony's heartfelt sentiment about “shaping the future”, your hand finding Bucky's flesh one on his thigh, unaware of the kind of turmoil you have summoned from a single touch.

“You okay, Bucky?” you asked, squeezing his hand. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

I wanted to tell you that I love you, Bucky's heart echoed. I don't know when it started, and I don't know how, all I know is that you're every good thing that I have going on in my life.

Bucky's throat tightened.

He never ended up saying the words out loud. Instead, he smiled thinly. “It's not important, sweetheart. I'll tell you later.”

You assessed him curiously before offering him a small smile and directing your attention back towards the stage. Bucky sighed in the aftermath, feeling the wild beating of his heart settled to a normal one.

And just like that, the truth died on the tip of his tongue.

Weeks passed, and between countless briefings, missions, and reports, Bucky was forced to push all matters concerning his heart to the side. It wasn't easy, not when you occupied every facet of Bucky's otherwise monotone life. Every waking moment was a painful reminder that you were always within reach, but never close enough for him to have.

Following a successful infiltration into an illegal bio-weapon factory in the outskirts of Poland, the team had landed their jet on one of the safehouse grounds somewhere near the border of Poland and Germany. Natasha and Clint disappeared inside the house immediately upon landing, while Sam and Steve stayed on the quinjet to go over a few intels they had managed to gather from the factory.

Bucky's boots scraped softly against the grass as he crossed the distance towards the small lake just a few yards left to the safehouse. The surrounding trees rustled in the wind, a symphony of reds and oranges beneath the solemn autumn sky. On the shore of the lake, Bucky found you sitting, a rare serene look on your face as you closed your eyes to welcome the impending breeze.

“Hi, Bucky,” you greeted, eyes still shut tightly.

“How'd you know it was me, Sugar?”

“I always know when it's you.”

The moment your eyes opened, Bucky's heart stuttered in its cage. The smile you rewarded him was soft, embellished with a tenderness that a man of his repute would never deserve. He knew he should have looked away, but the selfish part of him wanted to hold your stare in place, to relish in your kindness no matter how much he believed he wasn't worthy of it.

“Come on, sit with me.”

You patted the ground next to you, and Bucky obeyed without further questions. He lowered himself on the grass, damp from the lingering chill of autumn air, and stretched his legs out. For a while, neither of you spoke, opting to enjoy the sound of water lapping lazily against the shore, a stark tranquility to the horrors you faced during the mission earlier.

The sky dimmed a tad darker as the sun ducked behind the cover of trees, leaving behind streaks of purple and gold on the horizon. Beside him, you heaved out a sigh, the remnants of sun casting your skin in an ethereal glow.

“Sometimes I wish moments like this could last forever,” you murmured.

Bucky's eyes slid towards you, studying the contours of your face like a historian would an ancient scripture. His fingers twitched, itching to feel every soft and hard edge of your features under the brush of his touch. 

You're the only thing in this world I want forever with.

The words resonated in his head and all the way down to his chest, settling like stone sinking underwater, slow and heavy. He almost said it out loud—nearly laid his heart bare for you to judge and scrutinize. But at last, he fabricated a grin and nudged his shoulder playfully to yours.

“You always get sentimental when you're tired,” he joked.

You laughed heartily at his jab, a melodic thing that wrested at every coil of Bucky's heartstrings. The two of you proceeded to watch the sunset together, the silence stretching between you, warm and comfortable. The sky burned in more explosions of hues, casting its reflection upon the lake like a dream neither of you dared to disturb. 

If Bucky were a braver man, a better man—one that wasn't weighed down by his history and remorse—maybe he would have told you. Maybe, in another life, Bucky would have charmed you at first sight, claiming you as his before the day could even end. But for now, Bucky was glad to settle for this—for sharing a quiet moment with you, and to bask in your company as though he were worthy of even a fraction of your attention.

For now, Bucky would let the four-letter word wither inside him, locked in a hidden fissure somewhere within his chest, keeping it safe from ever seeing any light of day.

Days flew by, and it was getting increasingly harder for Bucky to ignore the way his heart gravitated towards yours, to ignore the fact that you were always the first person he searched for in the morning and the last one he wanted to talk to before falling asleep. To pretend like the mere mention of your name didn't send a jolt that revived his entire being. Every single day was a battle between wish and logic—the unruly desire to make you his, and the rational reluctance of dragging you into the mess that was his life.

“This is getting ridiculous, Buck,” Steve said as he leaned back against the bar right next to Bucky, following the latter's eyesight to find you standing at the end of it. “You're just gonna avoid it forever? An eternal silent treatment? The two of you need to talk, whether you like it or not.”

Bucky inhaled a long breath, swirling the Asgardian mead in his glass without ever taking his eyes off you. It was your birthday—a joyous occasion that called for this merry yet intimate celebration with the entire team. The common room of the compound had been transformed into something warm and inviting, lit by the soft glow of string lights draped along the walls. A cake sat on the counter, half-eaten, its candles long blown out, but the remnants of your laughter from when you made your wish still lingered in the air.

From across the room, Bucky watched as Sam teased you about getting older, earning the bird-man a playful swat on his arm. Wanda handed you a small, neatly wrapped gift, and your eyes lit up in a way that made Bucky’s chest ache. He didn’t know what was in the box. He didn’t really care. All he knew was that he wanted to be the reason behind that breathtaking smile of yours.

And then, your eyes lifted.

The eye contact was fleeting. Brief. Gone by the time Bucky realized what was happening and forced his gaze away. Even then, Bucky still caught the hint of surprise as your eyes found his, replaced almost immediately by a longing that Bucky understood all too well. It clutched onto his heart, sinking its sharp nails until the life organ in his chest was bruised and brutally torn apart.

The Captain sighed. “You're being an idiot, pal.”

Bucky knew Steve was right—he was being an idiot. A coward, even. It was his own damn foolishness that had kept him avoiding you for weeks, skipping your morning spars, slipping out of any room you occupied before you could even notice his presence. All because he couldn’t handle the feelings that had taken root in his chest, the one that was growing stronger by the minute, infiltrating deeper into his system every time you so much as looked his way.

The party was still in full swing by the time Bucky decided to retire for the night, forgoing the goodbyes, heading straight to the elevator that took him back to his quarters. It was a few hours later when a clumsy knock sounded against his door, breaking through the quiet that had settled in his room.

“Sugar?”

Bucky's hand clenched around the door handle, his eyebrows knitting together at the sight of you in front of his bedroom.

“Hi, Buckyyy,” you greeted, your words slurring into uncontrollable giggles.

 Understanding dawned on Bucky's shoulders. “Sweetheart, are you drunk?”

“Am not!” You huffed, pushing past a stunned Bucky to enter the bedroom. 

You looked around for a moment, humming to yourself every time you came across a familiar token that decorated Bucky's room. There was a photo of you and him on the nightsand, a sketch of the Brooklyn Bridge courtesy of Steve hanging on the wall, and a few vinyl records stacked neatly on the shelf, gifted by various members of the team. At last, your steps halted beside the bed, and without a warning, you dove head first into the mattress, chuckling to yourself as you attempted to make snow angels with his blankets.

“This is sooo niceee,” you mused, burying youself deeper into one of Bucky's pillows. “Smells like you, Buck.”

The super soldier tried not to dwell too much on the sight of you lying on his bed, looking like you had always belonged in the same place that Bucky took his rest. A shiver ran down Bucky's spine as he closed the door behind him, his feet quiet against the carpeted floor before he took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed.

“Sugar?” Bucky took your shoulders in his grasp, turning you around until his eyes locked with yours. His heart staggered. “You wanna get back to your room? I could take you.”

His offer made you sit up in seconds, so fast that Bucky feared you might have given yourself a whiplash. He stared at you as your lips trembled, your whole body turning away from him until you were just a breadth out of his reach.

His fingers contracted in grief.

“Hey, Sugar? What's—”

“Why do you hate me?”

Silence.

Bucky's forehead creased in confusion.

“Hate you?” Bucky tasted the accusation on his tongue—the word being so foreign and farfetched from anything he could associate with you that Bucky had to wonder if he had misheard what you spoke. “Sweetheart, I don't hate you.”

“Liar.” You scoffed, scooting towards the foot of the bed, seemingly adamant to draw as much distance as possible between Bucky and yourself. “You have been avoiding me for weeks. You don't want to talk to me, or do anything with me. You hate me.”

Bucky blinked, stunned into momentary silence before shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the sheer absurdity of your words. “That’s not true,” he murmured, his voice rough with something that sounded dangerously close to regret.

You laughed at his response—a wry, sarcastic laugh that was void of even the smallest hint of your usual warmth. “Then what other possible reason could you have for avoiding me, Bucky? Hm?” Your head turned towards him, and for the first time that night, Bucky finally saw the telltale sign of tears in your eyes, a glassy sheen that erased any remnant of the wits that Bucky had grown to know and love.

His stomach churned.

Guilt was eating at him alive. He couldn't believe that his stupidity had caused this—that he had hurt you due to his own incapability of controlling his emotions. Bucky didn't know what he was thinking when he decided that the best course of action would be to completely evade you, but he certainly didn't think that it would result in this.

With you, sitting on his bed, crying your eyes out while simultaneously breaking Bucky's heart in the process.

Bucky exhaled sharply, as if the weight of his own remorse was pressing down on his chest. He couldn't stand it—the way your shoulders quivered, the way you tried so desperately to keep your composure together as tears welled in your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, reaching for you, his fingers hesitant at first before firming in resolve. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

You stiffened at his touch, your lips parting as if to protest, but Bucky was already pulling you into his embrace, holding you tightly against the muscular panes of his chest. His hands skimmed soothingly along your back, whispers of sweet nothings falling from his lips as he rocked you in the safety of his arms.

“I don't hate you, Sugar,” he murmured, voice shattering around the edges. “I've never hated you. How could I?”

How could I hate you when you are the only source of light I have remaining in this world? How could I hate you when loving you is the only thing about my life that I am absolutely certain of?

Your breath hitched against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Bucky—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing his lips to your temple in a featherlight touch. “Just let me hold you, okay?”

Slowly, he guided the both of you down onto his bed, his arms never loosening from where they were wrapped around your body. His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your cheek, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against your back. The tension in your body melted bit by bit with each gentle word, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something softer—something safe.

“Don't ever do that to me again,” you warned shakily. “Promise me.”

Bucky's hold around you tightened. “I promise.”

“Good.” You sighed, exhaustion wearing down every inch of your bones. “You're my favorite person, Bucky.”

The admission pierced Bucky's chest like a lightning strike. He knew he should not have read too much into it, that the revelation was nothing more than a drunken slip of tongue that you probably would not even remember in the morning. But for now, Bucky chose to let that little detail slide, to let himself pretend that the confession had been made with more purposeful intent behind it—that the words had meant as much to you as it did to Bucky.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I've got you."

Since that night in his bedroom, Bucky had made a vow: he wasn't going to run anymore.

Bucky had learned his lesson. He wasn't going to let his own fears dictate his actions, nor would he allow his emotions ruin the precious friendship he had built with you over the past few years. Whatever he felt—whatever torment clawed at his chest whenever you so much as looked his way—it was his burden to bear. You didn't deserve to suffer for his cowardice, and he swore to himself that he would never let it happen again.

That thought lingered in Bucky's mind as he moved stealthily through the abandoned industrial site, gun drawn, boots scraping silently against the cracked concrete floor. The mission was straightforward: take out remaining hostiles, extract any valuable intel, and regroup. Simple. A basic in and out job that would be done just in time for dinner.

The team had split into pairs, and as fate would have it—or rather, as Steve would have it—Bucky found himself assigned to the west wing of the site alongside you. The direct channel to your comms in Bucky’s earpiece was quiet, and the super soldier took it as a good indication that your side of the mission was going smoothly. Meanwhile, he swept through his own side of hallways with methodical precision, checking every room, muttering a curt “clear” to his comms for each canvassed area. 

The air was eerie with cold and mold when Bucky entered the last remaining room in the hallway. There was nothing particularly different about this one. It was just as empty and as menacing, smelling of rat’s piss and years of abandonment, though his seasoned instinct—one sculpted from years of fighting and survival—warned him that something was amiss. His fingers tightened around his weapon almost instinctively, feeling an immediate unease venture up his spine, raising the very hair on the back of his neck.

The silence was too perfect.

Bucky’s feet skidded to a stop, turning on his heel to retrace his steps back towards the entrance.

Then, it happened.

The ambush struck like lightning on water. One second Bucky was alone, and the next, shadows had flooded the room, faceless figures in tactical gears leaping towards him at the same time. They were fast and ruthless, and even though none seemed to possess enhanced abilities, Bucky was still outnumbered. He dodged the first three attackers easily enough—disarming the blade from the first assailant’s hand, ducking out of the swinging baton of the second’s, and rolling on the floor before redirecting the third one’s bullet with the palm of his vibranium arm.

Bucky dashed out of the room into the one right across, the group of attackers still hot on his tail. He ducked behind a metal table and started opening fires at the entrance, taking out the threats before they even got the chance to enter the room. A curse fell under his breath when Bucky realized that he had worked through his rounds, scrambling to replace the ammunition as footsteps thundered into the room.

Slamming the fresh magazine in place, Bucky inhaled a gearing breath, only to be met with a sudden hush that descended through the air.

He raised his gun.

Instead of finding himself at the end of numerous gun barrels, Bucky was granted the view of bodies scattered all over the floor. The tang of iron meshed detestably with the spoor of grime, fog swirling around the edge of Bucky’s adrenaline-honed mind. When the dust finally stifled, his focus immediately zeroed in on the figure standing amidst the wreckage, rising out of the smoke like a doomsday’s salvation.

“Hi, handsome.” You smiled around a heavy exhale, a crinkle in your eye that seized the very life out of Bucky’s lungs. “Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, somewhere between relief and admiration. The grip around his weapon slackened ever so slightly, his body still thrumming with fight-and-flight, though the sight of your beautiful smile had managed to wash him with the kind of serenity that no other person could compel.

“Was wondering when you’d show up, sweetheart,” Bucky said, rising from his makeshift fortress behind the table.

“Sorry, Sarge.” You hummed, casually brushing the dust off Bucky’s shoulder as though the contact didn’t send him skyrocketing to heaven. “You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

Bucky failed to suppress his grin, nudging your shoulder as the two of you headed towards the entrance. With the hostiles neutralized, and the information uploaded to the flash drive discreetly tucked in the safety of Bucky’s inside pocket, the two of you were prepared for extraction. He redirected his comms to the main channel, alerting the other team members that the two of you were ready to wrap up and get the hell out of this dismal place.

He was barely a foot out of the door when a loud bang resonated in the air.

In a split second, Bucky sprung in retaliation, taking aim at one of the bloody assailants on the ground that had somehow taken hold of a gun, Bucky’s finger pulling at his own weapon’s trigger, assassinating him in place.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bucky’s heart throbbed in his throat, a silent prayer on his lips at how close of a call it had almost been. His gaze took a quick scan of the pile of bodies on the floor, making sure that none of them would pull a similar stunt, only allowing his shoulders to deflate when he saw no remaining signs of life.

“Bucky?”

Your voice barely reached him, thin despite the echoic air of this dingy site, but something inside Bucky twisted the moment he heard it.

When he turned, the initial relief that had flooded his chest instantly collapsed.

You were standing there, just a breadth out of reach with your gun still tightly clutched between your fingers. But the side of your neck—God, the side of your neck—was slick with red, thick and dark as it ran in angry runnels down your skin, staining the collar of your tactical gear, pooling on your shoulder and drenching everything it touched.

Your whole body swayed.

Bucky’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

“No, no, no—” he rasped as he caught you, arms winding around your frame to prevent you from hitting the floor. His knees slammed onto the cold concrete below as he cradled you against his chest, the tremble in his body betraying the steel he was supposed to be made out of.

Bucky blinked, willing this moment to splinter into a dream, willing for his body to be transported back into the comfort of his bedroom where the scene playing out in front of his eyes would be nothing more than a heinous nightmare. But as Bucky’s arms tightened around your limp figure, the awful, gut-wrenching truth settled like ice in his veins. 

This was real. 

The blood seeping through your gear wasn’t imagined. The faint hitch in your breath, the loss of color from your face, the sheer terror clawing its way up his throat—none of it was a dream.

His chest crashed.

“Hey, hey. I got you, Sugar.” His voice cracked as he pressed a palm against your wound, despairingly staunching the warmth from slipping through his fingers. But no matter how hard he was grasping, the blood just kept on flowing—too fast and too much—soaking his hands and every corner of his battered soul.

“Shit. Stay with me, sweetheart. Please,” he begged. “Steve! Nat! Somebody get here now!” he barked into his earpiece, nails digging deeper into your skin. “We need a medic! We need a—fuck—just get down here!”

You made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, your breath warm against his cheek as you murmured, “I-It’s gonna… gonna be o-okay.”

It was a lie.

You both knew it.

And it destroyed him. 

“Don’t do that.” Bucky shook his head, his voice cracking around a choked sob. He forced a smile as he looked down at your pale face. “You always suck at lying.”

Your lips parted, the faintest ghost of a smile trying to make its way through, only to be interrupted by a wet cough that made Bucky’s chest cave in.

“Gotta stay with me, sweetheart. Please,” Bucky whimpered. “The team’s coming. Help is on the way. Just gotta hang in there a little more for me, yeah? Just a little longer. Please.”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure to whom he was begging—whether it was you, the universe, or any higher divine power that might have heard his wretched prayer and taken pity on him. A man who had lost everything and asked for nothing, who was now asking for someone—anyone—to save the only thing in this world that made his life worth living, even if it meant having to sacrifice his soul in exchange.

Your hand reached out tentatively, shakily, gripping the strap of his tactical jacket and giving it the faintest tug. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice dissipating like a wisp of smoke as soon as you had uttered his name. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, searched for his, and when they finally found him, a weak smile curved at your lips. “I love you.”

A sound tore from his throat, raw and full of despair. His forehead dropped against yours, his entire body rupturing under the weight of your words.

“I love you.” Bucky’s voice stammered. “God, I love you—I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much.” He pressed his lips against your clammy forehead, again and again, as though he could tether you here, as though his love alone could be enough to keep you from slipping away.

He should have been happy—should have felt something else other than this hollow, scorching agony. The person of his dreams, the one he had spent sleepless nights longing for, had just made the one admission that his heart had been wanting to hear, and yet, all he could do was break. His whole being perished under the weight of everything left unsaid, every moment wasted, every regret carving him open from the inside out.

He should have told you sooner.

God, he should have just told you—should have braced past his insecurities and found the courage somehow, should have showered you with every drop of love he had neatly stowed in his heart until he was shriveled and had no else to give. He should have bought you flowers everyday, let you know that you were the most beautiful person Bucky had ever met on this goddamn planet—because you deserved it.

You deserved everything.

Not this.

Not bleeding on the filthy floor of this desolate place, fighting off death that had bludgeoned its way right through your door.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sugar. We’re getting out of here, you hear me?” His breath stuttered, his grip tightening as if he could physically gather all of your fragmented pieces and mend you as new. “I’m gonna treat you so good. You’ll see. Gonna spoil you rotten like I ought to. Just—please, just hold on—”

Your fingers twitched against his chest. Your eyes fluttered.

A quivering breath left your lips before your body went completely limp.

Bucky stilled.

“Sugar?”

Nothing.

No soft inhale. No faint murmurs of response.

No squeeze of your fingers against his jacket.

Bucky’s entire world came crashing down in the blink of an eye.

“No. No, no, no, no—”

His hand cupped your face, blood smearing from his skin to yours. Bucky’s fingers trembled as he tapped your cheek, as if the action alone could keep you here, could bring you back to him. His breathing ceased, his whole body shuddering as he rocked you in his arms, your name tumbling over and over again from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like a plea to the universe to undo everything, to give him one more chance, to take him instead.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his face wet with the fractured shards of his heart. “Please.”

The only thing that acknowledged him was silence.

And Bucky Barnes had never hated the quiet more.

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Public Demo Update! 🎉 Chapter 1 Part 3

It's finally here! Adds ~61,800 words to the story plus ~6,700 words in codex character entries. Reblogs and shares very appreciated! ❤️

Play here on itch.io!

I would HIGHLY recommend you start on a new save as I have had to make some changes to variables and stats which will be detailed below, but starting from an existing save may break some things later in the game for you and you won't unlock the codex or stat pages if you don't.

In this update, you will:

Meet Lady Safina (Parim and Aurora's mother) and talk to Aurynn

Meet Lady Najaat (Nour's mother) and speak with your own mother

Play a flashback scene involving you, your mother, and Luca from your childhood

Speak with Samira

Get your food and bed stolen by your greedy little hog of a serval, Farwah

Meet the rest of MC's siblings (Aurora, Castor, and Ember) and Something or Someone Else™️ in a dream sequence

Speak with Luca in a dream

Use your divination to have a vision

Ouchies T-T

(Mostly) Accidentally snoop through Aurynn's mail with Samira

Find Aurynn in the library vault

Detailed changes below:

Changed the Straightforward stat to "Sincere"

Added "Aloof" stat

MC's personality is now divided between two types of stats: your main stat (charismatic, gentle, confrontational, dignified, imposing) and your secondary stat (manipulative, aloof, sincere)

Minor edits throughout demo and Character Creator

Added custom pronouns to Character Creator

Added cis/trans option to Character Creator (originally, this was going to be a choice introduced in chapter 2, but upon further thought I felt it would be easier to establish cis/trans early on and then in chapter 2 there will still be a scene that reflects on and clarifies mc's gender identity)

Added new music tracks

Updated UI

Added main menu

Added OpenDyslexic font to Settings

Added options to be able to rename saves to the Settings or have them autoname for you for ease of keeping track of save files

Added Stats page

Added character codex entries (codex is currently still a WIP in terms of UI and content and more entries on lore/history/magic etc will be added later)

Thank you so much for all the support you've shown the demo this last year and I am so sincerely grateful for all the kind messages people have sent! I hope you enjoy the update--I worked very hard on it! :D

The next update, Chapter 1 Part 4, will finish off chapter one.

@interact-if

[daddyslittlecrow]

How about period Sex with caleb⁉️⁉️

YES YES I WILL!!

Oh.

You meant…no, no, of course. It's just a prompt! Not a serious possibility 🤧

Anyway….I love these types of prompts. Menstruation happens whether people like it or not and I absolutely love that the game has 5 such gentle, kind period trackers ❤️

And they would all absolutely fuck you during it if you let them

Not proofread, sue me 🤘

Warnings: 18+ MDNI

Painkiller - Caleb

For some reason, the cramps seemed to be much more intense this month. You spent the last few hours curled up around a heating pad, willing the painkillers to keep working. While the pain was still manageable, you peeled yourself from the sheets, hobbling to the bathroom to change your pad.

By the time you were washing your hands, you heard the door to your apartment shut. Caleb. You shamelessly texted him a while ago, begging him to come over after work so he could take care of you.

You collapsed back into your nest of self-pity just as he burst through the door. “I bought 4 different kinds of chocolate to avoid any tears. Learnt my lesson last time.” He said immediately, a plastic grocery bag in one hand and the other hiding behind his back.

He bent down. His kiss told you how much he missed you, caressing your lips with his. The scent of aftershave mingled with steel consumed you. You breathed him in, urging your racing heart to settle. It didn't help that he was still in his sexy uniform.

Caleb straightened up, a boyish grin plastered on his face. “Also got you these for being so brave.”

Red roses. Emotions swelled in your chest as you admired them. His gesture was returned with a weak smile. “They’re beautiful Caleb. Thank you.”

He left the bag of supplies next to you before walking out with roses and the vase that held last week’s bouquet. While you felt somewhat okay now, you knew the cramps were lurking. Patiently waiting until the painkillers left your system so they could seek revenge.

Thank God you asked him for more. The pills you took earlier were the last one in the box. You brought the grocery bag closer to you, sifting through the chocolate and pads. Oh no. Quickly dumping everything onto the bed, pure panic bubbled.

“Where are the painkillers?” Caleb was walking back into your room, eyes growing wide at your words. His cheeks flushed. He had forgot them, distracted by the flower stand.

You tapped your phone screen, checking time. It was too late. By the time Caleb returned to the store it would be closed. You sighed dramatically. “I guess I'll die tonight then.”

Caleb chewed on his bottom lip, feeling terrible that he racked his brain for a solution. He placed the roses on your nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. The warmth of his finger tips felt soothing as he traced patterns along your back. You were wearing the comfiest things you could find. A pair of sweatpants and one his t-shirts.

His amethyst eyes drank you in like you were the most beautiful creature on earth. Even if you thought you looked horrendous with your hair piled on top of your head and a lovely hormonal spot screaming for attention on your chin.

“You know Pips…i think I read somewhere that orgasms can help. Eases the cramps.” You laughed despite feeling your cheeks start to burn. Despite feeling miserable during your period, it also made you extra…sensitive.

“Nice try. Did you suddenly forget there’s literal blood flowing out of me?” You reached for one of the chocolate bars, trying not to focus on the slight tremble of your hands. “Come back when the river’s running clear.”

Caleb shook his head, hand sliding down to the hem of his t-shirt. Last month he had finally realised you got incredibly horny during your period. But you never initiated anything and he gave you space, assuming you weren't into it. But he decided to test the waters today.

He loved taking care of you and if that meant making you cum so you'd be less uncomfortable, well? It was a win-win in his books. “What if I told you I don't care whether you’re on your period or not?”

Avoiding the burning glare of his eyes, you snapped off a piece of chocolate and shoved it in your mouth. Anything to distract you from the pulsing sensation that started between your legs.

It's not that you thought it was gross to have period sex, you just couldn't stop imagining a grimace on your boyfriend’s face if he looked down. You’d rather just avoid the potential for embarrassment.

Caleb leaned over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched, a dribble of chocolate at the corner of your mouth. He knew his proposal interested you. Your thighs pressing instinctively together did not go unnoticed.

But he could also see you were too in your head, worrying about the worst case scenario. At war with yourself. He just needed to get you to stop thinking altogether.

The pad of his thumb collected the chocolatey drool before pushing it back into your mouth. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt his thumb go past your lips.

“Suck.”

The command went right to your pussy, feeling it flutter with anticipation. A small groan slipped out of you. Instantly your lips wrapped around him, swirling your wet tongue around the tip. Just like you did with his cock.

Caleb hissed. Restraining his desires was quite the challenge when you hollowed your cheeks slightly to suction him. Your eyes locked on his - eager, waiting. His jaw clenched, forcing himself to ignore how hard he was already - straining painfully against his work trousers.

This wasn't about him.

A soft pop followed as Caleb removed his thumb from your mouth. Then his lips were on yours, claiming them, swallowing the soft moans the came from your throat. He took those sweet sounds as permission to keep going but he wanted to make sure.

He grabbed the material of the t-shirt, peeling it up over your head. Your back hit the mattress as he gently pushed you down. His eyes trailed down to your bare breasts before lowering himself, his body almost on top of you.

He kissed a scorching path down your neck, stopping when he reached one of your nipples. Your back arched, pushing your breast closer to his mouth. He smirked, flicking out his tongue to tease the sensitive bud. You whined. “Caleb…”

“Good girls use their words, pipsqueak.” His hand slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, then your panties. A wave of embarrasment hit you and you tried to move his hand away.

Caleb tutted before grabbing your wrist with his free hand, pinning your arm over your head. His fingers pressed against your clit and you moaned loudly as he worked in agonizingly slow circles. Every bit of hesitation melted away as your pussy clenched around nothing. His eyes never left yours.

“Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” He murmured against your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. The tempo of his fingers increased, making your hips buck.

“You - ah - I want…you.” The pleasure started to build, making it difficult to speak. Caleb growled against your breast before removing his hand from your panties.

He practically ripped your bottoms off your legs, leaving you bare before him. His eyes hungrily roamed your body before stopping at your swollen pussy.

He didn't expect how aroused he got seeing your wetness tinged pink with blood. His dick was leaking at the sight. You’d feel so much wetter, hotter, if he sank his length into you right now. And because you were extra sensitive, you'd be able to feel every thick inch as he dragged through your gummy walls.

Before you could start overthinking, he gripped your thighs hard and pushed them apart, opening you wider for him. “Just like back and let me make you feel good, beautiful.”

Your fingers clutched the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as he resumed his touch on your engorged clit. You moaned his name like a prayer. He answered by bringing his middle finger right next to your pulsing hole.

“You want it Pips?” His voice was rough with raw need. He ignored your desperate hips urging him to go further, to fill you with his long finger. “Fucking beg for it.”

You let out a sob as his movements on your clit slowed, refusing to indulge you until you obeyed. “Please let me cum on your…ah…your fingers. I need you.”

The air left your lungs as he slammed his finger into your pussy. He grunted as he fucked it into you hard, making your eyes roll back as your body writhed. In. Out. In. Out.

The sounds of your squelching cunt was sending you close to the edge. He added a second digit, stretching your slick walls. Your hips rocked to match his pace, fucking his fingers as your stomach clenched from the intense pleasure that grew.

“That’s it baby. I know. It feels good doesn't it? So tight. Want you to cum.” Caleb curled his fingers, massaging your g-spot as your moans grew louder. “Good girl. Cum for me. All over my fingers.”

The tension in your body finally snapped. Your jaw went slack as you let out a guttural scream, pussy clenching as you chased each wave of your orgasm. Caleb continued to sciossor his fingers into you, loving how your back arched from what he did to you.

After a few more leisurely pumps, he withdrew his fingers. You melted into the mattress, utterly spent. Your flushed face only burned hotter when Caleb immediately went to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and gently cleaned you up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, afraid he may have been a bit too rough. He just couldn't help it. He stopped cleaning a few times to leave kisses on your stomach.

Despite cringing at the undeniable mess between your legs, he may have been right. Your orgasm seemed to keep your cramps at bay for a while longer. “That was definitely better than swallowing a few pills.”

You broke out into a fit of laughter and he grinned as he leaned over to kiss you. Your eyes bore into his when he pulled away, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You didn’t miss the michevious spark that burned in his gaze.

“I’ll check in with you we get something to eat. I might be able to give you something…stronger if the pain comes back.”

[wheresarizona]

Spring Breaks Loose

summary: It's a beautiful Spring day, and you're spending it with Javier and your two pet calves, Daphne and Velma. To keep your husband on his toes, you ask him some very random questions.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: T (No y/n, Husband Javier Peña, Soft Javier Peña, mild language, oral sex mention (f + m receiving), domestic fluff, slice of life, pregnancy, waxing poetic about cheese, romantic comedy, Javier referring to you, Daphne, and Velma as ‘his girls’)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: Hello there! To celebrate Learning to Live's third birthday (insane), I wrote something that has art! Thank you to all of those still reading this labor of my love. It means a lot to me that you've stuck with me this long. This story will always have a special place in my heart, and I'm so happy to share it with others. ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you!

Art by the incredible @kenobiwanx! (Thank you, it's perfect!)

(Note: Cielito is a reader-insert character and written without physical attributes, so you can picture her however you want. Cielito is you! I just needed a reference for the artwork, so I chose a model that kind of looked like me. 😊)

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The warmth of spring is a welcome change from the chill of winter. The shining sun will begin its descent soon, and you’ll watch it from the base of this towering oak tree, beneath its curving branches and green leaves. You sit with your husband while the two calves you call your bovine daughters graze nearby.

His large palm is a comfort, resting on your belly, your hand over his.

“Okay,” you start. With how you’re lying back across Javier’s lap to prop yourself up on his bent knee, it’s easy to gaze at his beautiful, smiling face. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?”

For the last twenty minutes, you’ve been asking him random questions. If you could be any Skittle, what color would you be? Red. Do you put on your socks left or right foot first? Right. Do you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain? Yes, as long as it’s with you.

“A horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses…” he replies. “Hmmm.” His expression shows he’s really thinking it out, which delights you. “A horse-sized duck could do some real damage. I think I’d choose the duck-sized horses. It’d be a bitch fighting a hundred, but definitely better than a giant fucking duck.”

“Solid answer.”

“What would you choose?”

“Oh, absolutely, the duck-sized horses. You’re right about the horse-sized duck doing damage. That’s a no, thank you from me.”

He chuckles. “You got another question?”

“Ummm.” You take a second to think of one. “Oh! If you had to choose, would you give up cheese or blow jobs for the rest of your life?”

He frowns. “Can I still eat you out?”

You giggle. “Yes. You can give oral, but you can’t receive it.”

“Fuck, this is a hard one.”

You smile. “I know.”

“You give really fucking good head.” That makes you preen. “But, a lot of the shit you cook has cheese in it, and you know how much I love your food.”

The only person whose cooking he loved more than yours was his late mother’s. But, from what you’ve heard, eating her food was a religious experience, so you understand.

“You love it a lot.”

He smiles. “I do. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’d give up blow jobs.”

“Wow, that’s a little surprising. Also, very sweet that you’d choose my cooking over getting your dick sucked.”

His free hand caresses your face, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek. “I can live without blow jobs, but I can’t live without your food—”

“Awe.”

“—or eating your pussy.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles and quickly pecks your lips. “What about you?” He asks when he pulls back. “Cheese or my mouth?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“It’s hard to choose, right?”

“Yeah, it is. ‘Cause you are fucking amazing at eating pussy. Like, you deserve the highest honor for being the ‘World’s Greatest Cunnilinguist.’” That makes him laugh, his smile so big his dimple appears. “It’s true. I’m not even joking. Then we have cheese—glorious, delicious cheese. A gift to humankind. The eighth wonder of the culinary world.”

He’s amused. “I think I know, but which would you give up?”

“My god. I’m sorry, babe, but I think it has to be oral. I can’t imagine living without cheese. It’s cheese, for goodness’ sake!”

“I’m not surprised by your choice. You fucking love cheese.”

“Um, who doesn’t love cheese? Like, cheese is so good that many lactose-intolerant people are willing to suffer for the tasty goodness, and I don’t blame them. Also, you love cheese. Don’t deny it!”

He’s looking at you with soft eyes and a soft smile, the fondness clear on his handsome face. “I do love cheese.”

“Thank you. Now, it’s your turn to ask a question—look, the girls are curious about what their dad is gonna ask.”

The calves approach you both and lie down—the red one, Daphne, choosing a spot in the grass beside you to rest her head in your lap while her sister, Velma, gets comfortable on the ground by Javi’s feet.

It makes you smile, your hand moving to stroke your fingers over the red calf’s head.

“Can’t let my girls down,” he replies. “Let me think.” His eyes move away from yours for only a moment as he thinks about it. He meets your gaze again. “If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?”

“A classic. I’m assuming no wishing for more wishes?” you ask.

“Correct.”

“Okay. Universal healthcare, perfect tits, and for our family to be happy and healthy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You already have perfect tits.”

“Right now, they’re pretty great, but I’m thinking post-however many babies we’re gonna have, and, you know, aging.”

“They’ll still be perfect.”

You smile, playfully swatting at his chest. “Stop it, or I’ll beg you to get me pregnant.”

His lips turn up, his expression matching yours. “You’re already pregnant.” For emphasis, he rubs his palm over your dress-covered tummy where you aren’t even showing yet.

“Fine, double pregnant, which—“ You frown. “—when I actually think about that, it sounds awful for a first pregnancy. I have bad enough heartburn with one baby growing inside me, and don’t get me started on the morning sickness. Why do they even call it that? It’s misleading. This shit is all day. How worse would all of this be with two buns in my Easy-Bake oven?”

He leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Thankfully, this time around, you don’t have to find out.” He sits back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows creasing in concern. “Are you nauseous right now? Do we need to head back to Pop’s?”

Instead of coming out here on horseback, Javi brought you in his truck with the girls in a trailer behind it. He drove slowly, so the bumps weren’t too bad.

Your free hand went over his on your stomach again, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, I’m okay. It’s not too bad right now.”

“If it gets worse, tell me, and we can go.”

“I will. Thank you, babe. So, what are your three wishes?”

“A chance to talk to my mom again.” That didn’t surprise you. She passed away eight years ago, and he missed her dearly. “I’d love to tell her how happy I am, and all about you and her first nieto (grandchild) on the way.” He rubs small circles on your belly.

“She’d be so excited about her nieto (grandchild).” It is still too early to know the baby’s gender. “Not only that, I think she’d be more excited than Pop, and that’s saying something since he literally shows the sonogram to every single person he talks to.”

It’s true. He keeps it in his wallet, and any time he goes into town, he shows it to whoever he sees.

An amused huff leaves him. “You’re right. She’d be way worse than Pop.”

“We’d love it, though.”

“Yes, we would.”

“What‘s your second wish?”

“To have a baby with you,” he answers immediately.

You smile. “How does it feel to know that wish is going to come true?”

His face visibly lights up with a toothy grin that makes you giggle. “Fucking amazing. I am the happiest man on the entire planet, and it’s all thanks to you.” He pecks the tip of your nose.

“I wouldn’t say it’s all me. I mean, you had a part in making the baby. It was a small one that only lasted like, ten seconds, but it was still pretty important.”

“Sure, but I believe you once said that I only contribute a pleasurable 1% to our group project that you are doing 99% of the work on. By those numbers, I think you deserve all of the credit. So, it is all thanks to you, mi amor (my love).”

“If you insist.”

“I do. I honestly can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. I’m married, we have a kid on the way, we’re gonna have a house, and a dog. Christ, two years ago? I never would’ve imagined this was what my future looked like. Someone could’ve told me, and I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“You’ve come a long way, and I’m just glad you’re finally getting to live a happy life.”

“I am, too.” It’s hardly any effort for him to lean forward, closing the distance to press his plush lips to yours in a tender kiss—warmth spreads through your veins, and your eyes close, relishing this sweet moment. When he breaks away, he gently nudges your nose with his, and your eyelids flutter open, the expression on his face showing his love and happiness.

“You’re adorable,” you tell him. “What’s your third wish?”

He’s smiling. “For our family to be happy and healthy.”

You share his look. “You, sir, are a sap.”

“You said it first.”

“I did.”

“What’s the next question?”

“Why do I have to come up with all of them?”

“Because you’re better at it than I am.”

“That is so true. Give me a second.”

“Okay.”

You sit there against his leg, one hand over his, the other petting Daphne as you think.

“This next one might be a bit controversial,” you say.

“Okay?”

“Is a hot dog in a bun a sandwich?”

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Laundry Day

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Rating: Explicit/MDNI; all characters are adults Words: ~3,300 Tags: MDNI, smut, light dom/sub, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, third person POV

Summary: Sebastian Sallow's clothing continues to disappear from the laundry and he can't figure out why. Once he discovers the truth, he gets repayment for his missing wardrobe. A brief continuation of Death By A Thousand Freckles.

Notes: This is just a quick little random nonsense sequel to Death By A Thousand Freckles, though you don't necessarily need to read that first. Nothing too out of the ordinary, and now I'll return to writing inbox requests. ❤️

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow could have sworn he’d sent three green sweaters to be laundered that week. It was one of the many perks of being a Hogwarts student. The school house elves did the laundry twice per week, magically whisking away all the clothing and returning it clean and neatly pressed.

But only two green sweaters were returned to Sebastian today. He frowned as he dug through his trunk in search of the third. Perhaps the house elves had lost it, though he’d never heard of such a thing happening. The house elves were meticulous and organized, but Sebastian decided it would be quite easy to mix up the students’ uniforms. It wasn’t like Sebastian was the only seventh year who wore Slytherin sweaters. Still, it struck him as odd that various items of his wardrobe were vanishing without a trace.

It started with his house scarf. It went missing at the start of the spring term, but Sebastian assumed another student had mistakenly picked it up.

But then his button-down uniform shirts started to disappear. He wasn’t particularly fond of those, but he needed them for classes. But every other Slytherin owned the same shirts, so perhaps there’d been another mix-up.

It wasn’t until his quidditch jersey went missing that Sebastian became aggravated. He began to suspect that one of his roommates was playing a prank on him.

“Have you seen my laundry?” he asked Ominis Gaunt one morning.

Ominis scowled at him. “I don’t see much of anything,” he answered smoothly. Sebastian sighed.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “What I meant was, has any of my clothing wound up with yours?”

“Can’t say it has,” Ominis responded.

“Well, has any of your laundry turned up missing?”

“Can’t say it has.”

Sebastian groaned, but decided to let the matter drop. But one by one, piece by piece, more of his clothing items disappeared; so much so, Sebastian had to make a trip into Hogsmeade to buy more. But whenever he brought the matter up to his friends and roommates, they all shrugged and insisted they hadn’t taken anything.

It was maddening. Sebastian began to wonder if he was losing his mind. 

One day, he decided to wait on the house elf in charge of his laundry. Sebastian lounged impatiently in his room until the unsuspecting elf wandered in. 

“There you are!” Sebastian exclaimed, causing the poor elf to squawk in surprise. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Mister Sallow,” the elf said as it bowed to him. “Pebbles is just here to fetch the laundry.”

“Thank you, Pebbles,” Sebastian said kindly. “But I was wondering if you’d seen some items of mine. I’ve lost quite a few articles of clothing and they always seem to go missing on laundry day.”

Pebbles’ eyes grew wide. The tiny elf shrank backward toward the door in a panic, causing Sebastian to narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“Pebbles,” he said as gently as possible. “What do you know?”

“Pebbles can’t say!” the elf squeaked. “Pebbles promised the nice girl. She made him swear.”

“Nice girl?”

“Yes, Mister Sallow. The nice seventh year… also in Slytherin… always kind to Pebbles and always has bubblegum. She swore Pebbles to secrecy.”

Bubblegum. Of course.

Sebastian rocketed himself off the bed and scrambled for the door. “Thank you, Pebbles!” he called over his shoulder as he hustled into the corridor, leaving the poor elf flustered.

Sebastian made a beeline toward the girls’ dormitories, where he knocked on the second door on the right.

“Open up!” he called out. The door swung open and he was met by a scowling Imelda Reyes.

“She’s not here, Sallow,” Imelda huffed. “And if you barge your way in here again, I’m going to hex you all the way to Clagmar.”

Sebastian sighed. “Sorry,” he said as he backed away from the door. “Do you know where she is?”

“Try the library,” Imelda shrugged as she eyed him sharply. “And try doing your laundry for once. You wore that shirt yesterday.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and left for the library.

As soon as he strode between the row of long study tables, he spotted her. His girlfriend, Emilia, sat quietly as she flipped through her Muggle Studies book. And she was wearing a green sweater that appeared to be two sizes too large for her.

Sebastian sat down across from her, the scrape of his chair grating loudly across the wood floor. Emilia winced as her head snapped up.

“Sebastian! Where’ve you been? You missed breakfast.”

“I didn’t have anything to wear,” Sebastian replied simply. He could swear he saw the traces of a smile tugging at the corner of Emilia’s lips.

“Oh?” she asked innocently. “Did the house elves forget to do your laundry?”

“That’s what I was trying to figure out. I had to ask Pebbles.”

Emilia pursed her lips to suppress a smile. Sebastian could see the muscles in her face twitch. “Oh?” she continued. “Is Pebbles the laundry elf?”

“You tell me.”

Emilia cocked her head to the side playfully. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes fell pointedly to her chest. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re also not sure how you ended up wearing my sweater.”

“Oh, is this yours?” Emilia asked innocently. She dipped her head to study the fabric. “I had no idea.”

Sebastian gazed at her in exasperation. “Come on, Em,” he sighed. “Fess up.”

Emilia finally flashed a full smile, rendering it impossible for Sebastian to remain cross with her. “Okay,” she laughed. “So maybe I borrowed a few of your shirts and sweaters with Pebbles’ help.”

“A few? Em, I barely have any clothes left.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She was looking far too amused for Sebastian’s liking. Not the least bit remorseful.

“So are you going to give me my clothes back?”

“I will in due time,” Emilia answered casually. “But right now, I need to finish studying.”

Sebastian blinked at her. She loved to get under his skin; not that he minded, but he was also running out of clothing to wear.

“Alright fine,” Sebastian said as he rose to his feet. He leaned across the table to press a kiss to her cheek and smiled innocently at her. “See you at dinner, darling.”

As Emilia returned to her reading, she failed to notice that Sebastian didn’t actually leave the library. Instead, he slipped up the spiral staircase to the second floor, where he peered down at her from the railing overheard.

“Retexo,” he whispered as he pointed his wand at Emilia. A magic, invisible thread connected the tip of his wand to her. He could feel a faint tug, ensuring the spell had worked. Now, he just had to stand back and wait.

He watched Emilia study for another twenty minutes or so. He admired the way her eyes scanned the pages of her book, her lips mumbling the prose quietly to herself. Light from the library windows poured over her frame, her dark brunette hair glimmering with just the right movement of her head.

He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. But ever since that day in the quidditch locker room showers, they’d discovered a new level of affinity that left them more attached than ever.

But for as much as Sebastian loved and cherished Emilia, he’d be damned before he let her off the hook for petty theft.

So when Emilia rose to her feet and gathered her books, Sebastian smirked. He watched as she pushed her chair into the table and turned for the library doors. 

She didn’t notice at first. With each step further from where Sebastian stood with his wand, her sweater began to unravel from the hem upward, pulling and pulling until her midriff was showing. 

Sebastian used his wand to give a sharp tug, straining the emerald thread harder. Emilia was halfway to the door when she finally realized half her sweater was missing. She gasped as she stopped in her tracks to examine herself, a nervous flush creeping over her cheeks. Other students looked on in amusement, a few giggles echoing across the library.

Emilia’s eyes followed the thread across the library and upward until she met Sebastian’s laughing gaze above. He winked at her and flicked his wand. The thread tugged again, revealing even more of Emilia’s torso. 

“Sebastian!” she hissed loudly, drawing more snickers from the students seated nearby.

Sebastian doubled over in silent hysterics as tears of laughter filled his eyes. Hurried whispers rolled over the room, indicating that Madam Scribner was coming.

Emilia frantically fished her wand from her bag. “Diffindo!” she hissed. The long thread severed, leaving it dangling from the tip of Sebastian’s wand. He flicked it casually to disconnect it, the green strand fluttering to the floor as Emilia made a rude gesture with her hand toward him before attempting to storm out.

“Miss Bell!” Scribner’s voice was short and shrill, an indication she was particularly agitated. Emilia heaved a sigh and stopped in her tracks, waiting for the librarian to scold her. “Miss Bell, what is the meaning of this? What happened to your jumper?”

“Sorry, Madam Scribner,” Emilia said with as much sincerity – and dignity – as she could manage. “I guess a loose thread must have snagged on my chair.”

“Loose thread? My dear, there are barely any threads left! You’re showing a dangerous amount of skin and causing quite a distraction. Do cover yourself up and sort out your… wardrobe malfunction immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Emilia shot Sebastian a scathing glare. He chuckled and hurried from the library before Madam Scribner could catch on to his antics. He could see Emilia’s retreating form across the Central Hall. She was heading toward the nearest girls’ bathroom.

Before he could catch up to her, she disappeared inside. Sebastian stood just outside the door, waiting patiently as he leaned against the wall nonchalantly. 

Suddenly, the door swung open and a pair of hands seized the front of his robes, dragging him inside.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian cried out. His eyes widened as he realized Emilia was standing completely topless and bare in front of him. The sweater – or what remained of it – was tossed atop a sink.

“Give me your cloak,” Emilia ordered. 

“What? No! You’ve already nicked enough of my clothing!”

“And you ruined my sweater!”

“Your sweater? Don’t be so dramatic, darling. Just Reparo it and get on with it.”

Emilia shot him a deadpan stare and pointed her wand toward the sweater. “Reparo,” she said blankly. Nothing happened. Sebastian cursed. “It’s beyond repair.”

“Yes, I see that now,” Sebastian sighed.

“So give me your cloak,” Emilia repeated. “Unless you want me parading topless all the way back to the common room.”

Something stirred within Sebastian. He smirked with his arms folded across his chest. 

“And you think I’m just going to hand over another article of clothing, after everything you’ve taken from me?” he mused.

Emilia blinked. “Seb, this is an emergency! Quit playing games.”

“Oh? And what about when I had to make an emergency trip to Gladrag’s because I ran out of shirts to wear?”

“That’s different!”

“The hell it is.” The wheels spun in Sebastian’s head at breakneck speed, hurtling them both toward something much more salacious than some stolen garments. This was too perfect of an opportunity to squander. Of course, he’d ultimately give Emilia his cloak, but she’d have to earn it. After all, it was no secret he liked it when people were indebted to him, even his own girlfriend – especially his own girlfriend.

“You can have my cloak,” he purred. “If you give me something in return.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Emilia fully understood his implications, because she understood Sebastian. She thought how he thought, spoke as he spoke, and behaved as he behaved. Most people found it endearing. Ominis called it alarming.

This was their game; their own intimate way of passing the time; their favorite cat-and-mouse dynamic for keeping the other on their toes. 

“Really, Seb?” Emilia groaned. “Here? In the blasted bathroom of all places?”

“Why not?” Sebastian murmured, reaching to snake his arms around her waist. “After all, you’re already half undressed.”

He leaned in to press a kiss just below her earlobe. Emilia’s resistance waned entirely.

“Fine,” she sniffed, her fists balling the front of Sebastian’s cloak. She tugged him into a forceful kiss, the tattered remains of the sweater forgotten as a familiar ache sprawled between her thighs. Sebastian's cloak crumpled to the tile floor. 

Sebastian smirked into the kiss, one hand drifting from her waist upward to her breast. The chill inside the bathroom went forgotten as his warm palm cupped her, his thumb gently teasing across her nipple. 

“What’d you steal all my clothes for anyway?” Sebastian murmured gently as his eyes scanned her body. 

“Because they smell like you. And I like to be reminded of you,” Emilia answered simply.

“Darling, you see me every day.”

“I know, but I like to think of you even when you’re not around.”

Sebastian smirked. “I’ll give you something to think about for days, weeks even,” he breathed in her ear. “Something much more satisfying than some ratty old sweater.”

He kissed her until she was spineless in his arms, guiding her backward until the cool porcelain sink pressed against her lower back. 

“But I like those sweaters,” Emilia protested. 

“And my uniform shirts? And my favorite scarf?”

“Sharing is caring.”

“And what are you going to share?”

Emilia smirked in response. She rocked onto her tip-toes to kiss him again, her tongue dragging against his bottom lip with deliberation. Though she knew Sebastian wasn’t actually cross with her for stealing half of his wardrobe – he’d give her anything she wanted – she figured it would be fair to provide him with some repayment, especially when the investment would serve them both.

Emilia’s hands found Sebastian’s belt buckle, though her twinkling eyes remained on his. She could undress him with her eyes shut by now – and she certainly had before. The buckle clinked apart and a swoosh of fabric and hungry hands left Sebastian bare below the waist. He was already hard.

The moment Emilia’s hand gripped his erection, Sebastian groaned. His head dipped backward and his eyes fell shut as she stroked him, her soft thumb swiping across his tip. Her hand pumped faster until Sebastian was panting, his abdomen tight with a cresting release.

Hands suddenly spun Emilia around so that she was pinned forward against the sink, her wide eyes peering at her own surprised reflection in the mirror. Her skirt was hiked up and her panties were pulled to the side as Sebastian’s fingers snaked over her folds. He hummed at her wet arousal.

Emilia held her breath, anticipating the intrusion of Sebastian’s cock. Instead, he sank two fingers inside her, his other arm hooked around her waist as his own reflection smirked at hers. 

“You love this, don’t you?” he murmured as he watched her teeth drag against her own bottom lip. She whimpered in response, her walls clenching around his fingers in a silent plea for more friction. Sebastian curled his fingers and pumped his hand.

Emilia moaned as Sebastian’s free hand drifted to her breast, plucking at her nipple as the fingers of his other hand continued their rhythmic pressure. They paused only to press against her clit, sweeping long, fluid swipes until Emilia could feel the muscles tense from her core to her thighs. 

Her white knuckles matched the porcelain as she gripped the sides of the sink, the mounting climax ready to breach its dam. Sebastian’s erection pressed against her ass as he held her close, ready to feel her entire body quiver against his. When it finally began, Emilia’s cry rang across the bathroom while Sebastian’s fingers scraped a searing sensation from her clit. She doubled over the sink, her knees threatening to fail until the shiver subsided.

“Merlin, you look so stunning when you come,” Sebastian croaked. He lined his impatient cock against Emilia’s slick entrance and sank inside before she could catch her breath. “Fucking hell,” he sighed with content.

Emilia’s back arched and her eyelids fluttered shut as she moaned, her walls stretching to welcome Sebastian’s cock. His hips snapped forward until he set his preferred pace, burying himself to the hilt until he retreated to repeat the motion. When his stare searched for Emilia’s in the mirror, he sank his fingers into her open mouth, eliciting an unsuspecting gasp.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch me fuck you.” It wasn’t an ask. Emilia nodded silently, her obedient eyes locked on his as Sebastian’s slick fingers continued to part her lips. 

He fiddled with the knot in his necktie, his hips still rocking against her until the green fabric was loose in his hands.

"Give me your hands," he ordered, reaching for Emilia's wrists. "You like wearing my clothes, huh?" he said as he tied them behind her back. He thrust hard, drawing a breathy moan from her.

Sebastian groaned at the vision before him; Emilia looking so submissive and seductive, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, her features contorting the closer she reached toward her climax; and there he stood, looming behind her as she whimpered and whined while he ruined her. The mirror and its frame became a portrait; a masterpiece that could only be named Sin Incarnate. 

Sebastian reached for her throat and Emilia swallowed, sending a fleeting pulse across the curve between his thumb and forefinger. Her gaze narrowed as she struggled for composure, her weak legs ready to quit as he plunged into her plush folds.

The vibrations from Emilia’s gurgled moans coursed across Sebastian’s hand until he was grunting with glee. 

“Just like that,” his voice rumbled against her ear. He gave her neck a gentle squeeze and could feel her body respond, her cunt clenching in arousal around his cock. His pistoning hips became erratic, indicating his impending undoing. But as the sounds of the sharp snaps of their union bounced off the tiled walls, Emilia’s eyes lingered on their forms.

“You like watching yourself?” Sebastian observed. “You like seeing how good I fuck you?”

He rolled his hips and drove himself hard through her walls. Emilia’s bottom lip was raw and red, but her teeth continued to gnaw as she inched closer to her edge. Sebastian’s bedroom eyes studied her reflection until he could see the familiar expression creeping across her features. 

“Going to come for me? Go on, then. Let’s both watch you give in. Then I'm going to come in you and you're going to wear me."

His cock speared her until the tip drove into her sensitive spot. Emilia’s mouth fell open and her back arched, a primal cry chorusing across the bathroom as her body obeyed. Sebastian thrust so hard, her feet nearly lifted off the floor, her pulsing walls coaxing his own completion.

His hips pinned Emilia hard against the sink as he spilled inside her, her tired legs struggling to keep her upright as her thighs became slick. Sebastian’s frame slackened when his peak subsided, his chin resting atop her shoulder as they both recovered.

The bathroom returned to its still state, the only sound now the occasional creaking of pipes. 

Sebastian pressed a final kiss to the back of Emilia’s shoulder, his eyes still smirking at her reflection as he loosed his necktie from her wrists.

“Now, about my sweaters… and shirts… and scarf,” he started as he backed away to redress. “You’re going to return them, right?”

Emilia’s reflection pouted at him. “Don’t you think I earned them?”

Sebastian didn’t answer until he was fully clothed, stooping down to pick up Emilia’s skirt and undergarments. When she reached for them, he pulled them away and flashed his teeth.

“Tell you what,” he drawled. “I’ll keep these for now and I’ll give you my cloak. You wear that – and only that – for the rest of the day, and we’ll call it even.”

He winked at her and darted from the bathroom.

[novaursa]

hi! just wanted to let you know how much I adore your work!

Can i request an aegon the younger and jaehaera (reader insert)?

So after the war when aegon is placed on the throne, everyone is deciding what to do with the last remaining child of alicent aka reader. Cregan and council propose a marriage and during the younger years aegon is very closed off and a little cold towards reader because he's still traumatized while reader tries to befriend and make up for her family's part in the war. As they get older there's an attempt on aegons life and reader selflessly puts herself in harm's way to protect him and from there he slowly starts to fall for her.

Please fill free to change or move around my request! I wouldn't mind at all and appreciate whatever you want to add or not. Thank you! :)

The Last Daughter

Requests are closed

- Summary: It was a marriage of duty that was crafted to hold the bleeding realm together. With years it became something more.

- Pairing: aunt!reader/Aegon III Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: ❤️

The halls of the Red Keep echoed with a stillness that was neither peace nor victory, but something fractured and uncertain. The war had ended. Rhaenyra was dead. So too were Aegon the Elder, Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, and all the children caught in the storm they never chose. The Iron Throne, melted and re-forged in quiet judgment, now belonged to a boy who had seen more than any child ever should. Aegon Targaryen, the younger—your nephew, your king, and your future husband.

You sat quietly in the solar, velvet skirts pooling around your feet, hands folded over each other as the lords debated your fate like you were some burden no one knew what to do with. The fire cracked, casting specters over the oak table, where Lord Cregan Stark stood with his arms crossed like he’d rather be back in the snow. Grand Maester Orwyle shuffled his parchments while Corlys Velaryon cleared his throat and leaned forward.

“She is the last of Queen Alicent’s line,” Corlys said, not looking at you. “The girl has no allies, no ambition—she is of no threat to His Grace.”

Cregan’s voice cut through, cool and final. “Then wed her to him. Let her loyalty be bound in blood.”

“A marriage?” Orwyle blinked, adjusting his spectacles. “She is his aunt.”

“They’re all related,” muttered Cregan. “The boy needs grounding. Someone who knows both sides of this war. And she—” his sharp grey eyes flicked to you— “has been quiet. Obedient. Kept her head down while the realm burned.”

You met his gaze steadily. You didn’t flinch. You hadn't flinched since the day they dragged your mother away in chains, sobbing for her sons and grandsons. You hadn’t cried when Aemond’s body was not returned, nor when Daeron’s head was never found. You remained. And that, apparently, was enough.

The proposal was made to Aegon. He said nothing at first—just looked past you with that pale, haunted expression he always wore, lips drawn tight, as if words were dangerous. When he finally spoke, it was not to you.

“If I must,” he said. “Then fine.”

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even kindness. It was duty.

The first years were cold. Your marriage was not a marriage in truth—no shared chambers, no gentle touches, no soft words in the quiet of night. He dined alone more often than not, and when he did attend court, he barely acknowledged you. You tried. Gods know you tried. You approached with calm, with compassion, with hope that he might see you as more than your mother’s daughter.

“Aegon,” you’d said once, approaching him in the gardens where he sat beneath the maple tree like a shadow lost to time. “Do you want company?”

His silver eyes lifted to yours, dull and distant. “No.”

Still, you sat, folding your hands in your lap, and watched the last winter snow melt on the stone paths. You asked nothing more.

“I wasn’t part of the war,” you said after a long pause, voice low. “I was locked in my chambers when it all happened. I didn’t want any of it.”

“You’re still her daughter,” he replied, tone clipped. “You carry her face.”

It stung. Of course it did. But you only nodded, whispering, “And you carry hers,” before rising and leaving him to his silence.

It wasn’t until the dagger came that things began to shift.

You were walking beside him, down the narrow hall behind the council chamber, his maester droning on about tax reforms and ports when it happened. A servant—no, a knight disguised as one—lunged from the shadows, blade gleaming.

You didn’t think. You didn’t breathe.

You threw yourself forward, a blur of silk and desperation, and caught the dagger in your side before it could reach Aegon. There was blood—so much blood—and a scream from the maester, and steel flashing as guards rushed in. You crumpled to the floor, pain lancing through you like fire, clutching the wound just below your ribs.

Aegon was at your side in moments, hands trembling as he pressed them to your wound. You had never seen him afraid—not like this. His eyes were wide, lips pale, voice cracking as he called for help.

“Why?” he whispered, brushing your blood-slick hair from your face. “Why would you do that?”

You tried to smile through the pain. “Because you’re my king.”

“No,” he said, almost angry. “No, that’s not… You didn’t have to.”

You touched his cheek, leaving a smear of crimson there. “I wanted to.”

The days that followed were hazy, full of bitter herbs and fever dreams, but Aegon never left. You woke once to find him asleep in the chair beside your bed, head tilted, mouth slack, your hand still in his. Another time, you stirred to find him reading aloud from one of the books you had spoken of months ago—books he had dismissed as dull.

And when your fever finally broke, he leaned forward, brushing a curl from your brow with infinite gentleness. “You scared me,” he murmured.

“You care?” you asked, voice hoarse.

His smile was faint, but it was real. “More than I realized.”

He changed after that.

Not all at once—there were still days when he disappeared into the gardens or rode off for hours with no word. But there were also quiet mornings where he let you sit with him in the solar, his hand lightly resting over yours. Evenings when he asked for your thoughts on council matters. Nights where he lingered outside your chamber door, unsure but hopeful.

He kissed you for the first time during the first spring frost, his lips cold and trembling against yours. It was soft, unsure, like he was afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back with your whole soul.

“You’re not her,” he whispered against your lips. “You never were.”

“And you’re not Rhaenyra,” you replied. “You’re just Aegon. And that’s who I want.”

The ghost of a smile curved his lips, the frost catching in his hair like a crown of starlight.

And for the first time, he let himself believe it.

[billiebustupofficial]

Greetings, BBU team! I am very joyful that I get to be part of the fandom! As I've been here since Kickstarter! And I have been watching the gameplay trailers and all the gameplays! Will we be getting a release date soon? I can't wait to play this long waited game!

I’m not sure when the release date will be given 🤔 there is an internal one but it will be up to marketing to decide when is the best time to make it public

Also thank you so much for the kind words 😭❤️

[princessfantaghiro]

I don't know if @rey-jake-therapist will you ever read this... Propably not. 😢😢😢 I just wanna THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. ❤️😘 FOR EVERY AMAZING CONVERSATION, FOR EVERY KIND WORD. FOR BEING HERE. FOR MAKING THIS PLACE BETTER!!!!

I WILL MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!!😭😭😭😭💔💔💔

IT'S SO SAD TO ME THAT YOU DECIDED TO GO, EVEN IF I UNDERSTAND THAT. IT'S HARD TO BE HALADRIEL!SHIPPER IN TOLKIEN FANDOM. WAIT, IT'S HARD TO BE ROP FAN IN TOLKIEN FANDOM. IT'S HARD TRUTH, BUT TRUTH. NEVERTHELESS, I WILL MISS YOU, HOPING THAT ONE BEAUTIFUL DAY YOU WILL RETURN.

I WISH YOU ALL BEST, LOVE😘

[kooppss]

Fucking Kim Taehyung (teaser)

Teaser for a still unnamed Taehyung series. This is from the first chapter — their, sort of, first meeting after many years.

word count: 500

He looks in your direction with a slightly amused expression and a crooked smile.

He looks a little surprised, but definitely not as much as you look. He raises his glass subtly as if motioning hello to you.

It can’t be.

Does he recognize you? Does he even remember you?

“You know him?” Sohee whispers in your ear, noticing something is going on with you.

It snaps you out of your shock a little.

You nod as you turn to look away from him. “Yeah, we knew each other in high school,” you reply quietly.

She gives you a questioning look as if saying, ‘That’s it?’ you shrug and turn back to look at the chairman and the new director.

Fucking Kim Taehyung.

From this point, you have no idea what the speakers are talking about. You just try to calm your beating heart and stop blushing like a stupid teenager.

You down a second glass of champagne as if it’ll help you to wrap your mind around the fact you’re standing in front of Kim Taehyung. You feel like you should pinch yourself, to make sure this isn’t a wild dream. How is that the reality of your life? How is it even possible?

When it’s his time to talk, you feel like you spiral even more. His deep voice fills the room. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts for your kind words. I’m excited about this new opportunity. I hope to lead the department through the challenges we have the following year.” He continues talking, you try to listen, you really do. But your mind is in haze. His voice has a calm confidence quality. He commands the room’s attention easily with his gentle charisma and natural charm. And probably the way he fucking looks, because normal people don’t usually look that good. It’s like he didn’t change at all.

He raises his almost-empty glass and smiles. You feel like he’s looking directly into your eyes as he says, “I can’t wait to get to know and to work with all of you. Thank you for coming.”

But you might be delusional. You probably are in delusion. You’re in some sort of hallucination. Because it can’t be happening.

Why does he have this effect on you? After all these years?

Everyone is clapping. You blink a couple of times and snap back to reality.

Sohee is looking at you with an amused look on her face while she’s slowly clapping.

“I never saw you blushing like that for a guy.”

You frown at her. “I’m not blushing. It’s just the alcohol,” you shoot back too quickly for it to be normal.

She chuckles and raises her hand in mock defense. “Okay okay, so will you go to say welcome?” she motions her head in his general direction.

You look to where he stands and can only see the sea of people surrounding him.

“Nah, I need to head out. I’m meeting Gabby at some bar.”

It’s not a lie. Mostly not a lie. You are going to meet Gabby. But if you head out now, you definitely will be there earlier than you told her you will.

Yet you know you need to get out of here.

So you say quick goodbyes to the people around you and deep out as soon as possible. Practically fleeting from the event.

Running away from facing a meeting you're not ready for. Not right now.

This is a very small taste of the story and the vibe. Let me know what you think and if you have some name suggestions ❤️

[aaseelgaza]

*Support Aseel and Her Children Through Their Time of Crisis*

*A Message from Aseel:*

Hello, my name is Aseel, and I am a 26-year-old widow from Gaza. I have two beautiful daughters who are orphaned, and since the tragic death of their father, I’ve struggled to meet their most basic needs. My daughters have suffered not only the loss of their father but also the devastation of war, bombings, fear, and hunger. I find myself playing the role of both mother and father now, doing my best to care for them, but it’s a constant struggle.

My beautiful daughters ❤️

I’ve thought long and hard before writing this, but the truth is, I’m out of options. I need help. The urgency to save my children from further hardship, to meet their needs, and to secure a future for them, has led me to make this request. Before the war, we lived a simple but beautiful life. We were a family, with my husband working hard to support us, even though we didn’t have much. My dream was to become a mathematics teacher, but due to the financial struggles my family faced, I was unable to continue my studies.

Then, after I married, life seemed to improve, but soon after, my husband died in the war. We lost our home and everything we held dear. The war has stolen so much from us, and now my children are living through a reality I never wished for them. They are deprived of the most basic rights and have experienced more trauma than any child should.

I never imagined that my children would grow up in such conditions, surrounded by destruction and fear. I dreamed of a better life for them, a life free from the constant shadow of war and deprivation. But here we are, struggling each day just to survive.

This is how my daughter grew up , in fears 🥺🥺

It is with great sadness and hesitation that I ask for help. I feel embarrassed to be in this position, but I have no other choice. My heart aches to ask, but I know that without help, I will not be able to provide my children with even the basics they need to survive and thrive.

I truly believe in the goodness of others, and I hope that there are people who will see this and feel the compassion to help. Your support, no matter how small, will bring hope into our lives and will provide us with the means to rebuild what we have lost.

Every donation you make will go directly to providing food, medicine, shelter, and necessities for my children. It will give them the chance at a future they deserve. No amount is too small, and your generosity could make a world of difference.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here and happy to share more details or clarify anything you need to know.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness and support during these very challenging times. Your help will give us the strength to face the hardships ahead and the hope to see a brighter tomorrow.

---

*How You Can Help:*

- Any amount of donation will be deeply appreciated. Your generosity will go toward providing essential needs like food, medicine, and shelter for Aseel and her children.

- Sharing this campaign with others can help spread the word and encourage more support. The more people who know, the more likely we can make a real difference in Aseel’s life.

---

Please join us in supporting Aseel during this crucial time. With your help, we can bring light into a life that has been overshadowed by unimaginable hardship. Thank you for your compassion and for believing in miracles, just as we do.

❤️‍🩹

[robinette-green]

Hi Robin! Just read your intro post and wanted to wish you good luck and all the best - remember to take care of yourself and hydrate, sending love and plushies your way 💐✨

Thank you so much for the well wishes!! Luckily my 2nd job just ended so I should have more time and energy for things again soon!

I wish you all the best in return and hope you have a wonderful day/night!

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Hey Fen! I lnow this is a topic that will probably be covered later on in the game, but out of my own curiosity I really wanna ask - feel free to toss this into the proverbial trash can if I’m being irritating.

Can I ask what the RO’s reactions would be like to a depressed MC? If it isn’t too much to ask, maybe High and low functioning ones? As someone who’s been on both ends of the spectrum, it’s not a fun experience at ALLL, and the feeling of worthlessness at your inability to get up and do anything is SO miserable, as well as the feeling of numbly going through life without and real sense of purpose - just going through the motions.

Sorry this took so long to answer—this last week has been really busy with work/home stuff and also getting the demo update ready, but thanks for your patience! 🙏❤️

Kieran: Seeing mc go through this humanizes mc in a way that goes totally against all the bad rumors Kieran has heard, and while they aren’t the type to be swayed by mere gossip they will be wary of mc at first for reasons I’ll save for the demo. But this would prompt them to drop their guard a bit more around mc and open up to getting to know them better and they would be open to listening to mc—they’d be more of a quiet steady presence at this point in the relationship but when they do speak no words are wasted. They’d also probably try to subtly do things behind the scenes to help as time goes on without taking the credit.

Nihm: Is empathetic and patient and tries to be there to listen if mc needs it. They already will make an effort to be nice and include mc when they arrive in Celestyl but they’d make a bigger effort to include/invite mc out and try to show them things that might make them feel somewhat better like showing them snow/ice for the first time or taking them to other pretty views in Celestyl etc. Tries to also make mc smile with really awful puns. For a low functioning mc they’d probably want to turn to Sam or Aurynn for advice on how to help since they know mc better.

Lilith/Lucien: Cares a lot for their friends even if they don’t always show it, so at a friend stage in the relationship they’d want mc to be able to rely on and trust them and be able to talk to them about anything that was bothering them—they’ll do whatever would best help a low/high functioning mc and while it might not seem like it on the outside they tend to usually be able to intuit how best to help their friends depending on their personality etc. They’d spend a lot of time with mc to offer support and comfort and would bring them little gifts like a crow to brighten their day.

Samira: She worries after mc a lot and so tries to ease their burdens in smaller ways like helping with MCs work, making sure mc remembers to eat and sleep, and getting them out of their room and walking outside, etc. For a low-functioning mc, it’s pretty reminiscent of what her father went through after her Pa’s death so it’d be pretty painful to watch mc go through that but she’d be a lot more attentive and more stubborn about getting mc help even if they don’t seem to want it. Even if mc gives up on themself she’s not going to.

Aurynn: At least at this point in his character arc he’s uncomfortable talking in depth about serious/vulnerable stuff so for a high functioning mc he mostly compensates with humor and tries to make mc laugh but will also offer physical comfort as well if needed. For a low-functioning mc, he’s a lot more uncomfortable and feels kinda helpless and frustrated at his ineptitude here—less certain what to do and would probably enlist help from someone else like Sam.

Also as someone who has struggled with clinical depression for many many years, it’s taken a lot of time and effort in changing thought patterns etc and getting meds to get to a much better place than I was in before even tho I still struggle with aspects of depression—but I understand and I hope you can remember to be kind to and patient with yourself as you heal. You’ll never hate yourself into a better place. It can be hard but I’ll keep going with you :) ❤️

[turnipoddity]

IT WAS YOU

I WAS TRYNA FIGURE OUT WHO GOT ME ON HOUSE MD BECAUSE I JUST BINGED THE ENTIRE SERIES AND THE FINALE DESTROYED ME

YOU. YOURE THE CULPRIT

(/pos. its my favorite show now i love it so much. thank you for having frankly superior media taste and somehow managing to take over all of our brain worms to also consume said media)

who, me??

in all seriousness… IM SOO glad you found a new media that you like!!! ❤️✨

[cedobols]

I have a silly request/idea but before I say it, I just wanna tell you that your blog rocks my world. Your Martian art is scrumptious nom nom nom nom it is so wonderful and I smile every time it pops up on my feed ‼️💝🩷

Okay so: the "ah yes, my girlfriend and her 500 dollar four foot tall mareep" prompt but with Seb and Mark and Seb's 500 dollar five foot cinnamonroll plush.

xoxoxo love ur work 💕

[definitelynotshouting]

So the hunger AU has been living low rent in the back of my head for months now but it also very heavy for me personally so I've been distantly and slowly learning more about it. Anyways, on the subject of watcher Grian coming to terms of what happened to player Grian, one of my favorite nerd songs really hits, especially the chorus. Overthrone by TheLongestSoloEver. It slaps and I have no idea if you take music suggestions but I wanted to share because I adore this au and honestly it's so perfect. Anywaykthanksbye

HEY CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE BRIDGE HERE ACTUALLY BC HOLY SHIT IM GOING BANANAS AT HOW ON THE NOSE THIS IS

OH MY GOOOOOODS THIS SONG RULES I LOVE SONGS WITH BEATS LIKE THIS IM RUNNING AROUND IN CIRCLES!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR SHARING!!!!!! :DDDDD

[shuploc]

Can you please draw Peter B again? I loved the way you drew him a while ago. If not that's okay I love your Miguel pieces. Keep up the good work!

Hehe, yeah, for sure! I'm actually gonna start working on two pieces for the SpiderDads zine soon (one of them NSFW), and both will of course have Miguel and Peter in them

If I didn't have to do commissions and other types of work to make ends meet, then you would have seen so much more Peter stuff from me, but unfortunately I can't pay rent with likes and shares (I really wish I could though 😅)