#there is literally a taylor swift gif for EVERYTHING

[sbd-laytall]

[powderpuff-divines]

pick a pile: when love finds you again, how do you wish to be held by it?

what kind of love does your heart yearn for? pick a pile to find out! this is a general reading so not everything may apply to you. only take what resonates and leave the rest. please excuse any grammatical errors or typos. happy reading!!

pile 1 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(TW: mentions of bullying, please exercise your own discretion.) seven of wands, queen of swords rev, nine of swords

oh pile one, when love finds you, you'll hiss at its hand the way a stray cat does when someone finally shows it some kindness after experiencing years of living alone on the streets.

people have been cruel to you by way of words and there are still cuts on your soul from that. i'm hearing death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift in my head, more specifically the line 'papercut stings from my paper thin plans.' maybe you made plans with loved ones (friends, family, lovers), went out of your way to do nice things for them and truly treasured them, but then had the gut-wrenching realization that it was not mutual. they could have mocked you for being so sensitive and taking things too seriously. ("oh that? don't tell me you actually thought i was being serious?"). some of you may have been victims of bullying in the past.

so when true, unconditional and kind love finds you, you will not be able to stomach it.

there's a deep level of mistrust and anxiety towards words of sweetness coming from anyone. but when love finds you again, you want do still want its words to be honeyed but true; not a coating of sugar covering rancid intentions.

you could still be beating yourself up for being swayed by other people's words and charms very easily in the past. please stop that. you cannot bully yourself into being better and being stronger. you live and you learn. you cannot be cruel to yourself for falling prey people who were actively trying to mislead you/ cause harm.

when love finds you again, you want its words, true and honest, to wrap you up and hold you in its warmth. to not need to worry about whether it's a ploy to get your trust only to break it again. you want a love so kind that it erases the pain from your past.

pile 2 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

five of pentacles, seven of wands, knight of pentacles

someone dear to you could have betrayed your trust when it comes to money/finances/assets. for some of you, you do not even wish to acknowledge it or talk about it. 'it happened, i lived. it was miserable but i lived, and i'll never let that happen to me again.' is the type of energy i get from this pile. you could think that there's no point crying over spilled milk.

but that betrayal cut deep. so when love finds you again, you want someone who'll stand right by your side, especially if you go through a tough period like that again (some of you could have even been homeless for a while.)

the people who chose this pile do not necessarily want a flashy kind of love, with dates at the trendiest of places or elaborate gifts/ trips every month. you really want is someone to rely on, a shoulder to lean and cry on and someone who doesn't stab you in the back.

the type of scenario i'm seeing is someone having a breakdown in their dining room trying to balance their checkbook, but your person comes without you even calling for them, squeezes your shoulder, sits down next to you and starts helping you with it.

i feel like there's an emphasis on helping you with it rather than just doing it for you. you could be a very independent person, or maybe you just don't trust someone else to handle things for you again. you want a partner in the literal sense of the word.

(some of you could be thinking 'even if it's someone who doesn't contribute to helping me get back to a good place, i just want someone who won't make it worse. otherwise, i might as well just be alone, right?' and i just want to tell you that please hope for more. you deserve to be loved and taken care of. someone not harming you is just the barest of bare minimum. expect more from your loved ones)

what you really what is someone who'll tell you to hold your head high, put their reassuring hand to your back and guide you. they'll do the scut work with you, they'll make it easier for you to go through the murky waters and not complain about it.

i have a feeling that if someone like that were to actually appear, you would just stare at them for a few moments-- shocked and emotional, but grateful that you get to experience a love like this.

when love finds you again, you wish for it to be steady and unwavering, to hold your hand tight and not let go even once even as it knows that difficult times are ahead. to silently hold an umbrella over your head as it begins raining. to be as comforting as hot cocoa on a cold day. to stay. you want love to be loyal, kind and to stay.

pile 3 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(TW: mentions of sexual content. please exercise your own discretion.) ten of cups, page of swords, ten of swords

you want to find the love you've been dreaming of, to get your happy ending, to find the one. you're sick of meeting people who aren't your forever person.

you, out of all three piles, dream of domestic bliss the most. a happy home, a happy family with pets and/or kids. but with the way things have been going, you've become mentally resistant to this dream after so many failed tries and ,if you're aware of it, you hate that. because you never wants to be the type of person who doesn't like love or runs away from love, not after you've spent so long yearning for it.

this could be the pile that daydreams about a soft and romantic love.

the type of love where you're in the kitchen, baking something, and your partner comes behind you, wraps their arms around your waist and kisses your neck as they mutter something that makes your heart skip a beat.

you want someone who won't shut down your ideas, and wants to do fun (and tbh chaotic) stuff with you. you want to go on adventures with this person. (like the way the old couple from Up did when they were young.)

and also really good sex where by the end of it, you're exhausted and completely sated; after which, you lie in your lover's embrace, mindlessly drawing patterns on their skin (they could also do the same for you) with some pillowtalk.

you could also really want to travel to other places with this person and make a lot of memories.

when love finds you again, you wish for it to be in the form of a person in whom you see home. a home for your love, for your joy and smiles. a home that will accept all of it, nurture it and multiply it tenfold. whether it be now, a year later or even decades down the line, you wish to be held in its loving embrace. one could even say you wish to be held by it throughout the ages. you want a love that will transmute the bad days into something easier; a love that will stay forever soft and young as you and your lover grow old and develop wrinkles on your faces (from laughing and having so much joy in your lives.)

i recently decided to join tumblr and was surprised when i discovered that there was a pac community here. it's been super fun going through all the readings here so i thought maybe it would be fun to dip my own toe into it. i had a ton of fun editing the images and this post!! tumblr's so cool. i hope the reading resonated at least a little bit and it was fun to read!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

In Sweetness

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship.

Summary/Warnings: Preparation for hunts and battles where the fate of the world hinges on his shoulders are easy. Preparation for a baby might be the most complex thing Dean's ever done.

Author's Note: Request from an anon!! Apparently this is a series now, and I am more than okay with that. Same universe as Still You Want Me and Every Day That You Want, but can be read in isolation. Enjoy!

Title from Robin by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 3.4k

“Why are there so many damn colors.”

“Color is a result of visual reception of the electromagnetic spectrum.” Cas shrugged, continuing to sort through the paint samplers as he spoke. “As a human, you, Dean, can only perceive a fraction of the actual colors available to the universe, and what you are seeing now is overall not that many. Though I am quite glad you are able to see purple, as it is one of the better ones-“

“Dude.” Dean grunted, raising his brows as Cas looked at him with a frown.

“Your question was…” Cas tilted his head, his words cautious and slow. “Rhetorical.”

“Yeah. It was.” Dean frowned at the piles of allegedly organized paints samplers. “Why’d you put so many yellows in the green pile.”

Cas shook his head. “That is not the green pile. It is, well, there is no name for it in any human language, but it is a color that is associated with fertility in the community of mantis shrimp-“

“You wanna paint my kids room a shrimp fertility color-“

“No, I am leaving that up to the boss.” Cas shrugged, and placed a light red in with the blues. “I personally find it to be a very relaxing color, but it is not my call to make.”

Dean almost pointed out that it was his call—his kid, no shrimp colors—but Cas had called Her the boss for a reason.

She grew the baby. She had better opinions than Dean did. Her wrath scared Cas more than the wrath of literal God.

It would be Her call.

“Can you, I dunno, man, can we try to sort them in human colors?” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t think she’s gonna know the difference between these two yellow piles-“

Cas frowned. “They are not yellows, Dean. One of them contained ultraviolet, the other does not.”

“Awesome.” Dean muttered Her name, glancing around the half-cleaned room. “She’s- shit, she’s not gonna be happy-“

“I think she will be.” Cas shrugged. “Her endorphin levels always increase by a rate of 400% in your presence, 500% if you are taking care of yourself.”

“Taking care-“

“Your hair is washed, you are not drinking, and you look well. That will be pleasing to her.”

Dean felt himself stand a little taller, even as he shook his head. “Well, my hair or not, we needed to have this cleaned by the time they got back.  I was supposed to have done it last week, but the hunt-“

“She was not happy about the hunt.” Cas nodded, still sorting the pain samplers. “It amazes me you made it out of that alive.”

“I was only a stab wound, Cas, I’ve had-“

Cas said Her name, giving Dean a pointed look. “I was referring to her.”

Dean swallowed, and Cas was right. The only reason he had made it out alive was because that had been his last hunt before the baby was due.

But he hadn’t cleaned the room.

He still hadn’t cleaned the goddamn room.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean rubbed at his face, staring around bunker-room that should have been neatly scrubbed and wiped hours ago. “She’s gonna kill me. Stab me. Mutilate me so my daughter screams when she sees my face-“

Cas gave him an odd look. “You believe it will be a daughter?”

“I- uh,” Dean paused, and he didn’t know why he’d said that. They’d agreed not to check, no matter how many times Cas offered.

As long as it’s healthy. She’d repeat, over and over, and Dean knew why. She was still having nightmares where demons or angels came and stole the kid. Where a new monster would pop out of the earth, and everything would catch up to them, and they’d lose their shot at this before it even really happened. 

He’d hold Her when she’d wake up screaming, and do whatever he had to for Her to breathe evenly and fall back asleep. Sam said She needed to sleep more for the baby, and every time she’d gasp his name like She wasn’t sure he was there, Dean’s heart would shatter a little, so he’d do anything. He’d give massages—he was getting better at them, too—and make tea and watch whatever show she wanted to in order to bring her back to earth. In order to get Her to stop scratching at his arms, as if She was trying to carve grooves into Dean that she’d be able to latch onto. To keep him alive and next to Her at all times.

Dean would always be alive and next to Her. He had no plans of going anywhere, of being anything but there for Her and the baby. And She knew that—he told Her every single night, and morning, and most afternoons—but it still took effort to get Her out of the bunker. Into the real world, without wards and anti-monster security. Sam had needed to arm himself like he was headed to war instead of the grocery store, just so She’d agree to go with him. 

And Dean and Cas were supposed to have finished cleaning by the time She got back. If they didn’t, She’d try to do it herself, and it would take all three of them to stop Her. She could barely bend over, let alone paint the walls and pick up the trash and-

“I can paint everything now,” Cas said, nodding to the walls as Dean blinked at him. “If we would like to save the time.”

“Let’s wait ’till we got a color,” Dean muttered, glancing out the door to empty hall, trying to listen for the sound of Baby’s engine in the garage. They should be back soon. They should’ve been back by now, and She was fine because She had to be, but Dean knew his gut wouldn’t stop twisting until he saw Her. Beautiful and right in front of him and safe. “Cas, you think you can take care of-“

The was a soft whooshing sound, and when Dean looked back to the room, it was perfectly clean.

“That is was you were requesting, correct?” Cas said, gesturing to the room around them. “If not, I can return it to the previous state-“

“No, don’t-“ Dean cut himself off as a low, muffled rumble echoed through the hall, and there it was. The sign that everything was fine. “Keep it. Thanks, man.”

Cas nodded, glancing to the perfectly sorted paint pile. “I took your suggestion and sorted them by human color receptors. Although there are more of the cards than I originally anticipated-“

“She used to collect them or something.” Dean grunted, and grabbed a pastel blue that he was ready to throw his weight behind. It was soft. Nice. Like the sky. “Once we got a color, if you could aim that angel mojo on the walls-“

Cas nodded, opened his mouth, and was cut off by a shout of Her voice as a door slammed.

“Dean!” She was half screaming, and Dean wasn’t worried about their safety. Sammy would’ve called them if something was wrong.

He was worried about Her running. Last time She done that, Sam had gotten body slammed into a wall. 

Almost on cue, Sammy’s voice shouted Her name. “Slow down-“

“Suck my dick, Sam- Dean-“

“In the nursery!” He raised his voice to carry over Her’s, half-jogging out of the room to meet Her, only to catch Her barreling right into him like a freight train, knocking half the air out of his lungs as She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Shit-“

“Are you okay?” She leaned back and took Dean’s face between Her hands, turning it at a million angles to check for harm. “I’m sorry we’re late, Sam took a fucking hour in the produce section-“

“I was getting food for you.” Sam muttered, almost materializing behind Her. “You’re the one who said you wanted to eat healthier-“

“Not now.” She snapped, not looking away from Her examination. “After the little demon inside of me comes out, the one made of your stupid brother, who only wants ice cream and bacon-“

Dean grinned, unable to find himself bothered by the stupid brother comment when She was still half-hanging off his body, and let his hand glide to rest on her stomach as She continued to yell at Sam.

“I wanted to get home, we need to clean the nursery and there’s so much trash in this bunker, and painting is going to take days and I need to start working on the decorations, I can’t waste time buying lettuce-“

“Sweetheart.” Dean caught Her hands, lowering them with a kiss of Her knuckles as her eyes softened slightly. “Deep breaths.”

She took a slightly shaky inhale, still narrowing Her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me what to do-“

“I know.” He grinned at Her, and her own glower wavered slightly. “Got a surprise for you.”

“Uh oh.” Sam’s voice was not nearly low enough for Dean to miss it, and he rolled his eyes.

“Shut it, Sammy, she’s gonna like it.”

Sam shrugged. “Just saying, didn’t your last surprise end in someone getting punched-“

“Yeah, Sasquatch, you-“

“Dean.” She whispered, squeezing his hands and drawing his attention back to Her open, nervous expression. “Is everything oka-“

“Everything is perfect, baby.” He let his grin return in full force, tugging Her a little closer and guiding Her into the work-in-progress nursery. “Cas did something for ‘ya, and we got plans to-

She cut Dean off with a loud, breathy gasp as they moved back through the door, Her eyes scanning over the perfectly empty and polished room.

“I have not painted the walls yet.” Cas said, watching Her carefully from the center of the room. “We believed that it would be best to allow you to choose the color-“

“Color?” She blinked back to Dean, and he nodded to the paint samples.

“Sorted all of them,” he muttered, pulling out the blue shade from his jeans. “But I liked this one-“

She nodded, not even looking to the pile. “Then we’ll do that one. Cas, can you please-“

Another whoosh, the walls were perfectly blue, and Dean stumbled back as She shoved away from him, half flying across the room to pull Cas into a hug. He returned it, shooting Dean a slightly worried look over Her head, and Dean only shrugged. He’d long learned not to question Her reactions. And he’d learned it the harder way than a hug.

Cas said Her name cautiously. “Are you experience any sadness or trepidation at my interference-“

She shook Her head, and Dean knew that if Cas had to worry about things like breathing, he’d be suffocating in Her grip. 

“Then I assume these are tears of joy-“

“Yeah,” She mumbled, taking a step back, and the smile on Her face could move Dean to wage a war against the goddamn moon. “Thank you, Cas. I- this has been a lot, and I love Dean but he can be so slow-“

Dean frowned. “Hey-“

“Sorry.” She gave him a sweet, soft smile over Her shoulder, and any annoyance he’d had vanished into the air. She was smiling at him like that—with the smile no one else got to see—and there was light shining in Her eyes that he was pretty sure only ever existed for him, so he couldn’t be mad if he tried.

“’S fine.” He muttered, holding out his hand and sitting in the glow that settled in his body when She moved without thought to take it. “We got some shopping to do, Sweetheart, but I can scout ahead while you rest-“

She blinked at him. “Why would I rest?”

Dean glanced down to Her swollen stomach, then Her pouting face, and swallowed. “Uh- Any answer I got is gonna get my ass kicked, isn’t it-“

“Probably,” Her voice was bored and flat, and Sam snorted from somewhere behind them. “Just don’t say it, De. That’s an option.”

“Yeah- uh-“ He glanced to Cas, who was obviously making himself pointlessly busy with the paint samples. “You comin’ with me then?”

She hummed, tucking Herself into Dean’s side with another star-shaking smile. “Always.”

He couldn’t argue with that. There was no world where a little bit of Dean’s will didn’t melt into Her, become only Her’s to use as she pleased. If what made Her smile and relax was as simple as going with Dean to the city for baby shopping,  he’d rip out his own throat before he denied Her. He would change the goddamn tides and move mountains to make Her happy. Driving in his car with Her at his side, his hand on Her thigh and their child—made of both of them, proof for Her to have that Dean loved Her, and wouldn’t leave, and would fight heaven and hell a million times over to give Her peace, right there in Her body—in Her stomach, was nothing.

“Do you think it’s too on the nose to ask Cas to be the godfather?” She asked, frowning at the road ahead of them, and Dean snorted.

“I think if you do that, you’re going to have to deal with him bringing us fruit from Asia every weekend and a real-life zoo in the bunker when the kid start to learn about animals.”

She hummed, turning Dean’s hand over and tracing the lines of his palm with a small smile. “So he’s perfect.”

“Damn right.” Dean folded his fingers through Her’s, tugging them up to press a kiss to the back of Her hand. “If you think that’s what we want, sweetheart, that’s what we’re doing.”

She giggled, even as She rolled her eyes. “Did he try to get you in on the shrimp fertility colors while I was out?”

“Yeah, how’d you-“

“He got me a baby blanket with it. Apparently, it will bring hi- The baby good health.”

Dean shot Her an amused look. “Him, huh? What happened to no reveal-“

“Shut up.” She mumbled, shifting in Her seat. “It’s just a theory, the little fuck kicks me too much to be a girl-“

Dean snorted. “You kick people more than anyone I know-“

“And I have my shrimp fertility blanket.” She said, ignoring Dean entirely. “He’ll be healthy. His godfather is an angel.”

“So we’re asking Cas then?”

“We don’t have any other friends, Dean.”

He grinned at Her. “I dunno, Rowena would train her real well-“

She slapped him on the arm. “I am not letting my child visit hell-“

“She could come to us-“

“This isn’t as funny a bit as you think it is, Winchester-“ She cut Herself off, and Dean could feel Her scanning over his face. “Did you say her? You think we’re having a girl?”

Dean shrugged, keeping his attention fixed on the road. “Don’t know what your-“

“Dean.”

He glanced at Her—gentle expression, brows raised and sweet smile—and let out a long breath. “Yeah. I got- Uh, it’s just a feelin’. Could be nice to have a girl. You know, Sammy could braid her hair.”

She snorted, scooting closer to his side on the bench. “If we have a girl, you’re braiding her hair. But we’re having a boy.”

Dean grinned down at Her, wrapping his arm around Her shoulders as they turned into the parking lot. “You wanna place a bet on it-“

“No. Do you have the list?”

“Course I got the list. It’s really-“ Dean shook his head, stopping the Impala near the front of the building. No need to make Her walk further than a few yards. “Sweetheart, there’s no way we need all the shit you put on that thing-“

She sighed, shaking Her head. “It’s a whole, brand new person, Dean. We’ll probably need more.”

He thought about protesting, but that couldn’t be his biggest concern right now. His priority was Her. Getting Her whatever she needed, even if it was dumb. Even if half this stuff could be found in a garage sale, or the depths of the bunker, or given to them by Cas with only a request, She wanted to do the whole shopping thing, so they’d do the shopping thing.

He’d grab a big cart and follow Her around the department store, giving half-opinions when asked and watching Her walk with a wide grin, She’d gotten the pregnancy waddle, and he’d never seen anything more adorable in his life. She was freakin’ glowing. Lit up from within and happy. And he’d done that. Dean was the cause of Her joy and comfort, and he’d do a million more pregnancy tasks if it kept that smile on Her face, that comfort settled deep in Her body where he could practically see it. 

“Dinosaurs or bears?” She asked, sorting through the onesies with an expression like she was choosing a gun for a hunt. “I- Maybe we should go lions-“

Dean muttered Her name, kissing the side of Her head and wrapping an arm around Her body. “She’s not gonna know the difference, it’s whatever you want-“

“No, babies are smarter than you think, as he develops pattern recognition it’ll influence his like and dislikes-“

“You gotta stop watching those documentaries, sweetheart-“

“And he’ll be more interested in dinosaurs or bear- lions. It should be lions-“

Dean turned Her to fully face him, holding Her wide eyes, almost franticly gorgeous face between his hands and cutting Her off with a kiss. 

“You’re callin’ it a boy again,” he murmured against Her lips, and She out a happy little sigh as he traced his thumb over Her cheekbone. “I still think we should do that bet.”

She shook Her head. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Nothin’ to be sorry about. But you’re still real damn wrong. It’s a girl.”

“Shut up.” She mumbled, but still dropped Her head to Dean’s shoulder when he drew back, and he grinned into the air as any weight that had ever existed over his chest was lifted. Dissipated into nothing as Her fingers curled into his shirt. “We don’t have anything to bet, De, we share everything-“

“We could be naming rights?” He rubbed his hand over Her shoulder, swaying her back and forth slightly in his arms. “I get to choose the name if it’s a girl, all on you if it’s a boy?”

There was a brief moment of silence, Her words still muffled in Dean’s body when she spoke. “You can’t name them something stupid.”

He chuckled, pressing another kiss on the top of Her head. “I’d never even think about it, sweetheart. No jokes here.”

“Uh huh.” She leaned back to meet him in a full, long, slightly sloppy kiss that sparked warmth through his body, before pulling back with a gentle grin, “I’ll make the deal if you actually help with this. Dinosaurs or lions, Winchester, pick one-“

“That’s easy, baby.” He shot Her a wink, leaning over her body to grab a onesie and toss it into the cart. “We’re going cars.”

She pulled away, picking up the onesies and turning it over, and gave a small nod. The smile was back. 

Dean had never felt more fucking alive.

“Alright.” She said, holding out Her hand with a wide, easy smile. “But when he’s a boy, I’m naming him Fred and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Do you think they sell baby ascots?” She scanned around the store with mock interest. “I think Fred will look cute in one-“

Dean scoffed, and before he could shut Her up with another kiss that would turn Her into a breathless, happy mess, and She looked back to him with a smile.

“Just like his dad.” She hummed, hooking their arms together, and kissing the underside of Dean’s jaw with a smile he could feel, fluttering in his heart and making the world spin a little slower.

“You can be a real ass, sweetheart.” He muttered, and She giggled again. He could get high off the sound.

“Only for you, Winchester. Do you think we can find a little Scooby stuffie for him?”

“Baby,” Dean grinned at Her, starting to move them further down the aisle once more. “If I can’t, you’re gonna need to shoot me.”

She rolled Her eyes, running Her hand over her stomach as she tucked herself under his arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Only for my girls.” He echoed, shooting Her a wink. “You’re placing a losing bet, sweetheart.”

“We’ll see,” She shrugged, smiling into nothing. Just because She was happy. Because Dean was making Her happy, and everything really was going to be fine. “As long as he’s healthy.”

“She’ll be healthy,” he hummed. “She’s got her shrimp blanket.”

End Note: Cas and his shrimp blanket bring me good health. Amen.

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[theetherealbloom]

You Are In Love, True Love

Summary: A lasting love with Pedro Pascal.

Or… you and Pedro get engaged.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Proposal, Engagement, Fireworks, Loud Sounds, Sparklers, PDA, Fruits, Instagram Posts and Comments, 

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: WELL— um, hi! Happy New Year, my loves! I’d like to start off by saying thank you all so much for supporting me throughout this year, and to all the new followers and old ones, just know I appreciate literally each and every single one of you. Lastly, huge shoutout to @mrspascalsworld for coming up with this idea and to the 🌼!anon request.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift, You Are In Love (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift

← Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

You hummed softly under your breath, the tune indistinct but soothing as your hands folded the last of Pedro’s shirts. You carefully smoothed out the fabric, placing it into his suitcase with meticulous care. His cologne, a comforting blend of cedar and spice, lingered faintly in the air around you.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Pedro’s voice broke through the quiet, warm and tinged with amusement.

You turned, finding him leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed and an endearing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat. Dressed in a soft cotton t-shirt and worn jeans, his hair slightly tousled, he looked effortlessly handsome.

“Someone has to make sure you look presentable for tonight,” you teased, holding up a crisp white shirt. “Can’t have you showing up to a New Year’s Eve party looking like you’ve been wrestling stray dogs.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, feigning offense as he stepped closer. “Is this just a clever way of saying I’m hopeless without you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “If the shoe fits…”

Pedro chuckled, his laughter low and rich as he reached for you. He didn’t touch you, not immediately. Instead, he watched you, his gaze softening in a way that made your chest tighten.

“What?” you asked, a little self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Just… you. Like this. It’s perfect.”

“Oh, stop,” you said, rolling your eyes to mask the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me while I’m trying to fold your underwear.”

He laughed, the sound filling the room like sunlight. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” But even as he said it, his hands found your waist, pulling you gently toward him. “For now.”

You let yourself be drawn into his orbit, your arms instinctively looping around his neck. His touch was warm, grounding. “What’s gotten into you today?” you asked softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

“Nothing,” he said, though the slight tension in his voice betrayed him. His gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours again, and he offered a small, crooked smile. “Just thinking about… everything. Projects, the future. It’s a lot.”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his scruff. “You’re going to be amazing, Pedro. You always are.”

“You think so?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

You nodded firmly. “I know so. And you don’t have to do it alone, okay? I’m here. Always.” You held up your pinky. “Promise.”

Pedro’s lips twitched into a genuine smile as he linked his pinky with yours. “Promise.”

Then he kissed you, slow and deliberate, as if to seal the vow. The world outside seemed to blur, leaving only the two of you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I would do this every day if I could,” he murmured, his voice a soft confession.

“You can,” you replied, your hands sliding down to rest on his chest as you swayed gently to an imaginary tune. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Pedro’s grip tightened slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something unspoken in his eyes. But before you could ask, he leaned in to kiss you again, and whatever it was melted away into the warmth of his embrace.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — AFTERNOON  

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains of the open-air restaurant at Hotel Esencia, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. The gentle hum of the ocean in the background, paired with the soft tinkling of glasses and plates, created a tranquil yet vibrant atmosphere. The restaurant’s lush greenery blended seamlessly with the warm tones of the terracotta floor and wooden furnishings.  

You sat at a circular table with Pedro, Omar, Franklin, and Lauren, the sound of their laughter mixing with the gentle rustling of the palm trees outside. Pedro sat beside you, one arm draped casually over the back of your chair. His fingers occasionally brushed your shoulder in soft, fleeting touches as he engaged in a lively debate with Omar about the best way to cut a mango.  

“I’m telling you,” Pedro said, gesturing emphatically with his free hand, “the best way is to slice it like a hedgehog and then flip it out.”  

Omar snorted. “That’s beginner-level mango cutting. You gotta peel it and slice it thin, man. That’s the pro way.”  

Lauren leaned in, sipping her drink. “Why are we even debating this? The hotel staff cut it perfectly for us. Just eat it!”  

Pedro turned to you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “What do you think, cariño? Hedgehog or pro slices?”  

You laughed, shaking your head. “Honestly? I think you both just like the sound of your own voices.”  

The table erupted into laughter, and Pedro, ever the showman, pretended to be deeply offended. “Traitor,” he teased, leaning closer to you.  

As the conversation continued, Pedro reached for a small plate of fruit in the center of the table. He speared a slice of mango with a fork and held it out to you. “Here,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Taste this and tell me I’m right.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully but leaned in, letting him feed you the fruit. The sweet, tangy flavor exploded on your tongue, and you couldn’t help but smile.  

“Okay,” you admitted, licking your lips. “That’s really good.”  

Pedro’s face lit up with triumph. “See? Hedgehog for the win!”  

“Does the mango really matter, or are you just using this as an excuse to feed her?” Franklin teased from across the table, his eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.  

Pedro didn’t miss a beat. “A little of both,” he admitted, squeezing your hand under the table.  

You felt your cheeks warm, and Lauren sighed dramatically. “You two are so gross. Like, cute-gross. But still gross.”  

“Oh, come on,” you said, laughing as you leaned against Pedro’s shoulder. “We’re not that bad.”  

“Yes, you are,” Omar interjected, pointing at you with his fork. “The way you two look at each other? It’s like a rom-com in real life. I’m waiting for the dramatic love confession during a thunderstorm any day now.”  

Pedro chuckled, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “Sorry to disappoint, but I save my dramatic love confessions for sunny beaches and candlelit dinners.”  

“Of course you do,” Franklin said dryly.  

The banter continued as plates were passed around and stories were exchanged. At one point, Pedro leaned closer to you, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke softly. “You look beautiful today, by the way. I don’t think I’ve told you yet.”  

You turned to him, your smile softening. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself, you know.”  

His grin widened, and he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll take it.”  

As the lunch wound down, Pedro took another piece of fruit and held it to your lips, his expression playful. “Last one?”  

You bit into it, laughing as he exaggerated a swoon. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head.  

“And you love it,” he replied confidently, his eyes sparkling.  

Omar groaned. “Seriously, can someone separate these two before I die from secondhand sweetness?”  

Lauren raised her glass. “Here’s to our disgustingly in-love friends. May their PDA always remind us how single we are.”  

The table burst into laughter, and you felt Pedro’s hand tighten around yours, grounding you in the midst of the playful chaos.  

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice just for you. “I’ll make it even worse later.”  

You nudged him gently with your elbow, unable to hide your grin. “I’m holding you to that.”  

With the ocean breeze swirling around you and Pedro’s warmth beside you, the moment felt like a scene from one of your favorite romance novels—perfectly ordinary and yet entirely magical.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — EVENING

The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing by the time you and Pedro arrived. The beach was transformed into a luminous paradise. Fairy lights strung between swaying palm trees bathed everything in a warm, golden glow. Lanterns floated lazily in the night sky, their soft flickers mirrored on the rippling waves. The mingling sounds of music, laughter, and the gentle crash of the ocean created a magical atmosphere that felt otherworldly yet comforting.

Pedro walked beside you, his hand firmly gripping yours, a quiet, grounding presence amid the bustle of the party. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a wordless reassurance that seemed to say, I’m here, and I’m not letting go.

You greeted friends with smiles and exchanged well-wishes for the new year. Omar cracked jokes that had everyone in your group doubling over in laughter. Franklin and Lauren danced barefoot on the sand, spinning and twirling under the fairy lights. Pedro chuckled softly, pulling you closer to his side as you watched the others, your heart swelling at the sight of such joy.

At one point, Pedro leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I have a surprise for you.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Oh? What kind of surprise?”

He grinned, a hint of mischief lighting his eyes. “You’ll see. Come with me.”

With a quick goodbye to your friends, Pedro led you away from the crowd. You followed him down a narrow path lined with flickering candles in glass jars. The sound of the party faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore. Each step seemed to draw you further into an intimate bubble, a world that consisted only of you and Pedro.

When you rounded the corner, you stopped in your tracks. A secluded section of the beach had been transformed into something out of a dream. Strings of fairy lights hung between tall wooden poles, casting a warm, golden light over a blanket spread neatly on the sand. Soft, colorful pillows were arranged in inviting clusters, and a bottle of champagne rested in an ice bucket nearby. Candles flickered in the gentle breeze, their flames casting dancing shadows across the scene.

“Pedro,” you breathed, your voice catching. Your hand flew to your chest as you took it all in. “What is this?”

He turned to you, his expression softer, more serious than you’d ever seen. “Something I’ve been planning for a while now.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Pedro took both of your hands in his, his fingers warm and slightly trembling. His thumb stroked over your knuckles, grounding both of you in the moment.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “About everything we’ve been through. About how much you’ve changed my life. You’re my best friend, my partner, my everything. You’ve made me laugh on my worst days and held me together when I thought I’d fall apart. I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling up in your eyes. He squeezed your hands, his gaze locked on yours.

“I want your midnights and late-night snack hunts,” he continued, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I want to slow dance in the kitchen with you, humming our favorite songs. I want every moment, big and small, because you make all of them better just by being there.”

Pedro dropped to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The sight stole the breath from your lungs.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you?”

You were nodding before he even finished speaking, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “Yes,” you choked out, your voice trembling with joy. “Of course, yes.”

The world seemed to hold its breath as Pedro slid the ring onto your finger. It was delicate and timeless, a gold band adorned with a diamond that shimmered under the fairy lights. You recognized it instantly as the one his mother had worn in old photographs. The significance of it made your heart swell.

Pedro stood and pulled you into his arms, spinning you around as laughter bubbled from your lips. Tears mingled with joy as you clung to him, your face buried in his neck.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his hair.

Cheers erupted behind you, startling you both. You turned to see Omar, Franklin, Lauren, and a handful of other friends holding sparklers, their faces alight with joy as they cheered and clapped. Phones were out, capturing the moment from every angle. The scene felt surreal, like something out of a fairy tale.

Pedro’s smile widened as he kissed you again, his lips soft and lingering against yours. When the fireworks began, you flinched at the loud bangs, your body instinctively tensing. Pedro’s arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “Always.”

You pressed your face into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. When you looked up, his hand was already there to wipe away the stray tear trailing down your face.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, taking your hand. “I want to start this year with just us.”

You nodded, letting him lead you back to your suite. The walk felt like a dream, the buzz of the party and the distant sound of fireworks fading into the background. When you entered the room, the warmth of his hand never left yours.

Pedro closed the door gently behind you, his eyes soft but brimming with unspoken emotion. He stepped closer, his hands cradling your face as he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“You’re my everything,” he murmured before his lips met yours in a kiss that stole your breath. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating taste of him.

Clothes were shed in a trail leading to the bed, each piece falling away with whispered promises and quiet gasps. Pedro’s hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if committing them to memory. His lips followed, leaving a trail of fire along your skin that made you shiver.

He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice low and reverent.

“Never,” you whispered, your hands threading through his hair to pull him back down to you.

The night stretched on, filled with love and passion. Pedro’s touch was both tender and consuming, every kiss and caress carrying the weight of his feelings. And as you lay tangled together afterward, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was the first of countless nights you’d spend like this.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed, your voice soft and full of love.

With Pedro beside you, the future felt impossibly bright.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — MORNING

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. You stirred awake, the warmth of Pedro’s arms wrapped securely around you. His chest rose and fell against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of pure peace.

“Good morning, fiancé,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “Good morning, fiancé.”

Pedro’s lips curved into a lazy grin as he brushed a kiss against your temple. “Fiancé. I like how that sounds. Doesn’t it sound so official? Like I’ve been upgraded.”

You laughed, rolling over to face him fully. “Oh, it’s an upgrade, all right. High maintenance, though. Hope you’re ready for that.”

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer. “Worth every bit of maintenance,” he said softly, his brown eyes locking onto yours with a gaze so full of love it made your heart ache.

After a few blissful moments of cuddling, you sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Pedro reached for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers brushing yours as you both instinctively checked your messages.

The notifications on his screen were wild—texts from friends, family, and coworkers all pouring in, congratulating him. You could already hear Franklin’s teasing voice in your head: “Finally! You pulled it off without tripping over yourself.”

Pedro chuckled at the chaos. “Looks like the engagement buzz has already started.”

You glanced at his phone over his shoulder, spotting a text from his sister. “Let me guess, your sister is already planning our wedding?”

“Not just her—my cousins have entered the group chat. They’re plotting from all angles.” He scrolled further, smirking as he turned his phone toward you. “Look at this: Lauren sent a voice note. Wanna bet it’s just her screaming?”

You both laughed as he played the message, and sure enough, Lauren’s excited squeals filled the room.

“I love them,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“And they love you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Speaking of love… I was thinking. Maybe it’s time I post something. You know, about us.”

You raised an eyebrow. Pedro was famously private when it came to his personal life. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He turned to you, his expression serious but full of warmth. “I want the whole world to know how lucky I am. I want to shout it from the rooftops—or, you know, post it on Instagram.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you nudged him playfully. “You’re such a romantic, Pascal.”

He grinned, already opening the app. “Only for you, amor.”

Pedro scrolled through the photos you’d taken during the trip, landing on one from last night. It was a candid shot that Franklin had snapped during the proposal. You were mid-laugh, tears of joy sparkling in your eyes, and Pedro was on one knee, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

“That one,” he said softly, showing you the picture. “It’s perfect.”

Your heart swelled. “It’s us.”

Pedro typed the caption, pausing dramatically as he turned the phone toward you. “‘Guess what 💍.’ Too much?”

You burst out laughing, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “It’s perfect. Post it before I change my mind and make you write a paragraph.”

He tapped the screen, and the post was live.

It didn’t take long for the post to gain traction. Within minutes, the comments flooded in, and Pedro couldn’t stop grinning as he scrolled through them, reading some aloud.

@ franklinlatt: FINALLY. My boy did it. I’m crying. Call me later or I’m disowning you.

@ laurenalexander: AHHHH!!! We need a wedding planning spreadsheet STAT.

@ omar.apollo: Pedro Pascal is officially off the market. RIP to all of us. Congrats, you two!!

Fans were equally unhinged:

@ pedropascalfan101: I AM SOBBING. LOOK AT THEM.

@ fiancégoals: Pedro, how does it feel to have found the literal love of your life? Asking for a friend.

@ pedropascalfanaccount: HOLY CRAP HE DID IT. DADDY IS OFF THE MARKET.

@ pedropascalforever: We love this for you but also… who do I cry to about this???

@ pedrostan: She’s GORGEOUS. Look at them. LOOK AT THEM. I’M SOBBING.

@ cocoullrich: About damn time, man! Congrats to you both!

@ pascalloml: Pedro Pascal is the blueprint of a man. Take notes, everyone.

@ hollywoodbuzz: Pedro Pascal announces engagement in the most adorable way ever. We’re not crying; YOU are.

Pedro chuckled, showing you the screen. “I think they’re happy for us.”

You leaned against him, scrolling through the comments. “Some of them are a little heartbroken, though.”

He kissed your cheek. “They’ll survive. I’ve already won the lottery with you, anyway.”

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — LATER THAT MORNING 

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. After a decadent breakfast in bed—mimosas fizzing in crystal glasses, pancakes piled high and dripping with syrup—you and Pedro moved to the balcony. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, its gentle rhythm matching the easy calm between you.  

Pedro leaned back in his chair, a slight breeze ruffling his tousled hair, his eyes fixed on you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You were turning your engagement ring slowly between your fingers, the sunlight catching on the delicate details of the band.  

“It was my mom’s, you know,” he said, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.  

Your head shot up, surprise and awe softening your expression. “Pedro…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe you’d trust me with something so meaningful.”  

He reached across the small table, his hand enveloping yours, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles over your skin. “It’s not just trust, amor. It’s love. Belonging. This ring belonged to her, and now it belongs to you. Because you’re my family now. You’re the person I want to build my life with—the one I want to pass this kind of love down through.”  

The sincerity in his words undid you. Your eyes filled with tears, but you managed a shaky smile. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you? Were you saving all this charm for after the engagement?”  

Pedro laughed, the sound warm and rich, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not the only one evolving here. I’m in full fiancé mode now—expect poetic declarations, grand gestures, and probably some embarrassing moments along the way.”  

You giggled, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “I don’t think my heart can handle much more.”  

He grinned, the dimple you loved so much making its appearance. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”  

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away—the waves, the breeze, the distant hum of life below. There was only Pedro and the quiet magic of being his.  

Then, his phone buzzed on the table, pulling you both back to the present. Pedro glanced at the screen and groaned. “It’s Lux. She’s FaceTiming me. Should we answer, or let her stew a little longer?”  

“Answer,” you said, laughing. “You know she won’t stop until you do.”  

With a resigned smile, Pedro swiped to accept the call, holding the phone out so you were both in the frame. Lux’s face appeared, and her mock-outrage was immediate.  

“Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. And no heads-up? No exclusive family memo?”  

Pedro smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Some things are worth keeping a surprise, hermana.”  

Lux rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Well, surprise or not, I’m happy for you guys. You’re disgustingly perfect together, and I love it. But don’t think this gets you out of celebrating properly when you’re back.”  

You leaned into the frame, grinning. “We’ll be ready for whatever chaos you’ve got planned.”  

“Good. Oh, and don’t forget to call Dad, Pedro,” Lux added, her tone turning maternal.  

Pedro groaned. “Yes, yes. I’ll call him right after this. Thanks for the reminder, coach.”  

Lux laughed. “Love you both. Now go enjoy your engagement. And call Dad, or I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”  

As the call ended, Pedro set his phone down with a shake of his head. “That woman. It’s like she’s my manager and life coach rolled into one.”  

You smiled, leaning your chin on your hand as you gazed at him. “She’s not wrong, though. You should call your dad before he finds out from the media.”  

Pedro sighed dramatically but nodded. “You’re right, as usual. I’ll be back in a second.”  

He disappeared inside to make the call, leaving you on the balcony with the soothing sound of the waves and the weight of the ring on your finger. You turned it slowly, marveling at the reality of it all.  

When Pedro returned, his face was lit with joy. “He cried. Happy tears, don’t worry. And he’s already planning a trip to wherever we’re going next.”  

You laughed. “Guess we’d better get ready for some family bonding.”  

Pedro sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”  

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart swelling with love. “I feel the same way. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”  

He leaned down to kiss you, soft and lingering, as if sealing a vow between you. The world felt bright and endless, full of promise. And for the first time, you were certain: you were exactly where you were meant to be.  

[solanastark]

i can see you

summary: inspired by i can see you by taylor swift. It’s all stolen glances, quiet tension, and finally—finally—giving in to the thing they’ve both been too afraid to admit.

pairings: bucky x avenger!reader

tags/warnings: acts of service bucky, lots of unspoken pining, slight angst, fluffyyy

word count: 3.2k

A/N: ive been playing this song on repeat recently and it's about time i make a fic inspired by it. and receiving acts of service without asking literally makes my knees weak so this was such fun

"you brush past me in the hallway

and you don’t think i see it, do you?"

The Avengers compound was massive. It was far bigger than she expected. Steve was walking her through the main hall, rattling off names, locations, and protocol as she tried to keep up. Her head was still spinning from the whole "you’re one of us now" thing.

Steve led her through the sprawling Avengers compound, pointing out training rooms, the lab, and the common areas.

“So this is where most of the team hangs out,” Steve said, glancing back to make sure she was keeping up.

She nodded, taking everything in. The hum of technology, the faint clang of weights, the soft chatter from different corners.

As they rounded a corner, That’s when they passed him in the hallway.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. A shadow in the corner of her eye. His hair was a little messy, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, metal arm glinting under the light. He was walking the other way, purposeful, eyes cast down like he had no time for anything else.

Steve paused. “Hey, Buck—”

But Bucky didn’t stop. Just kept moving, like the hallway wasn’t narrow enough to force that brief shoulder-to-shoulder proximity.

Their paths crossed briefly, and for a split second their hands brushed.

It was a quick, almost accidental touch but she felt it. Something strange, electric, like a spark under her skin.

Her breath caught. Just for a second.

Because she saw it. The glance. That flash of blue eyes darting to her, then gone before Steve could catch it.

She blinked and shook her head, blaming it on nerves. “Just my imagination,” she muttered to herself, focusing back on Steve’s words.

"i’ve been watching you for ages

and I spend my time trying not to feel it."

She wasn’t trying to fall for him.

Really, she wasn’t.

Being the new recruit on the team was hard enough—fitting in, training until she couldn’t feel her legs, trying to act like she belonged here. That was supposed to be her focus, not... him.

Not the man who barely spoke. Not the man with shadows in his eyes and a metal arm that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Not the man who brushed past her in the hallway like she didn’t exist, even though she knew he saw her. Y/N felt it in the way his gaze lingered for just a fraction too long before darting away.

She didn’t want to read into it, didn’t want to be that girl who assumed kindness was something more. But then there were the little things.

Every morning, exactly at the same time, a steaming cup of coffee waited for her on the kitchen counter—just the way she liked it: black with a splash of cream, no sugar. It had become a small ritual she looked forward to, though she never knew who was behind it.

One morning, she reached for the cup just as Sam walked in.

“Hey,” she smiled, “thanks for always making me coffee in the mornings. You’re a lifesaver.”

Sam scratched his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, me? I don’t do that. I’m more of a cereal guy anyway.”

She blinked, confused. “Really? Then… who—?”

Before she could finish, Bucky appeared around the corner, a shower towel on his shoulder and a cup of coffee in his hand. He caught her gaze, then lifted his cup slightly in a quiet toast.

“Morning,” he said softly.

He looked so soft in the morning light, his hair untamed and still slightly damp. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, heart skipping a beat.

Don't feel it.

Her favorite protein bars were always restocked after missions, even though she never mentioned them to anyone. The punching bag she liked best in the gym always seemed freshly replaced. When she struggled with a weapons malfunction during training, it mysteriously fixed itself the next day. He never said a word, never acknowledged it, but it was him. She knew.

And still, she tried not to feel it.

Because it was dangerous.

Because it was messy.

Because it was him.

And she told herself—again and again—

Don’t feel it. Don’t feel it.

“we keep everything professional

but something’s changed and I like it.”

It started with a joke. Just a stupid joke in the middle of a mission debrief, when the room was heavy with tension and exhaustion.

She hadn’t meant to make him laugh. She wasn’t even sure if he could laugh.

But she cracked something light about how Tony’s “state-of-the-art training dummies” looked like giant marshmallows, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—Bucky, in the corner, smiling. And then, laughing.

It wasn’t loud, barely more than a huff under his breath, but it was real. His shoulders shook, and his lips tugged up like it surprised even him.

She blinked, stunned, and grinned wide. “Did the Winter Soldier just laugh at my joke?”

His face shuttered fast. “Nope.”

“Are you smiling?” she teased, voice full of mock-incredulity.

“Nope.”

“Bucky Barnes, you are smiling—”

“Drop it.”

She grinned, eyes sparkling as the tension in the room softened.

Their gazes lingered for a moment. She didn't know she could bring out this side of him.

Later that night, she came back from a quick sparring session with Natasha, bruises blooming along her side. She kept telling herself it was fine, just another part of the job, but when she stepped into the compound’s dim kitchen for a water bottle, she found Bucky already there, standing by the fridge.

His gaze narrowed when he saw her wince. “What happened?” He's been speaking to her more often. As time passes, the urge to get closer to her only grows.

“Just a sparring thing. It’s fine,” she said, waving it off.

“Sit down,” he muttered, already pulling an ice pack from the freezer. She sat on top of the counter, watching his eyebrows furrow in concern.

He placed himself in front of her, too damn close for professional. Bucky's arms rested on either side of the counter top. She tried to avoid his piercing gaze.

"Are you going to remove your jacket or are we going to stay here all night?" his voiced laced with sarcasm. Y/N noticed that he's unmoving, she surrenders with a sigh.

She cautiously unzipped her sparring jacket, revealing her sports bra and the purple spots on her side. Her breath caught. She wanted to tell him she could handle it, wanted to remind herself this was professional. But the way his fingers ghosted over the bruises, careful and gentle like she was made of glass, sent something cracking inside her.

“You’re too stubborn,” he muttered, pressing the ice pack against her skin.

She tried not to shiver. Tried not to feel it.

“Just professional,” she whispered under her breath, almost like a prayer.

He didn’t say anything. But his hand lingered on her side a second longer than necessary, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

She carefully pressed the ice pack against the bruised side of her ribs. Bucky stood close by, his metal arm gently steadying her shoulder as he adjusted the pack.

“Be careful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough—far from the usual guarded tone.

She glanced up, catching the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m tougher than I look.”

He gave a small, rare smile, but the warmth didn’t quite reach his gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy with words neither dared say.

She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they’d gotten, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the quiet hum of the compound. Her heart picked up pace, and she realized this—this wasn’t professional anymore.

Her breath hitched as he leaned in just a little, as if to say something more, something real. Their eyes met, both searching, both hesitant.

But then—he pulled back, clearing his throat. “The ice is melting quick, I'll.. Uh— I'll get more.” he said, voice a little too light.

She let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Yet the charged air lingered, the almost-kiss hanging between them like a promise.

“They keep watchful eyes on us

so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet.”

That was the unspoken rule of the compound, wasn’t it? Keep things tight. Keep things professional. No slipping up. No letting anyone catch the way her eyes lingered on him, or the way Bucky seemed to drift toward her without even realizing it.

But as the weeks went by, the bond between them started to grow.

It wasn’t loud or obvious. Just small things. The way he passed her an extra granola bar after a mission without a word. The way she’d always end up across from him at the table. The way her bruises seemed to heal faster when he handed her an ice pack and grumbled something soft under his breath.

One afternoon, Sam poked his head into the gym while Bucky was helping her with a combat drill.

“Yo, Barnes! Come golfing with me later. Let off some steam.”

Bucky glanced at her, almost on instinct. “Can Y/N come too?”

The room froze.

The air got so thick you could taste it. Everyone in the room turning, eyes snapping to Bucky, then to her, then back to Bucky like they were watching a soap opera play out in real time. Even the weights seemed to pause mid-swing.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in slow motion, an unmistakable grin tugging at his lips like he knew.

Bucky caught the shift, the tension crackling like static. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet like a man who just realized he walked into a minefield.

“I mean, you know, because she’s new and all. Could use a break from training. She’s always in here, y’know, it’s just…” His words fumbled over each other, voice trailing off into a mutter as his ears turned pink.

Sam’s grin widened.

“Sure, Barnes,” Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder with a wink. “Whatever you say, man.”

A spark in the air lingered, something they both felt but neither dared to name.

But later that night, she found herself smiling in the quiet of her room, heart racing, thinking about how Bucky’s first instinct had been to include her.

Like maybe they were more than teammates.

Maybe they were becoming something.

“What would you do if I went to touch you now?”

Bucky’s voice was raw, almost a growl. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette barely lit by the dim kitchen light, jacket half-zipped, boots still on. The air clung heavy around him, a storm barely contained. His eyes—stormy, haunted—wouldn’t meet hers.

It was late. Everyone else asleep. She’d heard the door creak open, the soft shuffle of boots on the floor. She’d been waiting, somehow knowing tonight was different.

“Bucky?” she called softly, voice a whisper in the dark.

His shoulders tensed like a wire pulled tight. She stepped closer, heart racing, and the moment he turned, it hit her like a punch to the chest.

His face was blank, but his eyes. God, his eyes were screaming.

She could see the weight pressing down on him, could feel it in the way his breath hitched, in the tremble of his hands. The blood on his knuckles, the fresh cuts across his cheek, the smudges of dirt and grime on his skin.

“I couldn’t save them,” he muttered, voice barely audible. His fists clenched. “Couldn’t—” He cut himself off, his breath shuddering out like it burned to breathe.

“The Winter Soldier isn’t meant to save.”

“Bucky, that’s not—”

“Y/N, stay back,” he warned, sharp and sudden, like a wounded animal. His metal hand flexed at his side, fingers curling into a fist so tight it trembled.

But she didn’t. Instead, she took a step closer.

And then another.

Until they were inches apart, and she reached for him, her fingers brushing his metal arm.

His breath caught—sharp, ragged, like the world had stopped.

Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling but sure.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He flinched, his head shaking in disbelief, a thousand ghosts in his eyes. “You should be.”

“I’m not,” she said again, firmer now, her fingers curling gently around the cold vibranium, her thumb tracing the seam where metal met flesh. "I’m not leaving. Not until you understand that you’re more than what they made you."

It wasn’t just his skin she was touching. It wasn’t just the soldier. It was him. The man underneath. The one who carried all the weight and still stood.

"You’re not the Winter Soldier, Bucky. Not anymore. You’re not a weapon—they tried to make you one, but they failed. You’re a man who tries. You’re a man who cares." she searched for his eyes, the palm of her hand grazing his cheek.

"And you did save someone tonight. You did. But your not supposed to save everyone. No one is." she continued. "But you keep trying anyway and that’s what makes you good, Bucky. That’s what makes you you." her voice falters at the end, seeing the war— the inner turmoil behind his eyes.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell in a shuddering breath, and it broke. Everything he was holding in, everything he’d tried to bury. His body slumped forward, forehead pressing to hers, his breath ragged against her cheek.

His hands shook—both of them. His human one, clenched in the fabric of her shirt. His metal one, still in her grasp, her thumb brushing over the cold plates like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, voice cracked and low. He buried his head on the crook of her neck, held her as if he was afraid of slipping away.

“I know,” she whispered back, her other hand stroking his hair gently, holding him like he wasn’t a soldier or a weapon or a burden but a man.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself be held.

“I could see you in your suit and your necktie

pass me a note saying meet me tonight…”

The gala was in full swing; strings of golden lights hanging from the ceiling, the clink of glasses, the soft hum of music blending with the buzz of laughter. Everyone dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and talking about things that didn’t really matter.

She stood by the bar, swirling her drink idly, trying to look like she wasn’t searching for him in every corner of the room. But she felt it.

His eyes.

Wherever she went—by the charity auction table, near the art displays, while laughing at something Sam said—his gaze found her. Burning. Watching. Like a magnet drawing her in.

She finally took her spot at the bar, one elbow propped up, back straight, trying to convince herself it was fine, that the knot in her stomach was just the champagne.

And then he appeared.

Bucky Barnes in a perfectly tailored suit and dark tie, looking so devastatingly good it made her breath hitch. He sat beside her without a word, casually ordering a drink like he hadn’t been staring at her all night.

“Oh, great,” she said, voice light but her heart racing, “look who finally decided to approach me after, what, hours of lurking from across the room.”

Bucky smirked, barely glancing at her. “Didn’t realize you were keeping count.”

“Hard not to when you’re practically burning a hole in the back of my head.”

He grabbed his drink from the bartender, clinking the glass lightly against the bar. “Just making sure you don’t get into trouble,” he muttered, voice low and teasing.

And then, just before turning to leave, he brushed past her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him and slipped a folded note into her hand, so quick it was almost imperceptible.

She blinked, caught off guard, glancing down at the slip of paper crumpled in her palm.

Meet me on the balcony. Midnight.

He walked away without a backward glance, melting back into the crowd like he hadn’t just flipped her entire world upside down.

She stared after him, lips parted in surprise, a flush creeping up her neck.

And despite herself, she smiled.

“I could see you being my addiction,

you can see me as a secret mission"

The city stretched out below, a sea of shimmering lights in the dark, but the world felt small up here—just the two of them on the balcony, with the hum of the night air and the distant pulse of traffic below.

She stepped out quietly, the soft click of her heels muted against the concrete. There he was, standing at the railing, arms braced on the metal, broad shoulders tense, head bowed slightly like the weight of everything he’d ever been was pressing down on him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Bucky muttered, barely glancing at her, but the subtle curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

She folded her arms, leaning back against the wall like she wasn’t letting her heart pound in her chest. “Cut to the chase, James.”

He turned fully then, caught off guard by the sound of his name in her voice, soft, steady, like a key turning in a lock he didn’t even know was there. The faint glow from the compound windows cast a halo of light across her face, and for a second, the breath hitched in his throat.

“You always do that,” he said quietly, voice rough, almost like he was saying it to himself.

“Do what?”

“Make me forget everything else. Even when I don’t want to.”

Her breath caught, but she tried to keep her cool. “You’re not making any sense, Barnes.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair, metal fingers glinting in the low light. “I’m not good at this.”

Her voice softened, and she stepped closer. “Try.”

He looked at her then—really looked. His eyes, usually guarded and distant, were wide open now, reflecting the city lights. His voice dropped, raw and quiet, like a confession dragged from the depths.

“I thought I’d be cold forever. But then you came along, and it’s like you lit a fire in me. You made me feel human again.”

Her breath hitched, eyes searching his. “Bucky…”

He reached out, hesitant, brushing a knuckle down her cheek like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. “It scares the hell out of me. Because I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this again. Didn’t think I deserved it.”

Her hand lifted, fingers curling gently around the edges of his metal arm, grounding him. “You do.”

And then she smiled—soft, knowing, a little sad—and it cracked something wide open inside him.

“I thought it was just me,” she whispered. “I thought I was seeing things that weren’t there. You, doing all those little things, always watching out for me. I tried not to feel it, but I couldn’t help it. I see you, Bucky. Even when you think I don’t.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Getting here—standing here with you—it felt like a secret mission I never thought I’d complete.”

Her laugh was breathless, disbelieving. “You like me, don’t you?”

He swallowed hard, a flicker of boyish uncertainty in his expression. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Her grin grew, and before he could say another word, she surged forward and kissed him. Soft but sure, like she wasn’t afraid of the weight of what this meant.

When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, voice barely a whisper.

“I could see you being my weakness.”

She smirked, eyes sparkling. “Your addiction, you mean.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Yeah. That too.”

The night air was cool against her skin, but his breath was warm shaky and soft, a quiet confession in itself as they stood there, forehead to forehead, with the sounds of the city below.

Her hands slid down his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the layers of his suit, and she smiled, soft, a little bit in awe, a little bit in disbelief.

“I guess we’re not very good at the whole keeping it professional thing, huh?” she whispered. Bucky’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the sound of it curling around her like a safety net. “Never stood a chance, sweetheart.”

The tension that had been coiled so tight between them for weeks finally broke, and it felt like a dam bursting like every glance, every small moment had been leading to this.

“I should probably—” she started, stepping back, but he caught her wrist, gentle but firm, as if he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice rough like gravel, but the way he said it so soft under his gruff voice made her heart stutter.

She hesitated for a beat, then nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

They stood there for a moment, the world humming quietly around them. Bucky’s fingers found hers, their hands brushing again but this time, neither of them pulled away.

He squeezed her hand, like a silent promise, and she squeezed back.

When they finally went back inside, it wasn’t with a rushed, secretive energy anymore—it was quiet, deliberate.

This time, it wasn’t hiding.

This time, they knew.

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🫖 ☕️ 🫖

Credit: @astroismypassion

🫖 Capricorn Moon native, I noticed, go not literally after older people, but those that are more ADVANCED in life than them. They go for someone who has is almost finishing high school, when they just started out. Or for someone who is already in college or going for masters, when they have started college. Later, in adulthood, these native hang with people or go for a partner that has higher salary than them, has a better positioned or better paying job.

🫖 Yes, I would agree with astrology community about Cancer Sun men being prone to go for younger women than them. But I beg to differ, this is only, if they don't have Aquarius/Capricorn influence in their Natal chart. Such as if they have Sun Uranus aspect, Capricorn IC, Capricorn/Aquarius Moon, Venus at an Aquarius/Capricorn degree or in the 10th or 11th house.

🫖 Planet Neptune in astrology in general indicates where you are likely to experience confusion, the things you are unclear about or area about which you have misconceptions. But in more simplistic astrology, to me this planet literally explains »things you don't know about«. Neptune in the 2nd house: you don't know how high of a salary you want or you don't know your values, because you haven't consciously thought about that before. Neptune in the 5th house: you don't know how your ideal date would look like. Neptune in the 7th house: you don't know which kind of committed partner you desire. Neptune in the 12th house: you don't know what to do with yourself in your alone time/when you are just by yourself. Neptune in the 1st house: you don’t know your full, real identity, personality.

🫖 Capricorn Moon/Saturn in the 4th house/Moon Saturn aspect native, I would argue even some with Aquarius Moon, Moon Uranus aspect, have really minimalistic room, with little décor, not much colour, because at home their personality was restricted or wasn’t fully allowed to be express due to parental figures often overpowering them. So as a result, their own room lacks character, personality, it can look dull or lifeless.

🫖 I noticed in real life, there is always Scorpionic influence over the Moon, in people who form and join a friend squad or form a close-knit group of friends. But then I found a famous celebrity example. In friend circle of Taylor Swift (so called Taylor’s Squad in mid-2010) all had Scorpionic Moons. Actress Hailee Steinfeld, who was part of Taylor’s Squad has Moon at 8 (Scorpio) degree, model Gigi Hadid has Moon at 20 (Scorpio) degree, model Ruby Rose has Moon trine Pluto, actress Sarah Hyland has Moon square Pluto, singer Lorde has Moon quintile Pluto.

🫖 If you have both Pisces and Aries over a relationship house, such as over the 7th house, even dating house the 5th house, but also over more emotional houses such as 4th, 8th house, but also 2nd house, you might say or think about yourself that you are a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, when in fact I noticed these natives desire a partner who will go along with whatever they suggest. So someone flexible and compromising. These people take it personally, if you don’t accept or like their suggestion, like they start questioning, if you are even “their person”, their soulmate.

🫖 No one talks about how Venus Saturn aspect/Capricorn Venus/Venus in the 10th house/Venus at a Capricorn degree (10, 22) people are really tough on themselves and daily put a lot of pressure on themselves in all areas of their life. They rarely enjoy life and just let loose before the first Saturn Return (so before the age of 30). These people don’t play about their ambition. They put in as much work as possible before the age of 30. One celebrity example singer Selena Gomez (Venus at 10 (Capricorn) degree) talked about how she took everything so seriously in her life, career and rarely took time off just for herself.

🫖 Pisces Moon/Moon Neptune aspect/Moon at a Pisces degree (12, 24), even Pisces Venus, natives actually desire a “low maintenance” partner, someone that actually doesn’t need them that much in their life. So someone who will give them a lot of space, will be independent in their own life, not needing always being together, will be okay with not answering messages right away and with occasional ghosting. But they are most often masking that wish with having high standards or being non-committal.

🫖 Libra Venus natives are overlooked for how progressive they actually are! These people truly desire an EQUAL partner on all levels (financial, physical, career, family). For example, men with this placement, might not feel treated with their partner earns more than them. They pick up household chores, cooking, cleaning at home and don’t mind it.

🫖 I always recommend people when they feel challenged by a sign, to look at the opposite sign of that particular sign for guidance, help or what to do to better themselves. For example, you feel challenged by your Aries Moon that you have in your Natal chart. Look at Libra, what you need to work on the most in order to have better quality connections with family, close friends and lovers is to become more flexible, create balance within, become more compromising, diplomatic, cooperative and a better listener. And you can do that with every personal planet position in your Natal chart.

🫖 Forget Leo Venus, they are not compliment-starved, but have you seen Pisces Moon/Pisces Venus? It’s under-rated how much these people want to be complimented, acknowledged and appreciated, their whole vibes changes, if you compliment them.

🫖 The more I look into astrology with the time that goes by, the more I realize what we already are, what we are used to is represented by our Moon sign. We grow into traits of our Sun sign in adulthood and grow more comfortable with the traits of our Rising sign after the age of 30. For example, you have Aries Moon, you already know you struggle with motivation, you might be used to not finishing projects, you are used to conflict, tension and irritation in your environment. If you have Cancer Sun, you are only now learning how to healthy express and show emotions. If you have Sagittarius Rising, you will be more open, spontaneous, travel more, educate yourself more after the age of 30.

🫖 If you struggle with purpose, meaning in your life or with making major life decisions, always work with your North Node. Look at North Node like direction or guidance. For example: you want to return to college, higher education at an older age, but you’re scared if you want to do it or not. Then you see you have Virgo/Gemini/Sagittarius North node or North Node in the 3rd/6th/9th house, Jupiter North Node aspect or North Node at Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius degree (3, 6, 9, 15, 18, 21, 27) in your Natal chart. You totally should do it, because it’s part of your life purpose shown by your North Node, NN shows what you feel your purpose in this lifetime is deep in your soul.

Credit: @astroismypassion

[missbluee]

Chasing dimples

Pairing : Jobe bellingham × she/her (maya) Summary: One night. A slow-burn connection. And a morning that feels heavier than goodbye. What happens when something fleeting doesn’t feel so fleeting after all?

🌺 ₊˚⊹♡୨୧

🎧 Vibe Track :

.

Ibiza had a way of making everything feel slower.

The breeze was warm, like it carried secrets from the ocean. Jobe leaned back in his seat, sunglasses sliding a little down his nose, fingers wrapped lazily around the neck of a sweating glass bottle. Jude was somewhere behind him, laughing too loud with the boys — but Jobe barely listened.

He liked this — the quiet buzz of vacation, the heat, the music humming low from a bar. He looked good. He knew it. Tall. Relaxed. A little smug. The kind of smug that came from having nothing to prove, at least for the moment.

And everything felt fine.

Until he saw her.

...Until she happened.

She wasn’t doing anything special. Just walking. But there was something in the way she moved — slow, unbothered, like she belonged here and nowhere at the same time.

The sunlight kissed her skin, giving it that honey-golden glow, like she’d been dipped in light. Her dress — pale blue, almost white in the sun — clung just enough to make you blink twice. Thin straps, low back, the kind of thing that made the breeze look lucky just to touch her.

Her hair was pinned up in that easy, undone way, a few strands falling forward and brushing her cheek. She tucked them behind her ear without thinking. No loud makeup. No flashy jewelry. Just her — clean, radiant, untouchable.

Jobe stared a second too long.

And then, because he was Jobe — because confidence was second nature — he tilted his chin up and said the first thing that came to mind:

“You’re not from here, are you?”

She slowed, head turning just enough for him to catch the curve of her smile — polite, not impressed.

“That obvious?”

Her voice was soft. American. A little tired, like the sun had worn her down. Or maybe life had.

Jobe smiled — easy, charming. The kind he knew worked nine times out of ten.

“Kind of,” he said, nudging his sunglasses up. “You don’t look like you belong here.”

She raised a brow, kept walking.

“Thanks… I guess?”

“No, I mean that in a good way,” he added quickly, standing now, a half-step toward her, half a dare.

“You’re not like these girls. You’ve got— I dunno. A different vibe.”

She finally stopped.

Looked up at him.

Her eyes were clear. Curious. Not cold — just unreadable. Like she was weighing something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“That’s the second line you’ve used in under a minute,” she said, voice light but firm.

“You got a third one, or should I keep walking?”

For a second, he had nothing.

And that? That didn’t happen often.

She gave him a small smile. Not flirtatious. Just... amused.

Then turned and walked away.

No backward glance.

No name exchanged.

No interest shown.

Jobe blinked, caught somewhere between offended and intrigued. His pride didn’t bruise easily — but this wasn’t about rejection.

It was the fact that she wasn’t trying. That she wasn’t even playing the game.

He watched her blend into the slow-moving crowd, that soft blue dress slipping out of sight like a daydream that never stuck around long enough.

Jude showed up a minute later, smacking a hand on his shoulder.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Jobe muttered, still watching where she’d gone.

“Just saw something interesting.”

“What, a mirror?” Jude grinned.

Jobe didn’t answer.

Because now he was wondering if he’d see her again.

And why it mattered if he didn’t.

He tried to shake her off.

Laughed with the boys, joined whatever beach game they had going. Sipped from an overpriced drink in a neon cup. Flirted back when it made sense.

But something about her had lodged in him — like sand in a shoe.

But she was still there.

Not literally.

Just... there.

The way the breeze had lifted the hem of her dress.

The shape of her collarbone.

The way her voice curled around her words — soft but certain.

Like she didn’t need to be louder to be heard.

Her nails — painted something pale, like seashells.

Her skin — smooth, sun-kissed, but not tanned. She didn’t look like someone who lived in the sun.

More like someone the sun had borrowed for a weekend.

But her eyes...

That’s what did it.

They weren’t bored.

They weren’t impressed.

They weren’t wide with recognition or flirty curiosity.

They just looked at him.

Like he was some guy.

Not Jobe Bellingham.

Just... a guy.

And that?

That stuck.

The sun had started to drop, painting the sky in that soft gold-blue haze Ibiza was known for. Jobe sat at the edge of a beach chair, one arm slung across the backrest, phone in hand — screen black, forgotten.

He hadn’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Alright.”

Jude’s voice cut through, loud and amused.

“Who is she?”

Jobe blinked. “What?”

Jude arched a brow and flopped down beside him.

“You’ve been weird since this morning. Zoning out. Stirring your drink like you’re trying to read it. So — who’s the girl?”

Jobe scoffed, mouth twitching at the corners.

“No one.”

“‘No one’ got you acting like your soul’s still wandering the boardwalk.”

Jude leaned in, grinning.

“Come on. Spill.”

Jobe shrugged, but his voice dropped a little lower.

“Just... ran into someone earlier.”

Jude didn’t press. Just nodded — slow, knowing. Like he already had the whole story.

Jobe leaned back, eyes locked on the horizon.

The kind of stillness that didn’t come from peace, but from thinking too hard.

“She didn’t even know who I was,” he said finally.

“Didn’t care, either.”

Jude let out a long, low whistle.

“Damn. That’ll do it.”

Jobe chuckled — short, quiet. The kind that stays behind the teeth.

“She was just... I dunno. Quiet. Pretty. Real.”

“And now she’s gone?”

“Guess so.”

But even as he said it, he didn’t quite believe it.

Because maybe, just maybe — the night wasn’t finished with him yet.

The bass was thick — heavy, steady, like a second heartbeat pulsing through the sand.

The party had moved beachside, the sky now a canopy of stars tangled with the strobe of club lights. Music bled out of the speakers, all glitter and heat.

Jobe moved with it. Half-dancing, half-searching.

Laughter buzzed around him — people with saltwater hair and sticky drinks, all tanned limbs and soft chaos.

Everyone else was in it.

But not him.

He was still in her.

Still back in the way she looked at him like he didn’t matter.

Still caught in the quiet she left behind.

His eyes flicked through the crowd.

Scanning. Hoping.

Maybe even praying a little — not that he’d admit it.

And then —

There.

Not a vision.

Not a trick of the light.

Her, just her.

A few tables away, under the warm glow of soft yellow bulbs strung overhead, she sat with a group of friends.

Different dress now — white, soft, almost silky.

Her hair was twisted up into a loose bun, strands slipping free to frame her face. Her lips shimmered with something glossy, catching the light when she smiled.

She was laughing.

Not loud. Not forced.

Just a soft, easy sound that melted into the air like it belonged there.

Then Jobe saw it.

A guy.

Sitting next to her.

His hand resting on her shoulder — casual. Familiar.

Bare skin.

An easy touch.

Jobe froze.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

She wasn’t his.

He didn’t even know her name.

But still — something twisted, low and tight in his gut.

He didn’t look away.

She didn’t see him.

Didn’t glance his way.

Didn’t feel his eyes — steady, heavy — tracking every slow tilt of her head, every small shift of her shoulders when she laughed again.

The guy leaned in.

Said something low, right against her ear.

And she smiled.

Then blushed.

Not big. Not showy.

Just this soft tuck of her chin, like a secret bloomed beneath her skin.

And God, she looked like a memory in the making.

Jobe’s fingers curled tighter around his cup.

He hadn’t taken a sip in a while.

“Bro.”

Jude’s voice again — perfectly timed and wildly annoying — as he clapped a hand on Jobe’s shoulder.

“You good? You’ve been staring into space like it owes you something.”

Jobe blinked.

Back to the party.

The noise. The heat. The beat.

“Thought I saw someone I knew,” he muttered.

Jude followed his gaze.

“The table full of models over there? Wow. Must be a tough life.”

“Shut up,” Jobe said, but a smile tugged, despite everything.

Still — he looked back.

She still hadn’t turned.

Still hadn’t noticed.

Jude watched him for a beat longer.

Then, slower this time, tracked the line of his brother’s gaze.

Paused.

And smirked.

“Ahhh.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping into that older-brother drawl.

“Is that her?”

Jobe didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

“Damn.” Jude let out a quiet whistle.

“No wonder you’ve been walking around like your brain’s buffering all day.”

Jobe rolled his eyes, shifting.

“Shut up, man.”

“She got you spiraling, huh?”

Jude nudged him. “You’ve been acting real poetic since this morning. Like, staring-out-car-windows-during-rain-montage poetic.”

Jobe shook his head, cheeks warming.

But he laughed.

Jude stepped in front of him, hands out like a coach mid-pep talk.

“Bro. You’re Jobe Bellingham. You wanna talk to her or what?”

Jobe’s eyes flicked back toward the table.

“I dunno. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

“Exactly.” Jude grinned wider.

“Mystery. Women love mystery. Go make your movie moment or something. You’re tall. You’ve got the hair. You’re literally glowing. Do something.”

Jobe hesitated.

The guy’s hand was still there — still too close.

“She’s with someone.”

Jude shrugged.

“He’s barely touching her. Could be her cousin.”

He gave him a push. “Go be interesting.”

“I’m not going over there,” Jobe said finally, jaw tight.

Jude blinked.

“Bro. What?”

“I’m not.” He crossed his arms, shifting just enough to angle her table out of view.

“She’s already got some guy whispering in her ear. I’m not about to look like I’m... pressed.”

Jude stared at him.

Then let out the longest, most dramatic sigh known to man.

“Jesus Christ. You’re impossible.”

Jobe didn’t look at him.

Didn’t look back at her either.

“She walked away once,” he said, low. “Not chasing that.”

Jude threw his hands up.

“You’re not chasing. You’re showing up. Right now, you’re walking around like a man in a Lana Del Rey music video and doing nothing about it.”

“Let it go, man.”

“No.” Jude deadpanned.

“Because she’s gonna leave and you’ll be crying to the ocean about her lip gloss or whatever.”

Jobe shook his head, but the smile was creeping in.

“Okay. Fine,” Jude said, eyeing him. “If you won’t go up to her, do something better.”

“Like what?”

Jude’s grin was slow and lethal.

“Make her come to you.”

Jobe squinted.

“How?”

Jude stepped in close, grabbed him by the shoulder.

“You’re Jobe damn Bellingham. Go beat every guy here at beach football. Go DJ. Get in the water and flex. I don’t know — give her a reason to look again.”

Jobe stared.

Then downed what was left in his cup.

“…You’re actually not as dumb as you look.”

Jude laughed.

“You’re welcome. Now go be hot.”

Jobe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharp through his nose.

He still hadn’t looked back at her — but he could feel her. Like gravity.

That laugh — he knew it now. The flick of her fingers when she talked. The way her shoulders moved when she leaned in to listen.

It was messing with his head.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay.”

Jude raised a brow.

“Okay what?”

Jobe hesitated.

Then turned to him — the quiet kind of desperation only a younger brother can pull off.

Eyes a little wide. Voice low.

“…What if we sent her table drinks or something?”

Jude blinked.

Then grinned.

Then doubled over laughing.

“Oh my God — no. You’re so down bad it’s embarrassing.”

“Shut up,” Jobe snapped, cheeks flaming.

“It’s just an idea.”

“That’s not an idea, that’s you throwing a rock at her window like we’re in a romcom.” Jude wiped a tear from under his eye.

“You’re so gone.”

Jobe rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at his mouth.

“Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself.”

“No no no,” Jude said, straightening up and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“We’re doing this. She doesn’t even know your name yet. Let’s change that.”

He pulled out his phone, eyes scanning the scene like a director.

“You want this cute or cocky?”

Jobe considered it.

Then: “…Cocky.”

“Alright then,” Jude said, typing fast.

“We send a drink. With a note.”

Jobe narrowed his eyes.

“What kind of note?”

Jude turned the screen toward him.

It read:

The guy you walked away from says hi.

Jobe stared.

Then smirked.

“…Send it.”

The server made their way across the beach with the drinks — two glasses, glinting pale gold in the evening light, and a folded note tucked gently between them.

Jobe stood a little off to the side, hands in his pockets, the sea breeze teasing his hair. He was pretending to laugh at something Jude was saying, but really — he couldn’t breathe.

She was mid-laugh herself, head tilted back in that careless, pretty way, when the tray arrived. Her brows furrowed as she looked up, lips parting just slightly as the server nodded toward her.

Jobe watched it happen — the moment it clicked. The way her hand hovered over the note, uncertain, before she picked it up and unfolded it slowly.

She read it once.

Then again.

Her lips pressed into a smile. Not wide. Not too much. Just enough to soften her whole face.

Her friend leaned in to peek, saying something. She shook her head, a blush creeping up the sides of her face.

And then—

Her eyes began to scan the crowd.

Jobe’s stomach dropped.

She looked left, toward the firepit. Right, toward the bar. Her gaze moved across groups laughing, dancing, talking — and then her eyes stopped.

On him.

Just for a second.

A flicker.

Recognition.

Then she looked away. Fast. Flustered.

Like she’d seen something she wasn’t ready for.

Jude elbowed him hard.

“There it is. She saw you, man.”

Jobe swallowed, smirking under his breath — but something in his chest tightened.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Felt like she looked through me.”

She didn’t look again.

Not during the next ten minutes, when her friend told a story with wild hand gestures.

Not when a new song started and the group around her cheered.

Not even when Jude made a very obvious joke and Jobe laughed louder than necessary, hoping — praying — she might glance up.

Nothing.

Jobe hated how aware of her he was.

Every move she made — the way she tucked her leg under her chair, leaned forward to talk, circled her straw absentmindedly — it all tugged at him like a thread wound straight through his ribs.

But she didn’t look.

Not even once.

She had read his note.

Smiled at it.

Searched for him.

And now?

Now it was like she was pretending he didn’t exist.

"…She’s doing it on purpose,” Jobe muttered, arms folded tight across his chest.

Jude raised a brow. “Or maybe she’s just letting you sweat a little.”

“Yeah, well—congrats. It’s working.”

Across the tables, her friend leaned in, said something low.

She gave the tiniest smile. Barely there.

And maybe Jobe was imagining it — but for just a second, a flicker — he thought her gaze brushed his again.

Like light catching on glass.

Like she was letting him feel the silence between them.

She knew.

She knew he was watching.

And she was making him wait.

Jude took a sip of his drink. “You’re in trouble, bro.”

Jobe didn’t answer.

His jaw tensed, but his lips curled. Just slightly.

“I know.”

Jude was still talking beside him — loud, animated, probably hilarious — but Jobe wasn’t listening.

His eyes were on her again.

She was dancing now. Just swaying in her seat, hips moving with the beat, hair falling loose from the bun she’d tried to keep neat.

She didn’t even look like she was trying. She was just… being.

And it was driving him insane.

“I mean, look at you,” Jude scoffed, half pity, half delight. “You’re completely gone.”

“I am not.”

“You’ve been staring at her for thirty minutes like a Victorian man in emotional crisis.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re gripping your drink like you’re about to challenge her to a duel.”

“I’m just—”

“Obsessed,” Jude finished.

Jobe exhaled through his nose, turned his back to the crowd. “She’s not even that—I mean, she’s cute, sure, but it’s not like—”

Jude gave him a flat look. “You’ve described her dress in more detail than you’ve ever talked about tactics.”

“That’s just… observation.”

“Observation? Bro. You said she’s ‘the kind of girl whose perfume probably smells like dreams and trouble.’ Who even says that?”

Jobe groaned, dragging a hand through his curls. “This is so dumb. I don’t even know her.”

“Yet here you are. Acting like you’ll die if she doesn’t look at you again.”

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because Jude was right.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t know where she was from.

Didn’t know if he’d ever see her after tonight.

But the idea of watching her walk away — of doing nothing — made his chest feel too tight to breathe.

Jobe glanced over his shoulder again—his eyes finding her instantly, like they had their own orbit now.

She was laughing.

Not at him. Not for him. Just... living.

And it was unbearable.

“I swear to God, this is embarrassing,” Jude muttered. “You’re down bad.”

“I am not—”

“You need help.”

“I don’t need help—”

“Fine. Then go talk to her.”

“…I might need help.”

Jude’s tone turned syrupy-sweet. Too sweet. “If you’re not gonna do anything, I will.”

Jobe blinked. “What?”

Jude shrugged, casually throwing a match into the gasoline. “I’ll just go over, say hi, maybe tell her how you’ve been watching her like a lovesick golden retriever for the past hour—”

“Jude.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” He was already standing, already fixing his shirt. “She deserves to know she’s the main character in your little mental romcom.”

“Sit down.”

“Why? You’re not doing anything.”

“I said—”

“I’ll even tell her you’re the funny Bellingham brother. You know, to soften the blow.”

“Jude, I swear—”

“Or maybe I’ll lie and say you’re shy. Girls love shy guys.”

Jobe grabbed his wrist before he could move. “You are so annoying.”

“Admit you wanna talk to her.”

“No.”

“Admit you’ve imagined her saying your name like it’s poetry.”

Jobe’s grip tightened. “I will end you.”

“Then go.” Jude leaned in, voice low and goading. “Unless you're scared.”

“I’m not—” Jobe scoffed, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t seconds from combusting. “I’m just not pressed. It’s not that deep.”

Jude smirked. “Then why are your ears red?”

“They’re not.”

“They are.”

Jobe scowled, rubbing the back of his neck like it could cool the heat crawling up. “You’re acting like I’m in love or something.”

“Aren’t you?”

Jobe didn’t answer.

Because she was laughing again—eyes soft, lips glossy, that boy still too close—and something in his chest clenched.

He wasn’t in love.

Obviously.

But he was definitely losing a game he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Jude leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lazily against the table as he watched his younger brother silently combust across the dance floor.

“So… we’re just gonna sit here all night while your dream girl gets claimed by Mr. Hand-On-Her-Shoulder over there?”

Jobe didn’t respond. His jaw tightened. His eyes stayed locked on the shimmer of her dress as she leaned in to whisper something to her friend—laughing again.

Jude let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Tragic, really. All that height, all that jawline—and zero game.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously.” He turned, voice low, smirk in full effect. “If you’re not gonna do anything, maybe I should.”

Jobe’s head snapped toward him. “You what?”

“I mean…” Jude dragged it out, relishing every word. “She’s cute. I’m charming. I could keep her company, ask her about her night. Maybe get her number. If someone doesn’t step up—”

“Don’t even try it.”

Jude held up both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. You clearly don’t want her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t do anything either.” Jude leaned in, grin sharp. “I could walk over there right now, flash the Bellingham smile, tell her I’ve got a little brother who’s tragically shy—”

“Jude.”

“—and she’d eat it up.”

Jobe was out of his chair before he even realized it, a low curse muttered under his breath.

Jude leaned back, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

Jobe shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to calm the storm brewing in his chest as his eyes found her again.

Jude’s grin widened. “Go on, Romeo. Save her from the wrong guy—before your big brother does.”

She didn’t see him coming.

Jobe’s steps were steady—measured—even as his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got nervous. At least, that’s what he liked to believe. Shoulders back. Chin up. Hands in his pockets. Casual. Controlled. Cool.

She was seated, legs crossed with effortless grace, the soft fabric of her dress slipping just past her knee. Glossy lips curved around the rim of her glass, head tilted as she listened to the boy beside her. There was something glowing about her—moonlit and unbothered. Like she belonged only to herself, and that made him want her even more.

He stopped a few steps from the table, letting the silence stretch for a beat before speaking.

“Did you like the drink?”

She looked up, surprised—but not startled. No real shift in expression. Just those eyes—calm, assessing—meeting his.

“So that was you.”

He smirked. “Who else would it be?”

She angled slightly toward him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Could’ve been your brother. He was staring too.”

His brows lifted, caught. “You noticed?”

“I notice a lot of things.”

Damn.

He stepped closer, thumb brushing his lower lip, trying not to get lost in the shimmer on her collarbone.

“You always this hard to read?”

Her lips didn’t smile, but her eyes did. “You always this full of yourself?”

His grin widened. “Only when it works.”

A breath of laughter slipped out of her—quiet, effortless. She raised her glass again, sipping slow, watching him over the rim.

“So what now?” she asked. “You gonna ask my name, or just stand there looking proud of yourself?”

“I figured I’d let you ask mine first,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t invite him, either.

But she didn’t look away.

And that was enough—for now.

She swirled the drink absentmindedly, lashes brushing her cheek as she finally asked—soft, like it was a secret:

“Okay… so what’s your name then?”

Jobe leaned back slightly in the chair, eyes steady on her, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jobe,” he said simply.

“And yours?”

She hesitated—just a beat—then,

“Maya.”

“Pretty,” he said, too fast. But without an ounce of regret.

She glanced at him sideways, the ghost of a smile playing at her mouth.

“You say that to all the girls you send drinks to?”

He let out a quiet laugh, running a hand through the curls at the back of his head.

“Nah. You’re the first one to make me work for a smile.”

This time, she did smile. Soft. A little shy. But real.

“Maybe I’m not that easy to impress.”

He tilted his head, playful. Curious.

“Challenge accepted.”

Her gaze lingered now—searching—as if trying to read the spaces between his words.

“You don’t look like the type who needs to try hard.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m not used to girls walking away from me.”

She raised a brow, amused.

“I didn’t walk away. I just… didn’t stop.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dipping lower.

“Would you stop now?”

Her breath caught—just a fraction. She blinked slowly, fingertips tracing the condensation on her glass.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

His voice was quiet. Careful.

She looked at him—more directly this time. Eyes soft, but impossible to read.

“On whether you’re worth stopping for.”

Jobe didn’t move. Not right away. He kept his expression neutral, let his mouth twitch without turning into a smile.

Cool. Calm. In control.

But damn.

She smiled.

And not just any smile.

That kind. The kind that came slow and effortless—so soft it felt like a win he didn’t see coming.

And then he saw them.

Dimples.

Two of them.

Perfect. Deep. Completely unfair.

It hit him like a cheap shot to the chest.

He blinked, glanced away for a beat—like the lights above suddenly needed inspecting. Anything to stop looking at her like she was gravity.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care—too busy sipping her drink, eyes drifting toward the beach, casually wrecking him without even trying.

Jobe cleared his throat.

“So... you always out here charming strangers with that smile, or am I just lucky tonight?”

She turned back to him—slow, like she’d been expecting the question.

“I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.”

That smile again.

His ego should’ve kicked in. Should’ve tossed out some clever, cocky line.

But his brain?

“You’ve got dimples.”

It slipped out. Flat. Unfiltered. Dumb.

Too late.

She laughed.

“Most people do.”

“Not like that.”

His voice came out lower than expected—more honest than he meant it to.

Shit.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, finally meeting his eyes again—warmer now, a little amused.

“You’re not as smooth as you look, Jobe.”

He tilted his head, trying not to grin.

“Then stay a little longer and let me prove you wrong.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just looked at him.

Long enough to make his stomach flip once—annoyingly—despite all the cool he was trying to project.

Then, without a word, she slid off the stool, downed the last of her drink, and set the glass on the table with a soft clink.

“Alright,” she said, fingers brushing through her bun.

“Let’s walk, pretty boy.”

Jobe blinked.

Just like that?

He moved fast to catch up, hands in his pockets, trying not to stare too long at the way the breeze toyed with the hem of her dress. Her shoulders bare. Her pace unhurried. She didn’t glance back. Didn’t need to.

She just knew.

They walked side by side along the curved path that hugged the beach, the night cooler now, the party sounds fading into the distance behind them.

“So, Maya,” he started, glancing sideways at her, “what brings a mystery girl like you to Ibiza?”

She smiled softly but didn’t look at him.

“A little break. Some sun. A bit of dancing. You?”

“Same. Minus the dancing. Jude won’t shut up about it though.”

“The one who whistled?” she teased, finally meeting his eyes.

“He’s dramatic.”

“You have no idea.” Jobe chuckled, shaking his head. Then quieter, “He saw me staring at you.”

Her eyebrow lifted gently.

“Did you?”

“A bit.”

A pause.

“Maybe more than a bit.”

Maya hummed, like she was deciding whether to like that or not. Her fingers brushed her arm absently; her voice light again.

“You’re better when you’re not trying so hard, you know.”

He smiled—real this time.

“And you’re dangerous when you smile like that.”

She didn’t deny it.

They walked on, arms occasionally brushing. Silence settled—not awkward, but full. Warm. Curious. The kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

“So,” he asked, kicking a small stone off the path with his sneaker, “where’s home?”

She glanced over, her eyes catching bits of moonlight.

“Michigan,” she said, smoothing the side of her dress absentmindedly.

“It’s not as glamorous as Ibiza, trust me.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Something about you sounds like you belong somewhere colder. Like winter, record stores, and overpriced coffee.”

She laughed softly.

“You got all that from ‘Michigan’?”

“Nah,” he smirked, “from the way you said it.”

She bit her lip, like she didn’t want to smile but failed.

“Where’s home for you, mystery boy?”

“Birmingham. England.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Explains the accent.”

“Explains the charm, too.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes lightly.

“You were doing better when you weren’t trying so hard, remember?”

Jobe chuckled, his hand sliding from his pocket to brush his knuckles near hers—almost accidently.

A beat passed.

Then she tilted her head, looking up at him, her voice dropping quieter.

“You play football?”

He raised a brow. “You knew?”

“No. Jude called you ‘a walking PR nightmare’ earlier. Sounded like a football brother thing.”

He laughed out loud. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Then, “Yeah. I play for Sunderland.”

She gave a small nod, no flash of recognition—just curiosity.

“Is that big?”

And weirdly… that made him like her more.

“Not Madrid,” he shrugged, “but… it’s mine.”

She smiled again—real this time.

“I like that.”

They kept walking, the sand getting closer now, the wind tugging softly at her dress and loosening a strand from her bun.

The night air had that hush—the kind that makes you whisper without even thinking. Sand crunched lightly beneath their steps as they reached the edge of the beach, waves rolling in soft and silver under the moon.

She kicked off her heels with a grin, letting her toes sink into the cool sand.

“God, this feels better than it should.”

He smiled quietly, the kind of smile not meant to be seen.

“Yeah... you look like you needed it.”

She turned to him, arms crossed now against the breeze.

“So what do you actually do when you’re not being mysteriously vague and charmingly annoying?”

“Annoying?” He pressed a hand to his chest, mock offended.

“See? I was right about the cold state energy.”

She laughed again, soft and warm this time—as if the tension folded into something sweeter.

A silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. The wind moved her dress; the moonlight settled on her skin. Jobe didn’t look away.

“You’ve been staring,” she said quietly, not accusing—more like letting him know she noticed.

“I know,” he replied just as quietly.

Her eyes searched his face, maybe for a sign he was playing. But he wasn’t. His mouth twitched slightly, unsure.

She stepped a little closer, head tilted. The air between them thinned.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“You didn’t even know who I was.” He smirked.

“Exactly.”

Her smile softened, fingers brushing down the inside of her arm—nervous but steady.

He took a step closer, testing the space, watching her eyes.

“Don’t kiss me if you’re gonna regret it,” she whispered.

“Don’t let me,” he whispered back.

She didn’t move. Neither did he—until his hand found her cheek, gentle, thumb brushing the freckle just below her eye. Her breath hitched.

And slowly, like something inevitable, he leaned in.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t fireworks. It was something softer, deeper—like the tide pulling in slow and steady, carrying all the words they hadn’t spoken. The kind of kiss that didn’t need to shout, only to feel. Just being there, two heartbeats syncing quietly in the dark.

When they pulled apart, her breath hitched, eyes wide and glowing with something fragile and fierce all at once.

He didn’t say a thing. He just held her there, like she was the only secret he’d ever want to keep.

She searched his eyes, breath trembling, before he whispered,

“Let’s get out of here.”

No urgency. No pressure. Just a soft invitation wrapped in everything he couldn’t say aloud.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then back up, the faintest, almost shy smile breaking through the quiet. A yes, delicate as silk.

His fingers slid down her arm, finding hers, lacing together like they belonged—like they’d been waiting for this moment all along.

They moved through the fading music and flickering lights, her heels swinging loose in her hand, his thumb tracing small circles on her knuckles—slow, sure, grounding.

The elevator closed around them, a quiet bubble outside the world.

She leaned against the mirrored wall, eyes closed, breath shallow and soft, and he memorized every line, every curve, every subtle tremble.

Ding.

The door opened, the lock clicked—then closed.

She turned, eyes meeting his—soft, open, vulnerable, unreadable—and it shattered the silence between them, breaking everything wide open.

His hand found her face, gentle, trembling just slightly with the weight of everything unsaid.

He leaned in—slow, deliberate, needing.

The kiss ignited something wild and tender all at once—heat and hunger tangled with aching softness. Her fingers wove through his shirt, pulling him closer, while his hands roamed freely, desperate and reverent, tracing her curves like a prayer.

There was no doubt. No hesitation. Only the fierce pull of two souls crashing together in a perfect, endless moment.

Outside, the city sparkled in cold blues and distant golds.

But inside, the world dissolved—two shadows, breaths mingling, soft laughter breaking through the darkness.

Skin met skin, hearts pounding, lips moving—until the edges blurred.

Until everything else faded away.

.....

The morning sun filtered softly through the half-open curtains, spilling a gentle gold light that pooled over the rumpled sheets and the delicate curve of her bare shoulder. The room felt suspended in that quiet, tender moment between night and day, when everything was still soft and unspoken.

Jobe blinked awake slowly, his mind foggy, his body still halfway lost in sleep. His arm stretched across the bed, resting on the sheets where she had been lying—almost as if it hadn’t yet remembered she wasn’t his to hold. He breathed in the faint scent of her, a mix of salt air and something sweet and familiar, and for a moment, he let himself stay there, frozen in the stillness.

Her hair was a wild, beautiful mess of soft waves scattered across the pillow, strands catching the light like threads of silk. Her cheek pressed gently into the fabric, her lips parted just so, like she was caught between dreams and waking. There was a tiny crease between her brows, a trace of the weight her mind carried even in sleep—like she was living a story he wasn’t quite part of yet.

He watched her in silence, not daring to move, not needing words. Just memorizing the way the morning light made her skin glow, warm and fragile, as if it could be broken or kissed away in a single breath.

The quiet around them was too thick, too heavy—like the world was holding its breath, waiting.

Last night still clung to the air. The heat of it, the softness and the rush, the messy closeness of two people who had somehow found something rare between them. But morning was different. Morning was a fragile thing. It was the pause after a rush, the space where things could slip away if they weren’t careful.

His fingers twitched, restless, and then he reached out without thinking, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The light touch stirred her, slow and hesitant. Her lashes fluttered open, sleepy and uncertain, before her eyes met his—deep, searching, a little vulnerable.

“Morning,” she whispered, voice thick and raspy, like she was still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

“Hey.” His throat tightened, words catching like they weren’t sure if they belonged here. For a moment, the space between them was full of everything unsaid—the warmth, the uncertainty, the fragile hope.

Her smile was lazy, soft, the kind of smile that made him want to freeze time, to hold onto the moment before it slipped away.

And there it was — that dimple.

Not the kind that shouted, but soft, tucked into her right cheek like a secret. The kind that only showed when her smile was real, unguarded. He liked that about her — that it wasn’t always there. Like it was something rare. Something earned.

And he’d earned it.

At least for this moment.

But then, her gaze dropped to the clock on the wall.

And everything shifted. The spell cracked.

“Shit…” she muttered, sitting up too quickly, the sheets slipping from her skin in a quiet sigh. Jobe’s eyes traced the motion for a brief second before he looked away, trying to hold back the sudden swell of something like regret.

“You leaving today?” His voice was low, steady but fragile—because he already knew the answer, and it hurt just to say it out loud.

She nodded, her fingers tangled in her hair, brushing it back as if trying to smooth out more than just strands. “Flight in a few hours. Gotta pack and… all that.”

Silence settled over the room like a weight. It filled every corner, thick and heavy with things neither of them wanted to say but both felt pressing between them.

Jobe sank back against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it could offer answers. What was this? What did last night mean? Was it just a moment stolen from the world, or something more? And did he even want it to be something more?

He was no longer the cool, collected guy he had convinced himself he was. Suddenly, he felt exposed—too honest, too raw, too real.

She moved quietly around the room, gathering her things with a grace that made it impossible to look away. Her perfume lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of her presence. He watched—the soft arch of her back, the delicate curve of her fingers, the way a small dimple appeared when she smiled softly at something on her phone.

The quiet stretched between them, a fragile bridge holding them together, or maybe pulling them apart.

Before the silence could become too much, she finally spoke—her voice barely more than a breath, but weighted with everything she couldn’t say:

“Thanks… for last night.”

She stood at the mirror, slipping on her earrings—delicate little things that caught the morning light like tiny promises. Her lips were glossed again, the same soft shine from the night before, but this time, there was no anticipation in her eyes. No excitement for the night ahead. She was dressing to leave.

Jobe sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to his waist, elbows resting on his knees as he watched her reflected in the glass. Words crowded his chest, heavy and raw, but they tangled somewhere between pride and confusion, stuck beneath the surface.

“You really have to go?” His voice was softer than he meant it to be. Quieter. Almost a plea.

She paused for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air. Then, without turning around, she nodded.

“Yeah.”

The silence that followed was long, stretching between them like a fragile thread.

“You gonna give me your number or…” He left the sentence unfinished, the casual tone belying the nerves fluttering in his fingers as they fidgeted with the sheet.

Slowly, she turned to face him, eyes meeting his—gentle, sad, but with a quiet certainty.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

There it was.

The answer he didn’t want, but somehow, deep down, expected.

He raised his brows, trying to look unfazed. Trying to convince himself it didn’t matter.

“Why not?”

Still calm. Still cool. Still pretending it was just words.

She laughed softly, a quiet sound more to herself than to him. Her voice was steady, but it carried an undercurrent of something bittersweet.

“Because it was just a night. And I don’t want it to become something it wasn’t.”

His throat suddenly felt dry, the words catching there.

“You think it wasn’t something?”

Her eyes flicked away, down to her hands twisting the earring backs.

“I think it was beautiful. But… I leave in a few hours. You go back to your world. I go back to mine.”

He scoffed, leaning back a little, the edge of frustration creeping in.

“So that’s it?”

She stepped closer—just enough to meet his gaze without hesitation.

“Jobe… You don’t even know my last name.”

That struck deeper than he wanted to admit, unraveling a thread inside him he hadn’t noticed before.

She pressed her lips into a soft, bittersweet smile—one full of kindness and goodbye all at once.

And then, slow and warm, she kissed his cheek. The kind of kiss that stays with you—gentle, final.

“Take care, alright?”

With that, she turned, walking toward the door—barefoot, graceful, gone.

He didn’t stop her.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because a part of him already knew.

If it was meant to be more, fate would find a way.

If not… at least he’d remember the girl with the dimples and the soft smile.

The one who didn’t stay.

The door clicked shut.

That was it.

Jobe didn’t move. He just sat there—legs dangling over the edge of the bed, hair tousled, her perfume still lingering in the air like a whisper too fragile to hold but too heavy to forget.

And for a boy who had it all—fame, attention, girls he could forget by morning—

he hated this.

He hated how her absence screamed louder than the music from last night.

Hated how his chest ached in a quiet, unfamiliar way.

Hated that she didn’t look back.

That she didn’t want to.

And still, he couldn’t stop replaying it—her voice, the way her laugh curled at the edges, the way she said his name like it was silk, not something tossed around by commentators.

He stood, walked to the window, eyes scanning the horizon like she might still be there.

She wasn’t.

He pressed his forehead to the glass, jaw tight.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But God… it did.

It did. And now she was gone—no number, no last name, no trace.

Just that look in her eyes, and a kiss on the cheek he still hadn’t wiped off.

Maybe he’d try to find her.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Maybe he’d go out tonight, smile for the cameras, play it cool, pretend like she didn’t matter.

But part of him already knew—

no matter how many cities he flew to, how many parties he showed up at, how many girls he kissed—

he’d be chasing a ghost with dimples.

And maybe, just maybe…

she was out there, thinking of him too.

author's note 🫧

hi, it’s me 🦋

this one was special — softer, longer🥲. i don’t know if it needs a part 2, or if it’s one of those stories that should just... stay exactly where it ended.

but i’d love to know what you think.

did it leave you wanting more?

or was that last kiss goodbye enough?

either way, if you wanna be on the taglist for part 2 (just in case 👀), drop a 🐚 or a 💬 below — and tell me your thoughts. it really means a lot.

thank you for reading 🩵

— @missbluee

[daydreamgoddess14]

Backseat Driver pt. 2

Summary: Bucky Barnes is reluctantly running for Congress with the financial and political backing of Pepper Potts. Everything is under control until she assigns him a driver. A very chatty, overly enthusiastic, playlist-addicted driver who seems determined to worm her way past his hundred-yard emotional perimeter. He hates the arrangement. Until he really doesn’t.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Part 1 here

Word Count: Here's the remaining 11k I wasn't allowed to put into yesterday's post 🤭 I thought I'd split it pretty equally... turns out I did not. I was very stressed.

Warnings/Tags/Info: No use of y/n, l/n, reader is described as female. I have literally no idea whatsoever the process involved in running for Congress or being a Congressperson. Expect grumpy!Bucky, sunshine!Reader, fluff, Sam being the most glorious human ever, Pepper Potts continuing to be a badass.... And in this chapter, you can also expect smut, car sex, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f receiving), some angsty emotions, Enjoy! 🩷

Main Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

She drove more slowly than usual. 

The rain had set in, drumming lightly on the windshield. The music was low, something softer than usual. The display tells him it's Taylor Swift. She was, as usual, singing along, but this time the melancholy, low tones suited her far better.

He’d surprised her when he slid in beside her in the front. 

“Change of scenery?” she teased, trying to keep it light.

He glanced over at her. She seemed more relaxed than she had a few hours previously. 

“It’s quieter up here.”

She knew that wasn’t true. 

“Where'd you go? Home?” He asked. 

“Gym, swim, sauna, food.”

“Sounds good.”

“It was.”

They sat quietly for a while. He broke the silence first.

“Do you ever get tired of being so loud?”

She laughed, caught off guard. “Wow. Rude.”

“Just a question.”

“Maybe I like being loud. Maybe it stops people from looking too closely.”

That surprised him. His eyes cut to hers, studying her face in the dim glow of the dash lights.

“And do you ever get tired of being so... guarded?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away. 

“...All the time.”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.”

They stopped at a red light, the Range Rover humming softly beneath them. She looked over, sensing him watching her. He turned to look at the road ahead. 

A thoughtful silence stretched again as they drove. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t look at her, but she felt his attention tuning to her completely.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

She glanced over. “The Congress thing. Doesn’t exactly scream Bucky Barnes.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “You think I’m not cut out for politics?”

She arched a brow. “I think you look like you’d rather punch a senator than have lunch with one.”

He rolled his jaw, eyes drifting out the window. 

He could still see Pepper’s face that day, unreadable. Her voice was calm and persuasive.  

“You want to fix things? Use the system. Rewrite the rules. Make it harder for people like you to be made in the first place.”

He hadn’t wanted to. But Pepper had always had a way of making refusal sound like cowardice.

He remembered folding his arms and saying, I’m not a politician.

And she’d smiled. Exactly. That’s why you’ll win.

I don't think Tony would like this. He'd tried to tell her. 

Bullshit. She told him. 

Sam had laughed. And then very quickly taken Pepper’s side. 

Now here he was, sitting in a $250,000 SUV with a girl who sang off-key and drove like she was dodging sniper fire… and for some reason, he wasn’t running.

“I'm trying to fix things,” he told her simply. 

She pulled up to his house and he reached for the door handle but didn’t open it right away. She was still watching the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, fingers drumming lightly.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned her head toward him, brows raised.

“Thanks,” he added. “For… tonight. The ride. The tie. Everything.”

She smiled softly. “Anytime.”

He stepped out into the teeming rain, well aware of the effect it would be having on the designer suit. 

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?” He ducked his head to look through the open door. 

Her voice dropped just a bit. “You should know… when you’re all dressed up like that?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“You’re impossible not to look at.”

He froze, the rain dripping into his collar and down his neck.

She didn’t wait for a response. Just shifted the car into gear and gave him a quick, shy smile.

“Sleep well, Congressman.”

And then she was gone, he just about had time to shut the door. Her tail lights glowed red as she disappeared down the street. He stood on the sidewalk for a full minute before he even remembered to breathe.

And when he finally made it inside, jacket flung over the back of a chair to dry out, tie still crooked, he didn’t move for a while.

Just sat there.

Thinking about her hands on his collar. Her voice in his ear. And the way her eyes had lingered just a second too long.

Damn Pepper Potts-Stark.

The apartment was too quiet. He’d showered and tried to unwind, but nothing worked. The water hadn't helped. The scotch hadn’t helped. He was still wired.

Her voice played on a loop in his head.

You’re impossible not to look at.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way she said them. Like she hadn’t meant to, like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like it surprised her too.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. Because it wasn’t just tonight. It hadn’t been just one moment, or one look. It had been building. Quietly, steadily sneaking up on him. 

Every damn morning she greeted him with a too-bright smile. Every time she reached over to adjust the stereo. Every time her laugh echoed through the car and set something deep inside him shaking.

And tonight, when her hands had touched his throat, he hadn’t flinched. He’d wanted it.

Worse than that, he still wanted it. Wanted her.

Her mouth. Her fingers. Her laugh. 

The crease between her brows when she was annoyed at him. The way she twisted her rings when she was nervous.

His head tipped back against the cushions. Eyes closed. His hand drifted lower before he even made the decision. There was no decision, really, just a need he couldn’t ignore. A tension in his bones that had nowhere else to go. His mind spun with images he’d barely let himself imagine before now. 

Her, pressed close, straddling him - in the car of all places. Lips parted, breath catching, sighing his name as he filled her up. 

And here, in his home, crossing the room with a smile and asking need a hand, Congressman? 

Wrapping her pretty mouth around his pulsing cock. 

His hips jerked up to meet his hand with no finesse or control. Pure desperation. He let himself fall apart quietly. Thoughtlessly. As if he could exorcise her from his system.

He couldn’t.

When it was over, he sat in the dark, his chest still rising and falling too fast. Shame prickled hot under his skin, rising behind his ears like a flush he couldn’t cool. What the hell was he doing?

She was young. Vibrant. Light-years out of his reach.

And he was… this. A broken man playing politics, jerking off to the thought of the only person who treated him like he wasn’t one.

The guilt came fast. He didn’t deserve her kindness. Didn’t deserve the way she smiled at him. Didn’t deserve a damn thing about her.

~~~~

The next morning, he was a different person.

The second he saw her standing by the car, his shame from the previous night came flooding back. She was sipping from a takeaway cup, squinting up at the sky. 

Wind tugged at the hem of her coat, hair pulled back loosely, a few strands caught in her lip balm. Just looking at her made something clench in his chest. She smiled when she saw him. Not overly warm. Just normal. Like nothing had changed.

He hated it.

“Morning,” she said, holding the door open for him.

He muttered something back, he wasn’t even sure what exactly. He didn’t meet her eye. Just slid into the back seat like usual.

She glanced at him in the rearview mirror once as she pulled into traffic, then again when he didn’t offer anything else. Her fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel. She didn’t press, but he could feel how aware she was of whatever this was. 

He’d built the wall the second he woke up. Because last night had been a mistake. 

All of it. The closeness, the look in her eyes. 

The fact that he’d gone inside and couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d thought about it too long. Let it spiral. And now he was punishing himself for it the only way he knew how.

Silence. Coldness. Distance.

She didn’t deserve it. But he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“What’s on today?” she asked eventually, voice light, breezy.

He shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”

He was meeting Sam. 

“Oh. Ok.” She tapped along to the beat of the music. “Want coffee?”

“Already had one.” Lie. He hadn’t.

Another pause. He could feel the tension stretching, tightening, her posture shifting subtly in her seat.

“I, uh… saw the pictures from last night,” she offered, trying again. “Suit looked good. Great bow tie”

He didn’t answer. Just stared out the window.

“Ok. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You know that scowl is deeply presidential,” she sniggered. 

Nothing. 

The silence returned, he could feel the disappointment rolling off her. That little fold between her brows had crept in. He could see her trying to work out if she’d done something wrong, and he couldn’t seem to tell her she hadn’t.

She pursed her lips and sighed. Then she reached for the volume dial and built her own wall. 

She was listening to his playlist. She skipped through a few of his chosen tracks and settled on one of her own favourites. 

“When I hold you baby,” she sang loudly, fiercely. 

“Feel your heartbeat close to me

Wanna stay in your arms forever

Only love can set you free…”

She had to be joking. He wanted to say something. That it wasn’t her. That it was him, drowning in everything he didn’t know how to feel. But the words locked up in his throat.

“When we touch each other

In a state of ecstasy

Want this night to last forever

Only love can set you free

Set you free

Set you free”

She sang without inhibition - poorly - but he could see the tension leaving her shoulders the more the tempo increased.

He sat silent and miserable, watching the city blur past the glass, wishing he didn’t want her, and hating himself for not being able to stop.

She turned the volume down, marginally, as they pulled up, the engine softening into idle. She didn’t speak right away, and he didn’t offer anything either.

“Alright,” she said finally, still slightly breathless. “I think this is you.”

He nodded once, already reaching for the handle.

“This one due to go on all day? Finish at six?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly.

“Right.” She didn’t say anything else. No teasing, no warmth. Just quiet acceptance.

He hated it.

He stepped out, not looking back, and nearly walked straight into Sam.

“Oh hey, man!” Sam grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “You look like shit. Everything ok?” He trailed off, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder to the driver’s seat. “Is that her?”

“Didn't think you'd be here yet,” he grimaced. He didn't acknowledge Sam's questions. 

Sam stepped around Bucky entirely and leaned toward the window, tapping it once with a smile.

She rolled it down.

“Hi,” Sam said, extending a hand. “Sam Wilson. Good to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you.”

Her brow lifted, but she smiled as she shook his hand. “That surprises me. I think he likes to forget I exist unless he's forced into this car. I've heard a lot about you, too.”

“All lies,” Sam said. “Well. Most of them.”

She laughed softly, and Bucky hated how much lighter her voice sounded with him.

“I should get going,” she said, pulling her hand back. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“You too. Thanks for keeping him in one piece.”

She gave Bucky a quick disappointed glance and rolled the window back up. The Rover pulled away a second later, merging into traffic with practiced ease.

Sam waited until she was gone. Then turned back, arms crossed.

“You’re an asshole,” he said cheerfully.

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t even introduce her?”

Bucky started walking. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Too late. We’re already doing it. That girl looked like she’d just been drop-kicked in the ribs. What'd you do to her?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Sam followed close behind, not relenting. “You like her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Bucky stopped just short of the lobby doors, jaw tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do, actually. You forget, we're friends now. You like her, you want her, and now you’re being cold because you think pushing her away will fix it.”

He didn’t respond.

“This is exactly why you need to accept that I'm here for you,” Sam leaned in again, voice lower. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to walk it back, man.”

Then he stepped inside, leaving Bucky standing there.

He didn’t follow right away. Because maybe Sam was right. And that scared the hell out of him.

~~~~

She was quiet for the first few blocks, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Bucky stared out the window, jaw tight. He hadn’t said a word since he slid into the backseat. Again. Walls back up.

“You’ve been weird all week,” she said finally, voice flat.

He didn’t respond.

“Seriously, what’s your deal? One minute you’re making playlists, the next you’re acting like I don’t exist.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Drop it.”

“No.”

That surprised him. He leaned forward slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to go all silent treatment for a whole week just because you’re in a mood,” she snapped, not looking at him. “If you’re mad at me, fine, say it. But don’t make me guess.”

He shifted, annoyed now. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated too long.

“That’s what I thought,” she muttered.

“You ever think maybe it’s not about you?” He said, his voice sharper than he meant. “Maybe I’ve got other things going on.”

She scoffed, glancing at him in the rearview. 

“Fine,” she said, turning onto the final street. “You want space? You got it.”

Neither of them spoke again before they arrived.

~~~~

The low murmur of conversation was starting to fray his nerves. Too many smiles. Too much wine. Too much her.

It wasn’t a formal event, just a small thing mainly made up of staffers, friends, campaign types, but still, everyone was dressed to impress. And she was there as a guest as well as his driver. Part of the dream team about to secure his victory. 

She looked good. Too good. 

It was the first time he'd seen her in a dress and it caught the light and her curves in a way that made his hands curl into fists in his pockets. 

She wasn’t avoiding him exactly, but she wasn’t looking at him either. And it made him feel like shit.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Just slipped out the side exit with a muttered excuse to the nearest staffer, and made his way to the car. 

The streetlights buzzed gently overhead, casting a dull glow across the SUV. He slid into the backseat, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Then the driver’s door opened, and he didn’t have to look up to know it was her.

“Hey,” she said softly, as the door shut behind her. “You just... left.”

“I’m here,” he muttered. 

“I noticed.”

Then she sighed. “This is stupid.”

She twisted in her seat and kicked off her heels, dropping them onto the passenger seat next to her bag with a quiet thud. 

Her next move was clumsy as she clambered between the seats into the back. The hem of her dress caught briefly, and as she bent forward, he caught the slope of her breasts, the curve of soft skin as it was claimed by the neckline of her dress. No bra.

He looked away fast.

She huffed as she landed beside him, tugging her dress down and brushing her hair from her face. “Can I sit?”

“You’re already here.”

She sighed again, a little annoyed. “Don’t be an asshole.”

That finally pulled his eyes to hers.

She was close.

Close enough that he could smell her perfume, something different for the evening than she usually wore, but still familiar. 

Close enough to see the faint smudge of eyeliner under her lashes. She didn’t look like his driver right now. She didn’t look like anything safe.

He swallowed hard. “You look -”

“What happened?” she interrupted, her voice more vulnerable than he expected. “We were... ok. I thought. You were tolerating me.”

He shook his head slowly, jaw working. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He said, finally. 

“Then why are you being like this?”

Because I can't stop thinking about kissing you. Because I touched myself thinking about you and woke up wanting to do it again. And have wanted it ever since. Because you’re too close and I’m fucking terrified.

He didn’t say any of that. “I don’t know.”

She looked at him for a long time. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

Another silence. Then she reached for the door.

But before she could open it, he caught her wrist gently. Not hard. Just enough to make her pause.

“Don’t go,” he said, his voice low.

Her hand stilled on the door handle, but she didn't look back. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. For the last few days. For pulling away. For making you feel like you were… like you’re not important.”

She turned warily.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he said. “I panicked. I’m not sure I'll ever be used to people giving a shit about me. Or finding people I actually give a shit about. ”

Her breath caught, just barely but he noticed. Of course he did.

“I keep thinking about you. About the way you look at me like I'm allowed to be myself.” He hesitated. “And when I’m not with you, I miss you. And when I am, I can’t think straight.”

She blinked, and he could see the pulse in her throat jump.

“I'm not exactly sure what I’m trying to say, I’m -” 

But she was already moving.

She surged forward, caught his face in her hands, and kissed him. No hesitation, no warning, just fire and hunger and weeks of unspoken longing poured into one desperate kiss.

He groaned against her mouth, hands gripping her waist. She climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs, and threaded her fingers through his hair. 

He pulled her in tighter, his vibranium arm wrapping firmly around her waist, the other sliding up her bare thigh, pushing the fabric out of the way, needing to feel her skin under his palm.

“Tell me to stop,” he said roughly, mouth brushing the corner of hers. “If you don’t want this -”

“I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”

That was all he needed. His mouth was on her throat, kissing a trail down to her collarbone while she rolled her hips down to meet his. 

“God,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his jaw, his neck, the scar that peeked from under his shirt.

He dragged her deeper into his lap, his hands moving to open the deep V neckline wider, stretching it down her arms and exposing more of her soft skin to him. 

She arched her back, offering herself up to him and he took it. Cupping the swell of her breast in one hand, his thumb brushed over the tight peak until she shivered against him.

His mouth followed, dragging slow, open kisses down the column of her throat until she rocked against him. 

He could feel the heat of her core, could feel himself hard against her. She shifted against him in search of friction and he hissed through his teeth.

He sank his teeth into the underside of her breast, making her whine and press her knees deeper into the seat behind him. 

“God, Bucky,” she shuddered. 

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, rough and reverent. His hands slid down to her hips, guiding her over the hard length of him again, slow and deliberate.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his voice low against her skin. “That’s what you do to me.”

He didn't wait for a response, she gasped when his tongue circled her pebbled nipple.

“Please, please -” she murmured.

He slid his hand between them to push the thin lace of her underwear aside. She moaned as his fingers found her, already soaked, already ready.

“You were gonna walk away,” he said, low and rough, mouth brushing her ear. “You were gonna leave me in this car thinking about this all night.”

She tugged his hair and moved back just slightly. 

“C'mon, you had no idea I've been this wet for you every day since we met,” she teased. 

His eyes darkened at her words, jaw tightening as he dragged two fingers slowly through her slick heat. “Jesus,” he breathed.

She grinned smugly until he slid a finger inside, slow but deliberate, making her stutter on a breath and grip his shoulder tighter.

“Not so chatty now, huh?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower.

He added another finger, curling just right, and her head dropped to his shoulder with a strangled whimper. The sound went straight through him.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, voice thick, “every night. Every time you smiled at me. Every time you drove away.”

She reached between them, unfastening his belt with deft fingers. The sound of the buckle, the zip, he thought he might lose his mind before she even touched him. She grazed her thumb over the tip of him, his fingers inside her stuttering momentarily. 

“What if someone comes past?” He breathed against her collarbone. 

“Oh, now you're scared of that?” She laughed quietly, her hand encircling him and pumping slowly. 

“Yeah, well,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as her hand worked him, deliberately slowly. “Feels different now that your hand’s on me.”

She bit her lip, breath catching as his fingers resumed their rhythm. Her hips moved with him, chasing every stroke. 

“You started this,” she whispered, her voice thick as he hit just the right spot. “The other week with that stupid bow tie. Making me a fucking playlist.”

His laugh was broken, shaky. 

“You climbed in my lap, sweetheart.”

“You let me.”

His mouth found hers again, messy and desperate. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I need to be inside you.”

She nodded and in the dim light, he could see a flash of nerves in her eye. She exhaled shakily as he withdrew his hand and moved it to her hip. 

Without taking her hand from him, she rose up onto her knees and guided him into place. 

She sank onto him slowly.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “You feel incredible.”

He watched her hold her breath as she sank down, her body stretching to accommodate him. 

She bit her lip, trying to keep herself steady as he filled her. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she moved, inch by inch, until she was fully seated on him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice rough as he tried to hold back, every instinct screaming for movement. 

Her head tipped back slightly, the pleasure clear on her face, and the sight of it nearly drove him insane. She moved, slowly at first, the friction sending a shiver through both of them.

“Bucky,” she moaned. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he rasped. His hand slid up her back, fingers digging into her skin as her pace increased, rising and falling on him over and over. 

He met her thrusts, pushing up to meet her, every drag of her body against his, every breath, every whisper of his name made him feel like he was losing control.

His hands slid to her ass, pulling her down harder against him, meeting her every movement with his own.

The heat between them was unbearable, Bucky could feel it building, the pressure in his chest, his pulse racing as she clenched around him, and he knew she was close. Her name fell from his lips in a broken breath, again and again, like a prayer. 

She kissed his throat, his mouth, his cheekbone. He could feel her shaking around him, her breath stuttering.

“Look at me,” he said. “C’mon, sweetheart, I wanna see you come for me,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, barely controlled as he watched her struggle to hold on.

She cried out, her body tightening as she finally unraveled around him, her movements jerky and frantic as she came, her head falling against his shoulder. 

Bucky’s grip tightened on her, pulling her flush against him as he followed, every muscle in his body tightening as he reached his own release.

They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathless, lost in the aftermath of what had just happened. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, still reeling from how quickly their situation had escalated. 

“Shit,” he heard her whisper. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide and panicked. 

“What’s wrong?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. His voice was rough, unsure. She wouldn’t even look at him, and it was killing him.

“I -” She cut herself off, her voice small. “I can’t do this.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already shaking her head, moving further away from him, almost like she was trying to distance herself from everything that had just happened between them.

She slipped off his lap, trying to straighten the skirt of her dress and pull the neckline back into place. 

“I didn’t think it’d go this far,” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly. 

He could barely hear her over the rush of blood in his ears. He wanted to reach out, to pull her back into his arms, but he stayed frozen in place. 

“We -” She swallowed, her breath shaking. “We can’t. Not like this. You’re... you're running for office, Bucky. This is... this is a mess.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His pulse raced, but now it wasn’t from the rush of adrenaline and desire. Now, it was the cold, tight knot of panic curling in his stomach. He zipped his pants and tried to regain his dignity. 

“I … I’ve just ruined it,” she went on, voice barely above a whisper. “We could’ve been caught, and I… God, this could be... this could ruin your career.”

She turned away from him, reaching between the seats to retrieve her shoes and her bag. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was still trying to process her words when she looked at him, eyes wide and glassy, as if she might cry any second. She looked so vulnerable, so out of control, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He reached for her, his hand extending instinctively, but she slid along the seat, closer to the door, her breath trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words so quiet, so filled with regret that they felt like a physical blow. “I didn’t think. I just… I couldn’t... I couldn’t stop. I’ve ruined everything for you. I should have just... stayed away.”

The guilt in her voice made something inside him tighten painfully. 

“Don’t,” he managed to say at last, his throat dry. But she was already moving away from him, already pulling herself together. 

She opened the door, and just before she stepped out of the car, she glanced back at him, but it wasn’t the look he expected. There was no longing, no regret, just... distance.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. And then, before he could even process it, she was gone. 

She walked away from him, her heels clicking against the pavement as he sat there, frozen, alone in the dim light of the car. His hand hung in the air where she had been moments ago. He sat in the car, staring at the empty space between them. His chest felt hollow. 

She hadn’t just left, she had run from him. 

~~~~

He'd driven himself home, his own playlist still plugged into the dash. Everything in the driver’s seat reminded him of her. Her lip balm in the centre console, a hair claw clip attached to one of the air vents but clinging on for dear life. 

The scent of sex and her perfume filled the car.

At home, he stood in the middle of his kitchen, the silence of the place suffocating him. His hands were still shaking, he hadn’t noticed, but now they hung uselessly by his sides, feeling heavy, like they didn’t belong to him anymore. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. 

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts of her, but it was impossible.

The way her body had reacted to him, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath against his ear. 

The way her head had tipped back, the pleasure that had crossed her face as she tightened around his cock. The sweet, desperate sounds she made as he fucked her.

It all consumed him. 

And then, just as quickly as it had all begun, she was pulling away from him, pushing him away, leaving him in that car like he was nothing more than a mistake she wanted to forget. He paced through the kitchen, his thoughts spiraling out of control. 

Why did he always do this? Why did he always fuck things up? 

The guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. He could still feel the heat of her body against his, the way she had looked at him before she walked away. She'd blamed herself, but he should have stopped it. But he hadn’t. He’d let it happen. He should have never let it get this far.

And now, all he could think about was how he’d ruined everything. Again. He hated himself for it. Hated himself for putting her in a position where she felt like she had to leave.

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he stood there, unable to move, unable to do anything except drown in his own regret. He hadn’t been that close to a woman in… Christ… Since before Hydra. Since the war. Since before everything about him had been rewritten.

Even now, all these years later, with Shuri’s tech in his veins and Wakandan peace etched into his bones, there was a part of him that whispered:

What if it’s not gone?

What if it’s just sleeping?

He hadn’t trusted himself. Not with something fragile. His career was a minefield, and she hadn’t signed up for this mess. She was supposed to be a colleague. She deserved better than someone who could fuck it all up without even thinking. But the longer he stood there, the more he realised something else. Despite his guilt, he could only think of one thing. 

She should be there.

All he wanted right now was for her to be in his bed. 

He wanted more than some quick and dirty fumble on the backseat of the car. He wanted to hold her, to feel her skin against his. He wanted to taste her, he wanted to see every tremble and shiver. 

He wanted to take her apart again and again.

But the second that want rose up in him, his own mind turned on him. 

You don’t get this.

You don’t get to have this.

Ever the self-saboteur.

He knew he should probably call Sam. Sam would listen. Probably say something reasonable and kind but also just harsh enough to snap him out of being his own worst enemy. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at his reflection in the window. The city lights outlined his silhouette. 

Familiar. Dangerous.

No wonder she bailed. He couldn’t blame her.

~~~~

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. He could still feel her pressed against him, warm and trembling, still smell her perfume clinging to his skin. Under the water in the shower, he'd found faint traces of her lipstick on his neck. She’d walked away with his cum on her thighs, and all he could think about was how much more of her he wanted.

He hadn’t even finished his coffee when there was a knock at the front door. He opened it to find a guy standing on the steps, holding a clipboard.

“Mr. Barnes? I’ve been reassigned to your transportation detail. Do you happen to have the keys to the Range Rover?”

Bucky blinked at him. The words barely registered. She’d bailed. He nodded stiffly and turned back into the house to grab the keys, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The drive was far quieter than he’d become used to. There was no music, no humming, no early-morning opinions about pastry options or off-key singing to Chappell Roan. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional comment from the new guy.

Bucky didn’t bother speaking to him. The guy didn’t take the hint. 

“I’ve read your schedule for the day. We’ve got a tight window before the community board meeting -”

“I know what’s on my calendar,” Bucky snapped.

Silence followed. Blessed, suffocating silence.

He stared out the window, jaw clenched, fingers twitching against his thigh. Coward, he thought. She’d just… bailed. After everything that had happened, she couldn’t even face him the next morning. 

And maybe, yeah, maybe he deserved that.

But she could’ve at least had the guts to say it to his face. He pulled a file from his bag and opened it, finding a post-it stuck to the inner cover.

I can’t say this to your face… please don’t wear that ugly green tie ever again.

He huffed a short laugh and peeled the note off the page, holding it delicately between his vibranium fingers. Then he pushed it deep into his pocket. By the time they hit the fifth red light in a row, he was ready to throw the new driver out of the car and take the wheel himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, it buzzed again. He sighed and yanked it out.

Sam.

“This better be good,” he muttered into the handset.

“Nice to hear your sunny voice first thing,” Sam said dryly. “So. You fired her or she quit?”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the phone. “Don’t start.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam relented. “You gonna tell me or do I have to guess?”

“I didn’t fire her,” Bucky said. “She left.”

Sam paused. “Shit. You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared out at the grey city morning, the scent of her still lingering in the Rover’s air vents and in the leather seats.

“Did you… do something?”

“I let something happen,” he swallowed. 

“Well. That’s progress. You used to let nothing happen.” Sam sighed. 

Bucky stayed quiet, jaw clenched as the car rolled to a stop again. The new driver muttered something about roadworks up ahead. Bucky barely heard him.

“You still there?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Sure about that?” 

“She left, man. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I want you to admit to yourself that you like her.”

“I -” Bucky cut himself off. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Oh, well, shit. If you weren’t supposed to, then by all means, ignore your feelings, bottle that shit right up and carry on like you always have….”

“You’re an asshole, Wilson.”

“Maybe she’s scared.”

“Of me?”

“No. Of wanting something she thinks she can’t have. Y’know, I think this is progress,” Sam said simply.

“Progress?”

“You used to shut down over less. This is you feeling something. Big difference.”

“Doesn’t mean I know what the hell to do with it.”

“Maybe figure that out before you waste it.”

“I’ve got a meeting.”

“Well,” Sam sighed, “try not to kill anyone, yeah?”

Bucky hung up and let the phone drop to the seat next to him.

Meeting rolled into meeting rolled into glad-handing and drinks rolled into more meetings. He didn't dare ask the new guy whether he was a permanent fixture, but after a week he didn’t need to. Bucky could still hear the echo of her laugh from a week ago. He gritted his teeth.

She’d run.

He knew fear when he saw it. Hell, he’d lived inside it long enough to recognise the shape of it behind someone’s eyes. But it still burned that she hadn’t even tried to talk to him. She just slipped away. Left him sitting in that car, half-wrecked, still tasting her on his lips.

Now he was stuck with a driver who just followed the GPS like a good little drone. No chaos. No conversation. No challenge. He almost missed the way she argued with him over the best shortcut to… anywhere. Almost.

He shifted in his seat, jaw tight. He was beginning to think Sam was right. He was a mess. But he couldn’t tell if he was more furious with her… or with himself.

He reached into the centre console for her lip balm, intending to hang onto it should she return, but it was gone. 

“There was some stuff in here?” He asked the driver.

“Yeah, I had a clear out. Car was full of crap.”

He managed to stamp down the urge to tell the driver that he was full of crap.

The press pool was already waiting by the steps of the courthouse. Cameras, microphones, all of it too close, too loud, too much.

Bucky adjusted his suit jacket, the collar suddenly stiff around his neck. He caught sight of himself in a car window as he passed. He looked tired and drawn.

Pepper was beside him, heels clicking confidently on the pavement, tablet in hand. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you ready?”

He nodded. 

“Yeah? It’s getting a little close for you to change your mind on me?”

The crowd surged as they stepped up to the podium. Questions flying. Cameras flashing. Someone shouted a question he only half heard.

He opened his mouth, but the words caught. His tongue felt thick. Pepper stepped in smoothly, answering for him. “The candidate is eager for the campaigning to be over and is ready to commit to bringing change to this office.”

He blinked, forcing himself to nod in agreement. The crowd moved on, more noise, more questions, but he wasn’t really hearing any of it.

They slipped into the back hallway once the press had been corralled and the cameras stopped flashing. Pepper held the door for him, always two steps ahead. Always in control.

“You’re off,” she said plainly, not bothering to dress it up.

“Didn’t sleep.” Bucky ran a hand over his jaw. 

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

“You’ve got a good thing going,” she added after a beat, voice softening. “Don’t let your pride make you ruin it.”

“You talking about my campaign or something else?” He frowned. “Why aren’t you doing this, Pepper? You’re brilliant, you don’t need me.”

Pepper just gave him one of her knowing looks. The kind that said she could run this country in her sleep.

“He forgave you, you know. He may not have had a chance to say it with… everything that happened. But he did. And I know Tony would want it to be you.” She covered his hand with her own, the paths of gold in his arm illuminated by the sun streaming through the high windows and catching on the wedding ring she still wore. “Let yourself have this, James. For once.” She squeezed lightly and left him in the hallway.

He stood for a moment, a memory hit him without warning. Just the two of them stuck in traffic on the expressway, his jacket abandoned in the back seat, the sun baking the interior of the car.

He remembered the music first, loud, unapologetic. Beyoncé into Aretha into Gaga. She’d called it her ‘power woman playlist’ and refused to turn it down.

“You’re playing Run the World while we’re sandwiched between a garbage truck and a school bus,” he’d muttered, shooting her a look.

“And?” She’d been reclined slightly, foot on the dash like she owned the vehicle, sunglasses perched on her nose as she scrolled through her phone. “This tailback goes on for miles. We’re fucked.”

“Call Pepper and let her know?”

“You call Pepper! I’m not your secretary,” she’d muttered.

“She’ll kill me.” He whined.

“Great, then maybe I’ll finally be free of being stuck in traffic with you.”

He pulled a face, she stuck her tongue out. Neither of them prepared to incur the wrath of Pepper Potts. 

And now, here he was.

Back in motion. Moving forward. Making headlines.

And all he wanted was to be stuck in traffic with her again.

He just about fell into the car by the end of the day, he almost didn’t see it.

The sun caught the glint of it just right as he ducked into the Rover after another long day of pretending to be fine. Pepper had left him with a look that said You’re doing the work but you’re not here.

And now, in the dim light of the car’s interior, there it was. A slim chain, half-coiled and glittering under the drivers seat. Not flashy. Just a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, bent slightly out of shape. His breath caught in his throat.

He reached for it slowly, as though it might vanish. The clasp was broken, he remembered it now, so clearly, the way he’d gripped her wrist as her hand fisted in his shirt. How he’d heard something hit the floor and neither of them had cared.

It was such a small thing. Stupid, really. But as he turned it over in his fingers, the pressure that had been simmering under his skin since she walked away finally cracked.

He’d been punishing himself for the wrong thing. He wasn’t guilty for what they’d done, not really. He was guilty for what he hadn’t done. For letting her walk away thinking she was a mistake. He’d let her go, like he always did. 

He let people walk away from him because he thought that’s what they were supposed to do.

He looked down at the bracelet again, turned it over in his palm, then he closed his fingers around it.

Enough wallowing.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, not yet. But he’d find the words. He’d find her. Because whatever this was, mess or miracle, it wasn’t finished.

~~~~

Pepper was already in the car when he slipped into the backseat the following morning, still rolling the bracelet between his fingers in his pocket like it might start whispering directions.

She didn’t look at him right away, just scrolled something on her tablet, then spoke in that too-calm tone that meant she knew exactly what he was about to ask.

“I heard you tore apart your office looking for a driver’s file.” She sighed and finally looked up. “Bucky, I know you think this thing with her is some kind of disaster, but I’ve seen you during actual disasters. This isn’t one.”

“What if she doesn’t want me to find her?”

Pepper gave him the look, the one that could cow Tony on his worst days. “You would’ve done the same thing five years ago. Hell, two, even.”

“I don’t even know where she is.” He looked down at the bracelet in his palm. 

Pepper paused. Then, with a subtle movement, she slid a folded piece of paper from her planner and placed it on the seat between them. “She started working at a community kitchen on the east side. Wednesdays and Fridays.”

He stared at the paper.

“She didn’t give a forwarding address,” Pepper said lightly, “but I figured you’d get there eventually. You usually do.”

He picked up the paper without looking at her. Tucked the bracelet into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, going back to her tablet. “Just try not to screw it up twice.”

He didn’t intend to. He pulled up across the street from the community kitchen and just... sat there. Elbows on the wheel. Staring.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder and then half a second later came through the car speakers.

“You there yet?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I’m outside.”

“Then get out of the damn car.”

“I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“It’s not a hostage negotiation, man. It’s a community kitchen. You’re not even armed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Alright, ok, fine. You want a play-by-play? Here it is. You go in. You apologise like a grown-ass adult. You tell her she means something to you. Boom. Done.”

Bucky put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.

“Jesus, are you circling the block again?”

“I’m scouting,” Bucky muttered.

“You’re stalling,” Sam snapped. “She’s not a bomb, Buck.”

“She could be,” Bucky grumbled. “Emotionally.”

There was a pause. Then Sam’s voice got soft, not mocking anymore. “You care about her. That’s scary. I get it. But you’ve already done the hard part. You let someone in. Now you just have to show up.”

Bucky pulled into a space a few meters further down the road. He exhaled slowly. His hand hovered over the door handle.

“…Go,” Sam said. “Go now.”

“I am,” Bucky said.

“You’re talking, not walking.”

“I am walking, shut up.”

“C’mon old man. Get your head in the game.”

Bucky laughed in spite of himself, then hung up. And finally, finally, he got out of the car.

The place smelled like spices and steam and something sweet baking. It was busy, loud with clattering trays and chatter, and she was behind the counter in a borrowed apron, laughing at something one of the other volunteers said. She froze. Just for a second. Then came around the counter, wiping her hands on a towel.

“If you’re here to yell -”  

“I’m not.”  

That gave her pause. “I thought you’d be furious.”  

“I was,” he admitted. “At myself.”  

She blinked. That clearly wasn’t the answer she expected.  

“So what are you doing here?” she asked, cautiously.

“I came to talk,” he says simply.

“You could’ve texted.”

“You wouldn’t have answered.”

She looked away, a flash of guilt in her eye.

“I didn’t come here to fight. I just… I needed to see you. I needed to tell you I’m sorry I let you walk away thinking you’d done something wrong.” He said quietly.

“Bucky…” she said softly. He drew in a shaking breath. “This isn’t the place.”

“I know. But I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.” 

Someone called her name. She glanced back toward the counter, then looked at him again.

“I have to finish my shift.”

“I’ll wait.”

“You don’t have to -”

“Yeah,” he tells her, “I do. I want to.”

She hesitated and then begrudgingly nodded. Then she turned back to the kitchen and got back to work. He watched her at first, laughing with her colleagues while she cooked. They had a rhythm, a cadence. She automatically, without fuss, stepped next to an older lady and lifted a large pan from the stovetop. She took the physical work away from the elderly volunteers in such a way that they didn’t notice.

While he waited, a delivery van pulled up and began unloading crates of soda, leaving them stacked just inside the door. He picked up the first couple of crates and one of the other volunteers beamed at him.

“Young man, that is so kind of you. Out the back please, there’s a shelf in the pantry.”

The driver arched an eyebrow as he brushed past her to the pantry. Then he made a second trip, and a third. Then he took over peeling potatoes from a man who needed to collect his kids from school.

At some point, someone took pity on his suit and threw an old apron over his head. By late afternoon, someone had posted a picture on Twitter and he could feel his phone blowing up in his pocket.

And when her shift ended, they walked out together.

“Can I walk with you?” He asked.

“You’re gonna leave the car there? Might not be there when you get back,” she sniggered.

“It’ll be fine.”

“There’s been pictures of you all over Twitter this afternoon.”

“I might have missed a few calls about that.”

“Can’t do your reputation any harm,” she shrugged.

“How’ve you been?” He asked.

“I’m… fine.”

“You ran -”

“Hardly, not in those heels.”

He didn’t laugh.

“I risked us getting caught. Your career would have been over. How’s the new guy?”

“Got the personality of a traffic cone.”

“Ouch, that’s cold,” she smiled faintly. “This is me.”

She nodded at the brown bricked building, clearly expecting him to say goodbye.

“Can I… Can I come up?” He asked.

She hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“Just to talk,” he assured her.

She turned and pushed the door open. She didn’t explicitly invite him in, but she left the door open behind her. He followed. Her apartment was small, lived-in, and warm. He’d barely stepped inside before she moved past him, tossing her keys into a bowl on the side and kicking off her shoes like she needed the extra second to collect herself.

“You want coffee or something?” she asked, already halfway to the kitchen.

“No,” he said softly. “I just wanted to talk some more.”

“Look, you’re the golden boy right now, Bucky. And I’m... I don’t want to be the girl who tripped you up.”  

“You’re not.” He crossed the space between them slowly, deliberately. “You didn’t ruin anything. You made me feel like… like I could actually make it through this.”

Their eyes locked, the silence thick enough to touch.

“I shouldn’t let you come up,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said.

Her fingers unclenched first, then her arms loosened. And still, neither of them moved.

Bucky stood there, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, yet still far enough that she had the space she needed. He watched her for a moment, searching her eyes like he was trying to figure out if this was the moment he’d fuck everything up again.

“You really think you ruined it?” His voice was quieter now, softer, like he wasn’t just asking, but letting her know how much he wanted her to say no.

She swallowed, lips pressing tight together, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I… I thought I had to leave before you saw it was all just... a mess. Before you realised you’d made the biggest mistake of your life”

“Have you not read my Wikipedia page?” He deadpanned. “No,” he continued, low and deliberate. “You weren’t the mess.”

She didn’t answer at first, her gaze flicking to his lips, then back up to his eyes. And then, as if the decision to cross that line was finally made for both of them, he reached for her.

The first touch was tentative, the barest brush of his fingers along her cheek, as if he was testing the waters. But when she didn’t pull away, he slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in slowly, giving her the choice to stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t. Instead, she met him halfway, pressing her lips to his, soft at first, but it didn’t stay soft for long. Her hands found his chest and twisted into his shirt, and he groaned, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they both forgot where they were, what they were supposed to be doing, what they were supposed to be avoiding.

It was messy. It was desperate. But it was everything. 

He broke the kiss first, forehead resting against hers as they both tried to catch their breath. His fingers shook as he touched her face, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip as though he was trying to memorise the feel of her, as though she might vanish the second he let go. She met his gaze, breath shallow.

“You’re sure?” He murmured.

Her hands slid under his shirt, warm against his skin. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much he’d wanted this, how much he needed her, but he couldn’t find the words. 

She was already pulling him toward the bedroom, her lips trailing fire down his neck as her hands worked at his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

He followed her lead, his lips finding hers again, more urgently now, more desperate. He lifted her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him down the hallway. 

He pushed her back onto the bed and for a moment, everything was still. He hovered over her, he wanted to take his time, wanted to touch and taste every inch of her. 

She sat up, reaching for him and kissed him again, harder, deeper, and that was all he needed.

He tugged the hem of her t-shirt, lifting it over her head and throwing it somewhere into the corner.

She gasped when he kissed down her neck, his hands trailing along her body, memorising every inch of her skin. He needed to be gentle and savor this moment with her, but everything inside him screamed for more. 

And when she pulled him down, urging him closer, he couldn’t deny it anymore. She reached for the button on her own jeans, but he batted her hand away.

“Nope, stay still,” he urged, dragging them down her hips. Everything he hadn’t seen in the darkness of the cramped backseat of the Rover was unravelling before him. The curve of her hips, the birthmark on her thigh. Everything about her was intoxicating. He reached behind to unhook her bra, pulling the straps down her arms.

“Bucky, please,” she sighed. He shook his head.

“Didn’t get to see you last time, sweetheart.”

He kissed a hot path down her body, and hooked his index fingers in the waistband of her underwear, waiting for her to lift up so he could pull them down.

“Keep your hands to yourself, doll." He smirked as she leaned back on her elbows, propped up so she could see him. 

He placed her legs over his shoulders and littered kisses from her knees up her thighs, settling at her center. 

With a final glance up at her, he traced his tongue through her folds before teasing her clit. A flurry of expletives and moans tumbled from her, she lay back again, unable to support herself on shaking arms. Instinctively, she reached down to run her hands through his hair again, he grabbed her hips and pulled her firmly against his mouth. 

"God, Bucky!" Her breath caught in a gasp. He kissed and licked random paths across her sensitive core before slipping two fingers inside her. 

He moaned, pressing his lips against her clit, her hips arched up towards him, a desperate attempt to find more contact. He caught the movement, his hands tightening around her hips as he held her steady.

"Patience, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice low and filled with need. "I want to take my time.”

"Please, Buck -" she whispered hoarsely, her voice desperate and pleading. 

He moved his hands to spread her thighs further open, his touch both gentle and firm. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he moved closer again to her core. 

"Yessss," she sighed, her voice a desperate plea. "Please, there… please," she begged, her body arching towards his mouth.

He laughed softly at her lack of composure, enjoying the way she came undone under his touch. "That's what I like to hear," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Want you to beg for me.”

Her voice cracked on crying out his name once again and  he gave in. Buried his mouth between her thighs, slow at first, just enough pressure to make her hips lift again, greedy for more.  

And God, the sounds she made… they rewired something in him. His hands gripped her hips like he was anchoring himself.  

“Jesus,” he muttered against her skin, “you’re gonna ruin me.” But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. And when her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just so, he moaned against her, like it was his name on her lips that made the world spin.

Her thighs trembled around his head, the taste of her flooded his tongue. He didn’t rush, he didn’t let her slip away from the edge. He held her there, one arm wrapped under her hip, the other hand spread low over her stomach, holding her still while he worked her apart.

The first time, she came fast, too fast, hips bucking, breath catching, his name barely audible through the groan she bit down.

He didn’t stop.

“Bucky -” she gasped, fingers clenching in his hair.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He slid two fingers into her, curling just right, his mouth still soft and relentless. When she came again, it was with a choked cry, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging to his metal wrist.

And still, he didn’t let go.

When he finally rose over her, his mouth slick, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen, she reached up and traced where flesh met metal at his shoulder. He stilled under her touch. Watched her.

“You always this gentle with weapons?” he asked, trying for cocky, but it came out too soft.

She smiled, thumb brushing along the seam. “Only the dangerous ones.”

She was still breathing hard when he kissed her again, slow and deep, like he wanted to memorise her from the inside out. Her thighs were slick against his hips now.

“Bucky, please,” she whispered, and he felt it everywhere.

He lined himself up with a hand around himself, the other gripping her thigh. He paused, just long enough to look at her.

He pushed into her slowly, all the air leaving his lungs in one ragged breath. She was warm and tight around him, her body drawing him in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a low groan. Her nails dug into his back, her head thrown back against the pillow, pure heat and trust beneath him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. “You feel like…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled her hips, grinding against him, and all he could do was move with her, slow, deep, unhurried. He wasn’t trying to chase the end. It was everything he thought he couldn’t have, he wanted to savour every second. Every time she moaned his name, he felt something inside him unravel, and when her hand slid down to the metal of his arm, gripping tight, he nearly came from that alone.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against her skin, lips brushing her cheek, her jaw, her mouth again. “I’m not gonna last.”

He drove into her again, this time harder, the rhythm losing its softness but not the meaning. She clenched around him, a sharp gasp escaping her as her climax surged through her again, this time with him inside her, gripping him, holding him there.

“Fuck -” he choked, the feeling of her coming undone around him undoing everything in him.

His control snapped.

One, two more thrusts and he was gone, spilling into her with a groan. He pressed his forehead to hers, trembling. 

They stayed like that, bodies tangled and damp, hearts hammering in sync, her fingers still gently threading into the short hair at the nape of his neck.

Still in her.

He didn’t pull away. Her legs were still wrapped tight around his waist, heels hooked just above the curve of his ass. 

She shifted slightly beneath him, and it made them both gasp, too much and not enough, all at once.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice wrecked, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You feel… fuck, you feel like everything.”

One of her hands slid up his spine, nails grazing lightly, gently. The other curled at the back of his neck, holding him there like she didn’t want to let go. 

She was still breathing hard when he tucked her into his side, arm curled around her waist, nose pressed to her temple like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the soft sound of their breath, the slow return to normal. Then she shifted, just enough to hook her leg over his hip. His hand moved instinctively to her thigh, thumb brushing the crease where her leg met her hip. 

“You’re not done, are you?” she murmured, teasing, her voice rough and warm.

He huffed a laugh, low in his chest. “Not even close.”

She turned her head to look at him, eyes soft and a little smug. “Super soldier stamina?”

He met her gaze, that crooked smile playing at his lips again. “One of the perks,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over the metal plates of his arm where it rested on her belly, curious and gentle. “Do you… feel it? When I touch this?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet now. “Not like flesh. But I feel you.”

Her touch slowed, thoughtful. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered following the paths of Wakandan gold with her fingertips. The plates and panels seemed to shiver under her touch. He traced the same pattern on her thigh. 

“I don’t know where this is going,” she said softly, “but… I want to find out.”

His hand curled around to grip her ass and pulled her closer. “We will… but first…” 

~~~~

Bucky was up before her. Still in bed, propped on one elbow as he watched her with a lazy, satisfied look that made her bury her face in the pillow to hide her smile.

“You’re staring,” she mumbled.

“You talk in your sleep,” he replied, completely deadpan.

She reached back to swat at him, but he caught her wrist easily, grinning as he kissed the inside of it. “Don’t worry. Still cute.”

She rolled over and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re cocky in the mornings.”

“Mm,” he hummed, nuzzling her neck, “wonder why.”

She shivered and pushed at his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Probably,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Want coffee or something else first?”

“First time in my life I'm not gonna say coffee,” she smiled.

“I wouldn't worry about that, I thought up a house rule while you were sleeping.”

“It's my house?”

“You'll like it,” he told her as she rolled them both over to straddle his hips. “It's simple. Every time we enter a new room, I get to fuck you in it.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, “Yes, I am definitely into that rule.”

He sat up without warning, making her squeak in surprise, and stood with her in his arms. 

“So, coffee?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing. “I don't have many rooms.”

He grinned against her shoulder. “There's my place too, and we’ve only tried the backseat of the car... Better pace yourself.”

Later they curled up on her couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the remains of a shared croissant on the table between them. Her legs were tucked under his, and he hadn’t stopped touching her. A thumb brushing her ankle, his knuckles grazing her knee.

“So,” she said, watching him over the rim of her mug, “what happens now?”

Bucky glanced at her, “well… I’ve got an event tonight, five more campaign stops next week, a town hall on Thursday, and a guy who can’t drive, doesn’t bring snacks and listens to talk radio.”

She snorted. “Tragic.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it's not great… I want you back,” he said. “Not just in the driver’s seat. I mean, unless you want to. You were pretty great at it. But I want… this. You.”

She bit her bottom lip, hiding the smile he already saw anyway. “Even if I challenge you on literally everything?”

“Especially that.” He reached for her hand. 

“Alright then. But driver's radio privileges are back in force.” She warned lightly. 

He groaned. “Even the boy bands playlist?”

“Of course the boy bands playlist! And you’re telling Pepper.”

He leaned over to kiss her, and this time it was slow and certain. No more running, no more second-guessing. Just him and her and a quiet beginning to something that felt a lot like normality. 

FIN

[rafeysafterglow]

he was my best friend, and that was the worst part

pairing: exbestfriend!rafe x pogue!reader summary: your relationship with your longtime bestfriend and now boyfriend, rafe, start to fall apart cw: angst, cold rafe, reader and rafe fighting a/n: im crying this was so hard, mbobhft is my fave from ttpd, i would literally put the whole song if i could. also i know this lyric isnt from the official song, but this version lives in my head rent free

ttpd series masterlist ♡

it all started in second grade when a strange boy tapped your shoulder to hand you a dandelion he found in the playground. ever since then, you two were inseparable. since you were a pogue, his family tried, very hard, to stop the friendship, but stubborn little rafe would not stay away from you. according to him, you two would end up married in the future.

you had always been the quiet one, unassuming and always blended in with the crowd. but, everything changed when senior year started. somehow, you started receiving a lot of male attention. it made you uncomfortable because you never had experience with boys, the only boy you knew was rafe. you complained to rafe that all the attention was making you nervous, and he did not hesitate to warn all the boys in your school that you were unavailable. since then, you were known as “rafe’s girl.”

so, it wasn’t a surprise to anybody when you two started dating for real. everybody already assumed you two were already together, anyways. rafe had always been the only boy you feel comfortable around, and possibly the only person who knows you best. of course, when the news broke out, his family tried to convince him that you were not good enough for him. on the other hand, the pogues warned you about him. that he was reckless, chaos, and completely unhinged. he just never shows that side to you. you didn’t listen to them. you had known rafe for so long, you depended on him. you couldn’t stay away from him, even if you tried.

despite what people say, your relationship was still going strong, even after graduation. he made promises to you that you were his forever, infinity. “i’m gonna make you my wife, i promise ya,” he whispers into your hair after your thousandth date. and you believed him. why wouldn’t you? he has been the only constant presence in your life.

now, six years later, it felt like the universe was trying its very hardest to pull you two apart. six years, and no ring. six years, and with each day passing by, the more distant rafe becomes. the years that passed put a strain onto your relationship. somehow, the romance fizzled down, and now the both of you are just two people in a loveless relationship, with no plans of moving forward. everybody around you had built a life for themselves, marriage and children. it would be too soon before you would be invited to another wedding.

you tried very hard to hang on. you didn’t want this to end. before everything started going downhill, you two had the most loving, romantic relationship. everyone at that point had come around to you two. somewhere along the line, something changed. everyday, you walk around in eggshells around him, afraid, that the smallest mistake can break this whole thing apart.

little did you know, rafe was struggling with the voices inside his head. what if everybody was right? a kook is not supposed to marry a pogue.

he thought he was better than this, better than listening to the people around him. but he was wrong. as the years pass, he witnessed his kook friends go off and marry another kook. he felt like an outsider, a pretend kook. he was raised to believe that the pogues are the enemy, and he was starting to accept that.

since that realization, he distanced himself from you. in his head, he was giving you the easy out by ignoring you. at least, you were his childhood best friend, he thought he was honoring you by not leaving.

it was the obvious for the two of you that this relationship was nearing the end. it was only a matter of time before one of you, most likely you, pull the trigger. and that’s exactly what you decided to do when you realized you couldn’t waste your 20s stuck in a constant cycle.

that realization led you both here, sitting opposite each other in the kitchen island. the kitchen which you two designed, together, inside the house that you two share. the walls of the kitchen is adorned with photographs of you both throughout the years.

“i think this has been a long time coming. you know where this is going, rafe, i don’t think i can do this anymore,” you begin.

he stayed quiet, at first. then, he nodded, “i understand.”

you couldn’t even look at him. he wasn’t even going to fight for you? after everything you two has been through? you couldn’t stop yourself from snapping, “you understand? that’s it? you’re not even gonna fight this? i knew you were an asshole, but i never took you for a coward too, rafe.”

“look, what do you even want me to say? you said it yourself, it’s been a long time coming,” he sighs out.

“i want you to fight for me, rafe,” you say, “you told me you were going to ‘marry me,’ you promised!” he stayed silent, which allowed you to continue, “after everything, growing up together, you’re just giving up?”

“i don’t think this is gonna work. i just... don’t think we’re meant to be. the connection is not there anymore,” he whispers, not even having the decency to look you in the eye.

something in you snapped. you stood up and bursted out, “that’s something you say in the beginning of the relationship, rafe, not six years down the line!”

he doesn’t seem taken aback by your screaming. but nonetheless, he stays calm, “i’m sorry, really, i am. i.. just can’t do this. i can’t marry you.”

the heartbreak on your face is evident. you slowly sat back onto your chair, “get out.”

as you watched him walk out the front door, you just realized, not only did you lose your boyfriend, you also lost your bestfriend.

[endless-ineffabilities]

So High School (1/2)

Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : the one wherein the reader and Bucky navigate the initial stages of falling in love, and well, it feels a whole lot like high school <3

themes : friends to lovers, slight jealousy, Bucky and the reader are Avengers, everyone is alive!

word count : 3k ▪︎ masterlist ▪︎ part two

a/n : inspired by Taylor Swift's So High School - that song makes me so fuckin happy I can't even begin to explain it... This fic is all giddy and warm, kind of like when you have a crush, playfulness and jealousy abound 💙

You are almost certain that you left your beloved leather jacket back on the quinjet.

The mission made you exhausted, like they always do, and you remember taking your jacket off and settling in for a nap on the ride back to the Avengers compound.

"FRIDAY, is the quinjet still at base level?" you ask aloud to the compound's omnipresent AI overseer.

She chimes in straight away, "Yes, the quinjet is undergoing routine checks downstairs."

"Well," you say to yourself, "I could use the walk."

FRIDAY speaks again, unprompted, "There is one James Buchanan Barnes heading to your door right now."

Bucky? "Oh, right now?"

"Yes, he'll be knocking in 3... 2... 1..."

And sure enough, he does.

You open the door to his sheepish, easy smile. FRIDAY would definitely be picking up on your vitals, noting your clammy hands and jumping heartbeat.

You desperately hope that she would shut up about it, otherwise you might just literally throw hands with Tony.

"Hi," he greets. Just that - just 'hi' - and he has you blushing like a schoolgirl. Damn it.

"Hey," you reply. Glancing down, you realise that he has just what you're looking for.

The jacket. You mean your jacket. Mind out of the gutter, you kick yourself internally.

"I, uh, think you left this back at the - "

" - the quinjet."

"Right, and I, well - " he stammers, and you don't understand why, when you're clearly the nervous one here.

"You're... here to give it back to me," you help him out, smiling.

"Yeah," he nods, smiling back at you. Leaning against your doorframe, he stays right in place, and you suddenly feel conscious by the way he's just looking at you.

"Uhm, Bucky?" you break the silence after a while, anxiously laughing.

"Yeah, doll?"

"My jacket?" you hold out your hand expectantly.

"Oh, here," he quickly hands it over to you, and you thank him. But he stays, rubbing the back of his neck, brows furrowed in thought. "Listen, I was wondering if - "

"There you two are!" Sam's booming voice startles you, and you spot him walking down the hall. "Debriefing time, kids, come on."

"Oh, right," you groan, tossing your jacket somewhere behind you. Shutting your door, you turn to Bucky, "Sorry, Buck, can it wait?"

"Can what wait?" Sam butts in, ears like a bat. He nudges Bucky with his shoulder, and you swear you see Bucky glare at him, while blushing all the while.

"Nothing," he mumbles and the three of you make your way towards the elevators. When Sam becomes distracted by some new panelling Tony installed recently, you catch Bucky's eye, and shrug as if to say - you can tell me later.

He simply nods. When the doors open, you feel his hand on the small of your back, guiding you in. Just for the briefest of moments, but it lingers in your mind.

So much so, that Tony tosses a pencil at you during debriefing when you're spaced out and didn't answer his question.

"Daydreaming, princess?" Tony smirks.

"Leave her alone, Tony," Steve comes to your rescue, ever the considerate leader. "She's tired, just like the rest of us."

"Yeah, sure," Tony shrugs. "Or maybe Bionic Man over there is distracting her with all the staring he does."

"Shut up, Tony," Natasha protests, catching your surprised look.

"I'm not staring," you hear Bucky say.

"Oh, man, you stare all the time. At everything," Sam counters. "Especially at her."

"No. I don't."

"Yes, you do. Doesn't he, Steve?" Sam laughs, twisting around to share the joke with Steve, who just fondly shakes his head, patting Bucky on the shoulder.

Your mouth feels dry, face flushed from the suggestive bickering partially at your expense, and when you ask, "Alright, alright, what was your question, Tony?"

Tony cheekily smirks, and says, "Quick, Barnes, look away."

"Oh, god," you tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling.

It's a collective, "Tony!" that followed, likely from Steve and Nat. Possibly Bruce, too.

Tony asks you again, something about the safety measures in place for the civilians left behind.

When you answer his question, you can't help but feel a certain pair of blue eyes looking at you.

But that means nothing, right? Bucky's just listening to whatever you have to say. The mission had been important, after all.

Five minutes later, in the middle of Bruce's explanation, you feel it again.

So you look to the side, only slightly, catching Bucky quickly turning to draw his attention back at Bruce.

Oh.

"What are you smirking at me for?" you approach Natasha, while tightening your hand wraps. Some of the Avengers have convened for routine combat practice. You've been looking forward to it, mostly being cooped up in the two weeks after the recent mission.

Natasha sports her signature knowing look when she says, "You're paired with Barnes today, milochka moya."

"Bucky? And?" you clear your throat, and you clock Bucky and Sam entering the gym in your periphery. Is it just you or did your voice just crack? No, it couldn't have.

There's no reason to be nervous, no reason at all.

Sure, he'll get all sweaty and he'll have to get his hands on you and he'll get close... very close... pressed against...

"I see I've lost you already," Natasha is quick to note. "And we haven't even started yet."

Wanda joins you, greeting with, "Did you know you'll be paired with Barnes today?"

Oh my god. You exclaim, "Why is everyone making a big deal out of it?"

"Because," is all Wanda responds with.

"Thanks, Wanda," you nod sarcastically. "Thank you both. Can we just get this over with?"

"Guys?" you call out loudly, addressing everyone in the room.

"Yes, everyone. It is best if we start," Vision says, him being the supervisor for training today. Leave it to an all-knowing entity to be well-versed in every fighting art in existence.

He reads off the combat pairings for the day, and their assigned fighting style.

Clint and Nat, krav maga.

Wanda and Sam, aikido. Though to be fair, she doesn't really need to use her fists should it come to that. Wanda's powers were beyond your comprehension. This is mostly just a fun little exercise for her.

And finally, Vision says your name followed by Bucky's, with the fighting style of jiu-jitsu.

That damned close-contact sport. You're well-trained in it, thanks to your job, but it involves a lot of straddling and the opponent heavily breathing down on your face. It wasn't exactly your first choice out there in the field.

But here? Well, it seems like you don't really have a choice.

Well, you do. And would you really choose otherwise?

Close contact with Bucky?

"Hey, doll," he walks right over, all prepped and ready. Clad in a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants. One look at him and you know you're not likely to survive this training session.

"You ready to get your ass kicked?" you cheekily say, as you to walk over to your designated area of the room with him right on your tail.

He smiles, mumbling something which sounded like, " - let you do anything you want to me."

"I'm sorry?" you blurt out, occupying yourself with the control panel for the instructional hologram.

"Nothing," he bites his lip. Oh, he just knows you heard him.

"Okay, so - " The hologram starts right up, showing faceless figures go through a standard combat routine. Ankle sweep. Closed guard. Arm bar. Back and forth until someone taps out. Then all over again.

"Fun," you remark, moving to circle him on the mat. "Give it your best shot, Barnes."

He makes the first move, trying to sweep your leg with his own and failing. You're too quick for that. As long as you don't get sidetracked by that shit-eating smirk on his face, you'll be just fine.

He rushes at you again, but you jump out of the way. You manage you hook your leg around his torso, and use your whole weight to force him down on the mat.

You end up with one knee pressed to his chest, your forearm applying the slighest pressure on his throat. It's an easy position to counter, and he should be propelling you off of him already. Maneuvering your arm out of the way. Something. Anything.

But the man just stares.

You'll be damned, but Sam was right.

"Bucky, come on," you snap.

Instead of a countermove, he hits you with something more disarming. "You look good up there," he says.

"What?"

"I like the view," he only adds, speeding up the rush of warmth to your face.

Your body goes slack, and your pressure on his neck eases. You struggle to think of something nonchalant, something blasé to say in turn, when he takes advantage of the moment and flips the two of you over.

He ends up on top of you, legs caging you in, hands gripping your wrists by the sides of the face.

"Shit," you curse when you realise what just happened. "Well played."

"Thanks," he responds. "I meant it though, you do look pretty. Like always."

"Another trick, Buck?" You attempt to play it cool. Maybe you can play off the obvious flush on your face as physical exertion. Not whatever this is. Not because of him.

He only smiles, getting back on his feet and extending a hand out to you.

"Not a trick," he says, as you both get ready for the next round.

"I'd say I'm flattered, if you weren't trying to beat me in hand-to-hand combat."

"Doll, I think it's safe to say that you won already," he says, his gaze softening.

What is he on about? "Uhh, no, that was barely anything. We're supposed to keep going."

His brows furrow, though his smile stays in place, albeit a bit strained. "That's not what I meant," he exhales, reaching forward to attempt a restricting hold.

His expression turns serious then, steely gaze boring into you, analyzing your every move. He lunges at you, and you block him. But he tries again and again, each move more precise and forceful.

He steps back to take a breath, and you use the opportunity to sweep his ankle, but he sees it coming. In a flash, he pulls your arm and twists you around so that your back is pressed to his chest. You wrangle against him, making him fall on his back, but he keeps his hold on you.

His metal arm encases your torso with your arms pinned to your sides, and his legs wrap around yours. Air rushes out of you in shaky pants, and you move your head to the side, the only part of you still mobile.

And he's right there, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. The tension is almost too much to bear, because you feel all of him - the solid planes of his torso, the coarseness of his facial hair growing out - and for the love of all things sacred, you hope you don't accidentally wriggle your ass against his crotch.

Bucky wishes so too. He would never be able to live that down, especially if one of the others would come around and notice.

"Do you yield?" His voice is rough, commanding against your ear. Even though it's nothing more than an assertive whisper, a shiver runs through your body.

"Y-yes," you muster, "I yield."

He keeps his hold on you a moment longer, and before you can ask him if something's wrong, and why he's not letting you go yet, he releases you.

And it doesn't bring you relief, surprisingly. Almost as if you just want to go right back into his embrace.

As you two get back on your feet, Vision's sudden appearance almost makes you keel over, startling the living daylights out of you.

"That was good," Vision comments.

"What the - Vis!" you place a hand on your chest to calm down. "Maybe announce yourself when you show up please!"

"But I've been standing here for approximately 37 seconds," he expertly says.

"Okay, well - "

"You both did not notice me," he goes on, matter-of factly. "Perhaps it might have something to do with your sheer focus on one another - "

"Okay, Vision, thank you," you attempt to intervene, to no avail.

" - which is good. In combat, you do need to stay hypervigilant. Although, might I comment, that the sudden increase in arousal hormones is not really conducive to battle - "

"Vision!" you and Bucky exclaim in unison.

Thankfully, Wanda notices and comes to your rescue, "O-kay, Vis, why don't you come and check mine and Sam's progress, hmm?"

"Of course," Vision complies immediately and they walk away hand in hand. Must have something to do with his undying penchant for Wanda.

Wanda throws you an apologetic shrug, before her eyes get drawn downward to something else near you, and she has to bite her lip to hold back a giggle.

You feel Bucky's hand take hold of your waist, ever so gentle, and everything else is quickly forgotten.

"You okay?" he asks, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

He stands close, and you catch a hint of his scent, sandalwood and mint, layered beneath a musk that can only be undeniably Bucky.

You hum in affirmation. Shaking you head, you respond with, "Vision was just being... Vision. Can never keep his observations to himself." His thumb moves, caressing lightly at your waist, the movement seemingly instinctive for him.

"Yeah, well," he smiles to himself, before reaching up and tucking back a stray lock of hair from your face, "the thing about that droid is... he doesn't lie."

He steps back, rolling his shoulders, getting ready for another bout of combat. As if he didn't have you subdued already.

"He wasn't lying about me, at least," he smirks, before getting into a stance and putting his arms up.

Feeling brave, because there's no way you're going to come out of this interaction as the only one flustered, you respond with, "He wasn't lying about me, neither."

Bucky doesn't expect that, used to being the suave and cockier one out of this dynamic. His fighting stance loosens, and he barely croaks, "What?"

Gotcha.

It doesn't take long for you to sweep him off his feet.

When you're left straddling him once more, you hit him back with, "I like the view."

He bites his lip, and then laughs, flushed and impressed.

Still on the ground, staring up at you, he decisively ends the match, the final blow too much for you to bear. Because he settles for saying, "Still doesn't beat my view, beautiful."

After more than an hour of fidgeting around your room, clothes strewn everywhere and music blasted to calm you down, you were finally ready.

Bucky had asked you what you were doing for the weekend, and you said you didn't have anything in mind, but asked him if he wanted to watch a movie in the common lounge with you.

He eagerly agreed, before you two were interrupted by Sam mentioning something about new upgrades to Red Wing.

So you didn't get to clarify what the nature of the plan was. Likely it was just another hangout. It wouldn't be the first time you and Bucky watched a movie together, went on excursions on your motorbikes, or headed out to grab some sushi.

Save for Natasha and Wanda, he's the one you spend the most time with.

And none of those times ever was a date.

But you feel nervous as you walk down the hallway. You've been nervous all the while you spent getting ready, unable to choose the right top, and eventually settling for a V-neck cobalt blue shirt that he once said he liked on you.

You're nervous because tonight could be it. You've taken it upon yourself to finally ask him.

Ask him what exactly? Whether he likes you as someone more than a friend? Whether there is a reason to all that staring that he does?

Whether he wants to kiss you as badly as you want to kiss him?

So, something along those lines.

He's standing right around the entrance to the common lounge, and you immediately think at how sweet it is that he's waiting for you.

Until he broke the news.

"Doll, I - " Bucky says, right after you come into view. "Oh, wow, you look great."

Smiling widely, you look down like it was nothing, like you didn't just spend the last hour worrying. "Thanks, Buck."

"Uhh, I have something to tell you, actually. You remember Yori? The man from - "

"Of course I remember him," you nod, now confused at what he's getting onto.

"Yeah," he hesitates, not sure he wants to speak further. All he wants is to spend the night curled up in the lounge with you, but all that is gone when he continues, "he kind of set me up on a date."

"A date?" your stomach sinks.

"With Leah. You know Leah? The girl who works at the restaurant that we go to sometimes with Yori?"

"Yeah," you shrug and look away, hoping your expression doesn't give away too much, "I know who she is. So you have a date, huh?"

"Tonight," he confirms. "I didn't... didn't even ask her, really. But last night at dinner, Yori asked and she heard and said yes - "

"She's really lovely. This is good, Buck."

"Yes, but we made plans, and I didn't want to - "

"No, don't worry about it." you put your palms up, as if to show him that you take the situation lightly. It was no problem, after all. He has to go on this date. You can watch movies together any time.

"Doll," he sighs. "I was actually thinking that, since we had plans already, you could come with me? I'm sure she would understand - "

"Bucky," you laugh dryly, "I am not crashing your date."

"But - "

"No buts," you have to affirm. "You have a date, so it has to be just you and her."

He purses his lips, nodding. He tries to gauge your expression, whether you're pissed at him or anything, but he's only met with a reassuring smile.

"What time is your date?" you ask.

"In about 40 minutes," he replies, giving you a good once-over again, taking you in fully. You really looked good, and he wants nothing more than to just stare at you the whole damn night. If only he wasn't so polite. If only he had the guts to just turn Leah down.

His face falls when you say, "I guess you better go," with a hint of enthusiasm, not knowing that it's your attempt at putting on a brave face.

"What will you do?" he asks.

"I don't know," you shrug. "I'm sure I'll find something. The others are mostly around so - "

"Hey!" Steve rounds up the corner, still clad in his riding jacket, having returned from outdoors.

"Going somewhere, you two?" Steve asks, his signature congenial smile in place.

"Not me," you respond, smiling back. "But Bucky here has a date actually."

"A date?" Steve says, taken aback. Did Bucky not tell him about this? He looks between the two of you, trying to put things into place, "Do you mean - ?" He trails off, gesturing at you.

"No!" A nervous laugh bubbles out of you. Of course, not with you. You wish.

"Really?" Steve makes a face, like the thought of Bucky going on a date with someone else was ridiculous, but he quickly collects himself. It's none of his business, for now. But he'll surely grill his bestfriend on it later.

"Don't you have to leave, Buck?" you turn to him. "You don't want to keep Leah waiting."

"Yeah, I suppose I should. I'll, uh, talk to you later, okay?" He says, taking a few measured steps back. Not wanting to turn away, and have you out of his sight.

"Sure," you smile, but it's weak and you know it is. Watching him walk away, you can no longer hide the disappointment you feel.

Bucky is still within earshot when you turn to Steve and innocently ask, "Are you busy, Steve? Care to watch a movie in the lounge?" Steve of course agrees, and lets his arm drape around you.

Bucky knows that you and Steve are just friends. Steve has gotten a hint of how he feels about you, and far be it from him to take his friend's girl.

But it doesn't quell that sinking feeling, when he looks back. He sees you smiling up at Steve, as the two of you disappear into the lounge.

It's going to be a long night.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

The Way I Loved You

Luke Castellan x demeter!Reader

Summary: "But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain / And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name / So in love that you act insane"

Warnings: angst, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, fluff ending

Wordcount: 3.3K

Masterlist

A/N A. Yes, it's another Taylor Swift songfic and B. Four fics in five days, I've been cooking

And you were wild and crazy / Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated

Ever since Y/N met Luke Castellan, he drove her insane. When they were kids, 13 and 14 respectively, they hated each other. She hated the way he came in and immediately started bossing the campers around. Despite being so young she was the counselor for the Demeter cabin. Her big sister—her only sibling at the time—had tragically died on her way to camp that summer. But instead of mourning the always kind and radiant daughter of Demeter, they mourned the daughter of Zeus no one had ever met. And seeing the way the new boy seemed to soak up the attention made her hate him.

By the time she was 15 they still hated each other but he was all she had. They had both been at camp so long, and lost so many of their siblings and friends, both could hardly remember life without the other. But they still argued like children. So whenever they had bickered so much that Chiron or Mr. D got tired of it, they’d send them to do a chore together. They spent long hours cleaning the showers, stables, infirmary, doing practically every undesirable chore together that they finally started to talk.

Luke got to know her and understand why she hated him. And she had learned about his life and gained sympathy for him.

Soon enough those talks became makeout sessions. They stopped talking but at least they couldn’t fight if their lips were occupied. It was like they were addicted to each other.

Eventually they slid into dating. When they weren’t talking it was great. But someone would inevitably say or do something that made the other mad.

~

“Why were you flirting with him?” Luke demanded, slamming the door of the Demeter cabin.

“What are you talking about? I was training him. You know? Doing my job!”

“It wasn’t just training and you know it.”

“Gods you’re so insecure and possessive.”

“You’re the one who begged me to commit to you. Of course I’m gonna worry about my fucking girlfriend.”

“I did not beg you.”

“Yes you did. You’re the insecure one. You just needed to put a label on it and screw everything up.”

~

“You were supposed to meet me by the lake an hour ago!” Y/N stormed into the room.

“Oh crap. I’m so sorry babe,” he apologized. Trying to kiss her and make it go away.

“You do this all the time. I’m never a priority to you!”

“You’re literally my girlfriend. I don’t know what else you want.”

“I’m only your girlfriend because you didn’t want me to date anyone else!”

~

“Why are you packing?” Luke asked.

“You know my cousin who goes to Syracuse? She invited me up for the weekend.”

“So what? You can go party with frat guys?”

“No, so I can party with girls,” she tried to lighten the mood.

But Luke wasn’t consoled.“I don’t want you going to some college and getting drunk.”

“Why?”

“Because so many things can happen. You could get drugged and taken advantage of. You could get attacked. What are you gonna do if a cyclops sniffs you out but you’re too drunk to realize?”

“You’re not actually worried about that you just don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you. It’s them I don’t trust.”

“It takes two to tango.”

“Again, you could get roofied.”

“Urgh Luke you’re not listening to me!”

~

They had plenty of arguments. So much so that the Hermes and Demeter campers had a silent agreement to go to each other’s cabins whenever their counselors started arguing.

But toxic relationships can’t go on forever.

It was Y/N’s birthday. She was turning 18. Collectively Camp Half-Blood made a big deal about birthdays considering that each one literally signified a triumph over death. But Luke couldn’t even be bothered to spend the day with her. When she woke up in his bed, he was already up and putting on his training gear. “‘Morning,” she greeted softly. She tried not to seem too excited about her birthday but all she wanted in that moment was for him to say “happy birthday.”

“Hey,” he smiled. “I'm gonna go train with some of the other campers. The new kids have been excited to watch me fight so…” he said smugly, already halfway out the door. “Just uh make the bed when you leave? Thanks.”

She was left disappointed. Like she always was except for when they were together but not talking.

But almost as soon as she stepped outside she was greeted with several wishes for a good birthday. She nearly cried when she got back to her cabin and found her bunk decorated, small gifts left on her bed from her friends and siblings.

By lunch practically the whole camp had wished her a happy birthday and she was feeling a bit better. She was reading a book she got as a gift, sitting alone at the Demeter table while she ate. Laughter invaded the dining pavilion and she watched as Luke entered along with the campers he had been training. He spotted her, coming over to her table but she didn’t even look up at him.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked. No response. “Why are you mad?” Still no response. After a few beats of silence he tried to change the subject. “So what are you reading?” She just held the book up so he could read the title. “Ah. Where’d you get that?”

By now the other campers had grabbed their food and were walking past the Demeter table. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” they each wished as they passed by. She smiled up at each of them as they passed. She only spared a glance at Luke to witness the expression on his face.

“Are-are you mad because you think I forgot your birthday? Of course I didn’t forget your birthday, babe. I’m just uh… saving my surprise for after dinner.”

“Sure,” was all she said, flipping the page.

“No, no,” Luke insisted, coming around to the other side of the table. He straddled the bench, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her close. As he did so he pressed a kiss against her cheek because she was still focused on her book. “You’re gonna love your gift. I swear.”

Luke spent the rest of the afternoon running around trying to put together a surprise. He got Mr. D to summon a small cake. Fortunately Mr. D was the one person in camp that didn’t know or care that it was Y/N’s birthday so he didn’t ask questions. As for the gift, Luke was lost. Anything in the camp store she’d immediately be able to tell wasn’t something he had thought about and anything he already owned she’d recognize as his.

So he went out to the meadow, picking flowers. She was the daughter of Demeter, of course she liked flowers.

So by the time dinner finished, Luke was pretty proud of what he had pieced together despite his limited resources. After everyone had left the dining pavilion, he brought Y/N to the docks where he proudly displayed his hard work. Except when he handed her the flowers, she looked disappointed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I know you forgot my birthday. That’s fine. Whatever,” she sniffed passive aggressively. “But you gave me probably the most cop out gift you could think of.”

“What do you mean? You love flowers.”

By now the tears were freely flowing from her eyes. “You know I hate cut flowers because they just die. You could have dug a few up, preserved their roots and repotted them.”

“Okay fine, I’ll plant them.”

But she shook her head. “No, it’s too late.”

“Then I’ll get new flowers.”

“No, not about flowers. It’s too late for us.”

His heart sunk. “What?”

“Luke, I think we should break up.”

“Over a damn gift? Y/N, I’m sorry. I know I dropped the ball but the wrong gift isn’t something you break up over.”

“It’s not about the gift!” she cried. “Luke, we don’t know each other. We’re strangers who are together because it’s convenient. The gift just proves you only know the basics. We’ve been together for two years. Known each other for five. You should know I don’t like cut flowers.”

“So we need to reconnect? We can work through this. Please Y/N, don’t do anything rash.”

She just shook her head again. “You’re not getting it. It’s not even just that we don’t know each other. We can’t talk for more than five minutes before fighting. We’re toxic, Luke.”

“But we’re…”

“Just because we’re all each other has doesn’t mean we’re good together.”

“Y/N, don’t do this. Please.” By now even Luke had a few tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Luke. But this is better for both of us.” With that, she walked away from him for the last time.

~~

He can't see the smile I'm faking / And my heart's not breaking / 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all

Getting over Luke was the hardest thing she ever had to do. She spent several days crying to her younger sister, Katie. She tried to help her sister but the younger girl couldn’t relate, making Y/N just feel more alone. But then a new Athena camper joined and things got better.

Chiron had basically assigned Y/N to show Ben the ropes around camp. He felt bad for the poor girl. No one liked watching her or Luke sulk around camp.

“Ben, I’d like you to meet Y/N. She’s one of our most senior campers and counselor of the Demeter cabin.”

She smiled at the new boy. “Hi. Do you know what cabin you’ll be in yet?”

“Yeah, uh Athena. She claimed me when the satyrs found me,” he answered, already finding himself interested. Chiron tried to hide his smirk realizing the boy’s quickly growing feelings.

“Well you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Y/N,” Chiron interrupted, “why don’t you show Ben around? Let him know how we do things around here.”

“Uh, sure. C’mon I’ll give you a tour.” As they went around camp, Ben asked her all sorts of things about herself. Favorite color, favorite flower, who her friends were, what they were like, what she liked to eat and more. All the things Luke should have known.

As they kept going through camp, Ben knew he was already falling for her. And not just because Chiron had talked her up so much as they had approached the daughter of Demeter. He thought she was pretty and smart. And she was so kind to him. Plus, everyone around camp seemed to love her.

Ben’s very apparent interest was much to the chagrin of Luke. He had spent the first couple days of his breakup pretending like everything was alright. An act that proved very unpopular with the rest of camp. But the lonely nights got to him and his siblings could hear quiet sobs and sniffles in the night. But almost as soon as he started showing remorse, this new guy showed up and all of a sudden there was a buzz around camp about the new guy who would replace him.

The excited gossip about his ex and the new boy had literally started from day one. He saw them going through the camp tour a few times that day. After all, Camp Half-Blood is big. And Luke just happens to have to go to the same areas his ex does at the same time. But every time he spotted them he couldn’t help but glare at the new Athena cabin member. Every time he sent her a smile or made her laugh, Luke curled his fist impossibly tighter. His fists became almost perpetually white as the blossoming romance grew over time.

As for Y/N, she was finally healing. Not happy, but healing and Ben was helping with that as time went on and they got closer. He was perfect. Sweet, smart, a gentleman. But he wasn’t Luke.

They spent many nights getting to know each other. He knew her birthday, all her favorites, and made an effort with all her friends. Hell he even made an effort with Luke—an effort the Hermes boy did not appreciate—because he knew Luke was still important to Y/N. When he asked her out he did so with a pot of her favorite flowers which he had Argus help him get.

He knocked on the door of the Demeter cabin which was opened by Katie. “Hey Katie,” Ben greeted Y/N’s favorite younger sister. “Is Y/N home?”

“Yeah, she is.” The young girl called for her and soon enough the object of Ben’s affection was at the door.

“Hey Ben. What’s up?” she asked.

“I just wanted to give you this,” he smiled, handing her the beautifully potted flower. “I know I’m no demigod child of the plant goddess but…”

“No it’s great,” she smiled at him. But her heart was sinking. It wasn’t because of the gift, the gift was perfect actually. But if Luke had been the one to give it to her, her heart would be soaring. “Thank you.”

“And I just wanted to ask you if you uh- wanted to have dinner with me tonight?” he nervously asked.

“Oh well I’d love to,” she smiled. “But uh we can’t table hop at dinner. It’s against the rules,” she laughed nervously, hoping that would be enough to dissuade him.

“That’s not a problem. I got permission from Chiron to let us have dinner together. We just have to be out of the dining pavilion before everyone else gets there at 7.”

Dread kept filling her. She was in too deep now. And he had asked Chiron, she couldn’t just shoot him down. “Well then I’ll see you at 6 then?”

The biggest smile broke over his face. “See you then.”

The entire time at dinner, Y/N wanted to cry. This is not what she wanted. Ben was not what she wanted. But she kept forcing a happy face, hoping that if she could convince Ben she liked him too, she could convince herself.

When he brought her out to the meadow and kissed her, she wanted to dig herself into the ground and die. It was a sweet kiss but it just felt wrong… like there was no chemistry or passion between them.

She was so frustrated with herself. As she looked into Ben’s eyes she wondered why she couldn’t just love him back. Here was this incredibly caring guy who was more than willing to give her everything she was asking for but she just didn’t feel anything.

~~

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

For Luke, seeing Y/N with Ben made a weird dread fill his chest. To him it wasn’t fair that she just got to move on when she was the one that broke up with him. She should be begging for him back right now. And he hated to admit it but he’d take her back in a heartbeat right now.

So when he found her crying on the beach late one night, he didn’t know what to think. But she was still all he had so he approached. “Hey,” he tried to catch her attention gently.

She looked up at him, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes. “Oh, hey Luke,” she tried to play off her tears. “What are you doing here?”

“Came here to think and then I saw you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” She gave a strained smile that did nothing to hide the puffiness of her eyes or blotchy skin.

It pained Luke to see her like this. Even more so when he knew he was the cause of her tears at one point. “Are you sure?” he asked, sitting next to her but maintaining her space. “We can talk. I promise it’ll just be a friendly conversation.”

She let out the weakest laugh he had ever heard. “I’m fine. You wouldn’t wanna hear about it anyway,” she dismissed even though Luke was the only person she wanted to talk to. He was the only person who could maybe possibly understand. Her siblings were too young and the only other camper their age was Ben.

“Try me,” Luke challenged, scooting the slightest bit closer.

She looked at him for a while before reluctantly speaking. “It’s Ben. I just… he’s such a great guy. He’s nice, and sweet, and such a gentleman but he’s just not…”

“Just not what?” Luke asked a little eagerly. From a distance she had looked blissfully happy and everyone spoke about how well Ben treated her. But hearing that his ex-girlfriend had a problem with the guy she was dating? Luke was a little too eager to hear about that.

“He’s not you!” She finally admitted. She didn’t miss the way Luke seemed to brighten. “He does nice things for me and he’s so sweet and into me but I’m just feeling nothing at all. It’s like there’s no passion between us.”

“Well you were right. We were toxic but we also had a lot of passion,” Luke tried to lighten the mood. “Look, I don’t mean to sweep in on your most vulnerable moment but I’ve been thinking since the breakup and this is the first time you’ve even looked at me so. I know I treated you like shit and was so possessive. I’m ready to actually commit to you and be your boyfriend instead of just slipping into it because we were already making out when we were younger. I want to give you everything the old me couldn’t or wouldn’t because watching you slip through my fingers was the most painful thing I've ever done. Besides, with more effort I think we could make this work because you don’t fight like we did unless you’re in love. People who don’t love each other just let it fade. They don’t fight.”

She looked like she was in severe pain. “Gods, why couldn’t you have said this three months ago?” Her lips were immediately on his. Luke was a little taken aback but kissed her back, glad to have her in his arms once again.

A few moments later they were promising each other eternity with all the passion in the world. “Forever?” he asked through labored breaths, his fingers intertwined with her hair.

“Forever,” she agreed.

The next day Luke was waiting anxiously in the Hermes cabin. Y/N was ending things with Ben but he was still nervous. What if she decided she wanted to stick with the safer option? He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it if she went back to him after last night.

His thoughts were only quieted when the door opened and he found her standing there. He stood up anxiously but hesitated, still slightly wary that she’d tell him she changed her mind. But she walked towards him, immediately falling into his arms. “Forever?” he asked.

“Forever,” she agreed.

Relieved, Luke pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Forever,” he confirmed for himself.

Masterlist

[northopalshore]

I bring change wherever I g࿐

placements in the natal chart

⚰️ Often times people with these placements have a substantial impact in whatever field or area of life they are in ; which includes their mundane life as well. As the title suggests, they leave an mark wherever they go, whether by paving ways, embodying hope or death itself.

⚚ Pluto in the 10th House

( what goes around comes around, & when the time comes all eyes are on you)

⚚ Mars in the 10th House

(If it's not you, then it's not anyone. Secretly, you rule the world. )

⚚ Neptune in the 1st House

( people copy you the moment you step foot in the building)

⚚ Neptune in the 10th House

( people will drown through your art and it's dark authenticity)

⚚ Sun & North Node in the 10th House

( you pave the way! Like a shimmering firey beacon on a starless night)

⚚ Aquarius North Node

( you are change; a believer of new directions)

⚚ Uranus in the 10th House

( when all hope is lost, an oddball rises to the surface to bring everyone afloat)

⚚ Uranus conjunct Mercury

( your words stick to those around you in a very compelling way)

Ex: Taylor Swift has Uranus conjunct Mercury in the 2nd House (Capricorn).

⚚ Part of Fortune at °22 degrees

(luckiest person alive, everything falls into your lap but at what cost?)

Ex: Brigitte Bardot has POF at °22 in Leo in her 8th house. She's often regarded as the hottest sex symbol of the 50s & 60s and had tumultuous love affairs with more than 100 men (& women) though she has her many shares of spirals as well. (Though her Lilith, Mars & Pluto being in the 8th is also a large contributor to that part of her life)

⚚ Sun conjunct Pluto

( every soul you past is transformed through your perspective; you are death XIII itself, nothing gets past your gaze)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

⚚ Pluto conjunct Part of Fortune

( you are the /last/ hope for those around you, the saving grace)

⚚ Mars conjunct Pluto

(You yourself are a driving force towards change)

⚚ Venus at °22 degrees

(your love life/fashion or beauty is very significant)

Ex: Audrey Hepburn has Venus in the 1st house at °22. Priscilla Presley has Venus in the 3rd house (Aries) at °22.

⚚ Mars at °22 degrees

( there is no summit without the climb, you have a very strong will and dedication to your beliefs; the rebel with a cause)

⚚ Pluto at °22 degrees

(your effect is quite tremendous, perhaps you feel like trouble always has a way to find you & death and rebirth is second to breathing throughout your life)

⚚ Mercury or Neptune at °22

(your writing & creativity is very significant, it has a special feel to it that cannot be emulated)

⚚ Uranus at °22

(you are literally a wrecking ball sent to earth on a spaceship)

⚚ Lilith at °22 degrees

(Your dark feminity, confidence, sexual nature or promiscuity is significant )

Ex: Elizabeth Taylor has Lilith at °22 which conjuncts Venus in Aries

Thank you for reading ♡

@northopalshore

@northopalshore natal influential indicators 2025 all right reserved.

[formulaaddict14]

Right where you left me

Charles Leclerc x Reader ( angst )

warnings : lots of angst, false hope and not moving on

summary : You were preparing for a proposal dinner

words : 755

author note : I literally cannot listen to this song it makes me violently sob and English isn’t my first language!

//////////////////// //////////////////// //////////////////// //////////////////// //////////////////// ////////////////////

Everything was good, too good even. Charles was winning and they were in the fight for the constructors, she was getting promotions left and right in aerospace engineering at just 23, they even adopted a dog together.

An adorable apartment, decorated with both of their interests, with a sim racing room as well of course. A small balcony garden accompanied with herbs and vegetables she’d put her life into, that she showed off proudly.

They walked hand in hand downstairs, the stairs creaked as they stepped. It smelled of fresh pizza and basil, two scents she’d fallen in love with.

The two of them sat down at a table, it was a rustic basement pizza diner with cozy yellowish lighting. Charles smiled softly as he pulled out his menu, but he had been acting weird recently.

Whenever she wanted to google something on his phone, he’d refuse, saying he was preparing for a surprise. Or how he would spend days away, saying that you’d find out sooner than later.

She already had an idea on what he’d ask or do. She even told your friends, saying that he was going to propose. It wasn’t that surprising as she had been dating Charles for over 5 years already.

She had gotten her nails and hair done, even a new floral dress. Tonight will be the night, won’t it?

Everything seemed perfect, a lovely day trip to Venice and a boat ride through the sea. Now here in the restaurant would he the place where your family would become official. Already imagining the picturesque wedding in the forest with earthy tones being used everywhere, and a 3 tier wedding cake. Maybe add some natural flowers or even horses?

She began ordering, a white wine pasta dish with red wine and he ordered a lobster pasta with red wine as well. He cleared his throat, she felt the butterflies in her stomach flourish, “ So… “ he began looking at her, she closed her eyes for a second smiling but was brought down to earth with a crash, “ we should break up “

The world stopped, the wine glass in her hand dropped, clattering onto the floor leaving a stain at the edge of her dress. Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared her for this.

“ what? “ she muttered out, chuckling as if to play it off as a joke before he proposed. “ You… heard me, I don’t think we’re meant for each other “ he jaw stayed open, her eyes stayed wide and welled with tears.

They ate in silence, well actually he ate in silence as she just stared. The love of her life, the man she would marry and take a bullet for, just betrayed her in the worst way possible. Suddenly the lights were too bright, the clothes were too itchy and the music too loud.

He payed for dinner and left without a word, she stayed there, in her little bubble where everything was still warm and fuzzy, where Charles was just leaving for a bit and he’d pick her up again, right? Right?

Months passed from the occasion, she visited the restaurant daily, everyone moved on even Charles, everyone but her, she was right there where he left her.

She stayed in her little bubble, only leaving it for work, it got so bad that her friends had to visit her there and pull her away from the little corner. They’d tell her that people break up and fall in love, that this was all normal. But this couldn’t be normal, he loved her, she loved him, this was all just a dream.

He on the other hand had moved on fast, moved in with a model, celebrating Christmas with her, all while she still sat there.

But slowly, really slowly she started going out more, but her heart still ached. A day that was supposed to be the happiest day, turned rotten in two sentences.

Everyone she met or talked to had something that was so characteristic of Charles.

His laugh, his smile, his stupid accent, the way he talked so passionately of music. Whatever it was, she could make the connection.

It hurt, deep down she knew he was gone but she always felt that maybe, just maybe if she stayed there at the restaurant, he’d come back and pick her up.

2 years passed, he was engaged with a child on the way. She was still lost, physically she was back to her old self, going to work like it was nothing, talking to friends and going on dates but deep down, she was still right where he left her.

Still at that restaurant, with the wine stained dress and everyone staring.

//////////////////// //////////////////// //////////////////// //////////////////// //////////////////// ////////////////////

[shawnxstyles]

personal

DATE: JULY 24, 2023

summary: you and harry are best friends who tell each other everything. or so you thought. when harry finds out you’ve barely done anything sexual, he offers to change that. and then things get a little… personal.

song: Glitch- taylor swift (this song seems fitting)

words: 6.5k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [rubbing, fingering, nipple play, praise kink], mirror sex, cum tasting??, dirty talk), and language.

note: i literally wrote this in a few days i think. this idea is so basic, but who doesn’t love a cliché concept? PART 2

bestfriend!fratrry x inexperienced!reader (because i literally write no one else and fratrry is the love of my life)

—

Harry had a lot of friends. People that he grew up with and some that he met along the way that just stayed. But you were his number one overall, and he told you everything. You told him everything too.

Well, almost everything.

It never really caught his attention that you guys never talked about sex. You guys have been friends for 15 years, since you were five, so you’d think it would have been brought up at least once. But now that Harry thinks about it, he can’t think of one time you’ve talked about the act.

He didn’t think it would be like this. And he didn’t think you’d answer like that.

You and Harry were casually hanging out on a free school day, just like you always do. And then you start talking about this date you went on and how the guy was great. Harry was happy for you, he really was. All he wanted was to see his best friend happier than happy. However, being the best friend he was, he was nagging and joking with you.

“Think he’s the one, eh?” Harry jokes, nudging your shoulder playfully on your couch.

“Oh, stop it. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” You roll your eyes and cross your arms. Yeah, Mike seemed like a decent guy and maybe you could have a relationship for a short time, but he was nowhere near “the one.”

You weren’t too desperate for a relationship, you liked whatever came to you. This cute guy asked you on a date a week ago and you weren’t going to say no. Because what if he was the one? He wasn’t, but what if?

“Imagine it, Doll,” Harry started. He began calling you Doll when you two were just kids. You loved to collect dolls of all sorts, but you never dared to take them out of the box. Harry thought it was silly, but also cool. “picket white fence, beautiful lake house. Kids runnin’ ‘round—”

He saw your face cringe at the word kids. He tilted his head in confusion, arm moving to rest behind you on the couch. He scoots closer to you and waits for you to respond.

“No kids for me,” You awkwardly chuckle. It seemed almost sad the way you sounded.

“What? Thought you wanted to be a mum?”

“Not anymore,” You breathed out with an awkward smile, “need a husband to do that.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout getting a husband. Shouldn’t stop you from wanting ‘em,” Harry smiled sincerely at you and you nodded while looking down.

“Plus, you could always just go out on the street and ask some good-lookin’ lad to be the father of your kids!” You socked Harry hard in the shoulder. He lets out a hearty laugh because he always ruins a sweet moment with a stupid joke. That’s just how you like it though.

“I’m not a prostitute!”

“Never said tha’.”

“Can we just watch some TV? You’re annoying me,” You roll your eyes as you reach for the remote. Harry continues to laugh as you switch the television on.

When you’re indecisive, you toss the remote to Harry and he shuffles through the stations. He lands on a random one, also indecisive. You guys were too similar sometimes.

“Look on your phone for somethin’ and then I’ll find it. I’m done searching.”

“You looked for like two seconds!” You laughed at his laziness. He shrugs with a smile, leaning into the couch. Again, you roll your eyes playfully before doing a bit of research on your phone.

Suddenly, a moan echoes throughout your living room and your whole body stiffens up. Harry notices and tears his eyes away from the screen, which was portraying the sexy noises. You don’t look at him even though you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“Alright?” he asked out of concern, peering at your rigidness. He’s only ever seen you get like that when you were anxious or scared, but nothing happened. Maybe you saw something scary on your phone?

“Uh, yeah,” You squeaked as the TV moaned again. Your face cringes and you force yourself to keep your eyes on your phone.

“Y/N, seriously,” Harry stares between you and the screen when she noisily moans again. The woman was being eaten out by the man and was being overly loud. Her back was arching and her breasts were on display. The movie was inappropriate, 18+ for sure, but it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. Right? You were both 21 years old.

“This… just makes me a tad uncomfortable is all,” You answered honestly, voice quiet as your legs tightened together. Harry’s eyebrows pursed together.

“Uncomfortable? Why?” he couldn’t help the question that slipped out of his mouth. He was too curious to know why a little movie made you stiff yet fidgety.

Unless… you were feeling something different than uncomfortable.

“No,” You shook your head and attempted to push yourself off the couch. Harry didn’t hesitate to grab your wrist and pull you back. He didn’t want you to run away and for you to feel like you couldn’t tell him something.

“Just tell me.”

“No,” You stood your ground, way too embarrassed to say something. Way too embarrassed to admit that you’ve never had sex before. Way too embarrassed to admit you’ve never done anything more than rub your own clit. Once. And it didn’t even feel that good.

Your skin was fiery and… tingly. Harry was much closer to you than he previously was because he pulled you closer to him. Your bare thighs were touching, warm on warm with a sudden spark. You didn’t know you weren’t breathing until you inhaled deeply at Harry’s hooking stare.

“Doll, you tell me everything, but you can’t tell me why a little porn makes you uncomfortable? Because I know it’s tha’.”

“Ugh,” You groaned between clenched teeth. You threw your head back until it hit the top of the couch. Harry’s grip on your wrist never left you. He squeezed it reassuringly, letting you know that he supports you in whatever you’re going to say.

Are you really about to say it?

“Y/N, just—”

“No.”

“I thought we were best friends—”

“Do not pull that card!”

“But—”

“I’ve never had sex before, okay?” You shouted over Harry’s pleading voice and the echoing moans from the television. You’d think by the time you had a whole argument they’d be done having sex, but nope.

Harry was cut off, so his mouth was slacked open. Once he realizes his jaw is on the floor, he blinks a few times to really process what you’ve said. If you had told anyone else, they would have harshly judged you. Harry wasn’t necessarily too different, but he was your best friend, and he was going to try his hardest not too. Harry was just more shocked if anything. He had a handful of different bodies, enough to give him a good amount of experience. So when he finds out you’ve done nothing, he’s beyond surprised to his core.

“But you’ve had so many dates,” Harry looks over at your face, which was looking down at your lap. Your wrist was still trapped in his hand, but you were twiddling your thumbs like you were in trouble. He starts rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb over your knuckle. Your skin was so hot, and Harry’s theory of you being turned on continued in his mind.

Did you even know what that meant? You were naive, right?

“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” Your attitude was shining through. But deep down, you were more embarrassed than anything. This was just your coping mechanism. And of course, Harry knew that.

“Surely you’ve done something else,” Harry suggests. You pin him with a knowing look and a long blink.

“I haven’t,” You answered before even hearing his question. He clearly doesn’t care about your reply because he’s asking you a series of interrogation questions.

“Have you had someone eat you out—” Harry points to the screen, but it was on a commercial break now. You got the point, but Harry clearly didn’t.

“No,” You grumbled.

“What about fingering—”

“No.”

“A toy?”

“Where would I even buy that?”

“Or—”

“No, Harry. Nothing.”

“Not even rubbing?” he asks. You stay quiet, unsure if you want to admit the one-time experiment you did.

Why does it even matter? You tried it and you realized you don’t like it, so you never have to do it again right?

“Not… really,” You hesitated. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion while your skin burned at boiling temperature.

“Humping?”

“No—I tried to…” You couldn’t get the words out. Not ever you’d think. But especially not with Harry so close to you. His body was warm, not as warm as yours, but it was eliciting something inside of you that you couldn’t comprehend. The way he nonchalantly said so many dirty things made you dizzy.

“Tried to what?” Harry was thinking of so many things you could say. He wanted to finish your sentence, just like how he wanted to finish you until you were crying his name and soaking him. But he wanted to hear you say it. He’s never thought of you in such an explicit way, but with the words and tension floating in the air it was hard not to.

“…do it myself.”

“And how did that work out, Doll?”

“Um,” You didn’t expect him to ask. Your neck and cheeks light up in small flames. Where did this come from? “I…”

“What? I thought you could tell me anything?” When your eyes flickered up to his, they were a dark, swirling green you’ve never seen on his face before. Your heart skipped a dangerous beat, frightened with anticipation.

“I know, I can. But this… it’s different.”

“How so?”

“It’s personal—”

“Best friends are personal.”

“But not like this. Best friends don’t do this,” You tried to get up again, nearly ripping yourself away from his grip. But you were in too deep now. Harry wasn’t going to let this one slide. His mind was thinking about one thing and one thing only.

You.

He yanks you back and twirls you around, releasing your wrist in the process. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you down to his lap. You couldn’t contain the slight gasp you let out at the feeling of his strong legs beneath you. Your legs were on either side of him, tempting to squeeze shut. Every movement you made Harry would feel in this position.

“Best friends can say anything. They can do anything too,” Harry’s hands caress your thighs. They’re comforting and inviting, but are also sending a field of goosebumps along your skin warning you to flee. It’s hard to focus on anything but his touch and the vibration of his words through the air. “Now, tell me, did you rub yourself?”

“Yes,” You stutter, trying to stop your hips from squirming on his lap. He notices and grips one side of your body to steady you. It only makes you want to shift more. His touch was almost overwhelming, but you wanted more of it.

Was it wrong to want more of your best friend’s touch?

“Did it feel good?”

“No,” A part inside of you was a bit disappointed that it felt so bland. You thought masturbation was this great thing, and that’s why people did it so frequently. You heard it was also a stress-reliever, but for you, it was just a stress-inducer. Harry could tell by your tone that you weren’t lying.

“Well, you probably weren’t doing it right,” Harry replies and you look up at him with a slightly startled expression and a scoff. You didn’t expect his response to be so straightforward, like he was a doctor diagnosing you with some disease.

“How could I do it wrong? Don’t I just rub…?”

“Baby, it’s much more than that,” Harry said sincerely. He’s never called you baby before, but the nickname had your heart jumping. “Were you even wet?”

“What? I—probably? I don’t remember…”

“You would remember.”

“The experience wasn’t very memorable,” You grumble with an eye roll.

“Do you want me to show you?”

His question had your head spiraling. He wanted to what? There is no way. There is no way those words just left Harry, your best friend’s, mouth.

“W-what? That’s way too personal!” Your eyes were wide and your skin was burning. You were nearly dizzy with this whole conversation and your stomach was tight. You thought you might need to lie down for a while.

Maybe you were sick. Yeah, that’s it.

“Best friends are personal, Doll. Just let me show you, yeah? And then we never have to talk about it again. If y’don’t want. Please,” Harry’s charm was convincing you. Everything about him was luring you in, completely different than ever before. The way his eyes was dark and his touch was warm made you feel wanted and needed, which was contrary to your past dates. They didn’t look at you this way, nearly beg for you this way. They didn’t show you anything. They wanted you because they wanted to get their dick wet, but they hated the idea of a virgin.

And Harry’s familiar. He’s safe. You don’t have to be afraid when you’re with him. But then why are you so nervous?

Harry was willing to teach you how to do the one thing you’ve been curious about your whole life, and you’re going to pass up the opportunity, why? Because he’s your best friend?

Isn’t that supposed to make it better?

“Okay, fine,” You inhaled as your hands gripped onto his T-shirt on his shoulders. You had convinced yourself to let the words slip out. “Show me.”

You were agreeing almost as if this wasn’t a big deal for you. But to Harry, it was. He would take your firsts, and something about that filled him with pride. A smirk slowly rides up on his lips, “Now?”

A blush cascades through your body. Of course he didn’t mean right now!

“I-I thought you meant—”

“Shh, relax, Doll. I was just makin’ sure,” he smirks again, pulling you closer to him. He loved watching you get all squirmy and flustered more than he thought. You could feel his body heat more than ever now, and you’re surprised you lasted this long on his lap without dying. “I’m going to give you a few options, okay?”

With anxiousness, you nodded and swallowed.

“When we do this, you have to talk. So use your words, Y/N,” You knew he was being serious when he said your name, so you replied with yes and then he was giving you your options.

“So, I can lay you down right here on the couch and show you how to rub your little clit,” his explicit words were making your privates ache, but it wasn’t painful. It kind of felt… good? You felt a foreign liquid dampen your underwear, and you can only assume that’s the wetness Harry was talking about. “Or, you can do it yourself on m’thigh with my help. Which one sounds like something y’want to do?”

“The first one,” You answered, painfully desperate to squeeze your legs together to stop this ache. “But how will I see what you’re doing?”

Harry thought for a moment. You made a good point. How were you supposed to learn simply from feeling? Harry knew you were a bit of a visual learner, so he wanted to make sure you saw how to pleasure yourself correctly. And he knew the perfect way to do that.

“I actually have a third option. But s’not really a choice anymore,” Harry doesn’t say anything after, he just lifts himself and you off the couch without warning. You wrap your arms and legs around his body like a koala, making sure you don’t fall. His warmth encompasses you back and you wish you could just stay there forever.

Familiar. Safe.

When your head peers up from his shoulder, you’re in his bathroom. Your eyebrows pinch together, curious as to what his third choice was.

He sets you down on the floor until your feet are planted. You unwrap your arms from him, still confused.

“Do you trust me, Y/N?” Harry’s eyes were still dark, and you wondered if they would ever go back to the strong, emerald green they used to be.

“Yes, of course,” You didn’t hesitate to answer. There was no one that you trusted more than Harry that wasn’t in your bloodline.

“Okay,” Harry breathes, “Strip f’me. Keep your bra and underwear on.”

You nearly questioned him in shock. But then you remembered what the whole goal of this was. He was going to show you how and you were going to listen, right? So you did.

Carefully, you stripped yourself of your clothes. He’s seen you in bathing suits before, and some were revealing, so this can’t be as bad, right? Harry didn’t peel his eyes away although you wanted him to. He hasn’t seen you naked since you two were little kids, and even though you weren’t naked, it felt like you were with his burning gaze. Obviously, there were some changes too. Like height, hair, breasts, ass… the whole thing. Harry doesn’t say anything until you’re in your undergarments.

A swimsuit is definitely different.

“Good. Now, c’mere,” Harry sits down on the floor, a few feet away from his full-body mirror. His body was up against the bathtub wall to keep himself steady. You slowly lowered yourself to the floor, wondering what was going on through his head.

He pulls you between his legs until you’re pressed against his body. His warmth radiated through you far better with less clothes on and your body ached some more. Your legs closed to squeeze it away.

“Nuh uh,” he declines. Harry grips your thighs with his ringed fingers and yanks them apart. You gasp at the extreme vulnerability and the coolness that waves over your privates. He throws your legs over his and bends them slightly, making you unable to move at all. “Keep them open, yeah?”

You nodded, but that’s not what he told you to do.

“Words.”

“Yes. Keep them open.”

“Good girl. You’re learning,” Harry smiled and looked towards the mirror. His eyes instantly zoomed in on the growing wet patch on the front of your cotton panties, and he couldn’t help but smirk. He saw and felt your body squirming similarly like how you were on his lap. He’s had a rock-hard cock since this conversation started, so he’s not surprised if you can feel his hard-on poking your back through his shorts.

His hands rested on your knees as you watched him in the mirror. The entirety of it all was extremely erotic, like something that would be on TV.

“If you like something, tell me. If you hate something, tell me. It’s important that you do so, okay? It helps both of us learn.”

“Okay,” You were nearly shaking with anticipation. You were so nervous, but why? It’s just Harry. It’s just Harry. “I kind of like when you say I’m doing a good job. Makes me feel… nice.”

“Yeah?” Harry tried to conceal the smirk that threatened to rise on his lips. Of course his best friend, who happened to be the most innocent person in the world, had a praise kink. It just made too much sense. “Like when I call you a good girl?”

You sighed and nodded, but Harry didn’t say anything this time. He just kept going.

One of his hands rested on your knee, tracing delicate circles. He stayed in the same spot, for god knows how long, and you wondered when he would do something. He seemed to be in a trance. He was hyper-focusing on every centimeter with those circles, and although you were getting impatient, you felt cared for.

One of his hands snakes to your chest and rubs your nipple through your bra. Just when you were about to protest, his fingers moved a tad lower. The roughness of his pads tickled your skin just right and caused your thighs to squirm. It was entertaining for Harry to watch you get all squirrely from such a simple touch.

He’s going to have fun with you.

“It… tickles,” You observe as your eyes look down at his fingers, very gradually moving closer to that ache in between your legs. You felt like a kid exploring a new world for the first time; naive and curious.

“What does?”

“Your fingers,” You stare at him in the mirror almost as if he’s stupid. What else would tickle?

“Does this tickle?” Harry’s knuckle brushes the inside of your thighs, lower than he’s been. You inhale at the subtle sensitivity.

“Not much,” You answer, and his knuckle continues to sway leisurely. Your breath picks up, rising faster at his hand’s proximity.

“What about this?” His index finger traces the hem of your panties with purpose. You gasp when he gets deep in between your legs, outlining your cunt with ease. Your legs attempt to shut with a shake, shying away from the vulnerability, but it’s impossible with his strong legs prying you open.

“A-a little.”

“And this?”

As if his touch could be anymore teasing, he finally dances along your clothed cunt, tracing your lips with curiosity of how you’d react. A mix of a sigh and a moan wavers out of you unintentionally, hips pushing closer towards his finger. Your mind blanks, light and fuzzy. Your face immediately falls to gaze at his movements, attracted to the air-headed feeling.

“Eyes on the mirror,” Harry demands while delicately caressing you. It was ironic, really. His voice was so rough and stoic while his touch was ever so gentle. With a few blinks, you're focusing in on the mirror, obeying his command. “How does this feel? Does it tickle?”

“Good, and yes,” You swallow your moan as his finger keeps petting you lightly. You were almost getting used to it, but you wanted more. “Is this what I was supposed to do?”

“Sort of. This is called foreplay. Heard of tha’?”

“I think so?” You were breathless.

“S’basically where I get you all wet and ready f’me. You like that?”

“L-love and hate relationship right now,” You pant as his finger rises away from your weeping, covered hole and travels up to your clit. You choke out a gasp as he strokes it nonchalantly.

“Oh,” Your hand drops to his thigh, gripping it strongly as your body begins to tingle. You strain your neck to keep your eyes on the mirror ahead of you, trying to watch how he does it.

His familiar smirk never fades from his face, cheeks a tad rosy from the heat waving between you two. His wrist is probably sore from the tedious, repeated movements he does. His thick fingers delicately circle your covered clit, applying generous pressure until you’re panting.

“More. I think I need more,” You suggest when his pace stays a consistent speed. You needed to feel his fingers on your bare skin. If he was going to touch you, you wanted him to just do it already.

“Y’think?” Harry’s tone was taunting yet serious. He wanted you to be firm with what you wanted. He didn’t want you to second-guess your own pleasure. If you needed more, you needed to tell him that. The best way for that to happen was for him to train you. “Beg for it.”

As your head becomes floaty with the stimulation, you don’t even hesitate to throw out pleads.

“Please, Harry. I-I need it, need more,” Your head slowly falls back onto his shoulder before his touch is gone. “Wha—”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to see you. All of you. He needed to see what he did to you, and if you were really as desperate as you seemed. As shocking as this all may be to you, it was just as shocking to Harry. He couldn’t believe he was this turned on from his best friend’s inexperience. He’s always liked when a girl knew what she was doing and knew how to reciprocate. But something about Harry teaching you and showing you the ropes just fills him with a kind of power and pride that he can’t get from anywhere else. And he’s feasting off of it.

“M’gonna take these off, alright?”

“Everything? O-okay,” He unclipped your bra as you slowly slid down your panties. The tile beneath you was colder than before, but Harry’s warm body behind you kept you comforted.

“Have you heard of the traffic light system?” he asks, hands resting gently on your bare shoulders. He gets straight into the safety part first. It also distracts him from ogling your naked figure against him. He could feel his cock twitch in his briefs at your fluttering pussy and peaked nipples.

“I assume you don’t mean the ones used for driving?” You both chuckle and break some of the swollen tension in the room. It was a nice little reminder that it’s just Harry.

“No, Doll. The one for safety and consent,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, no, I’ve never heard of it.”

“If you say red, I’ll stop instantly and ask what made y’red. Communication is key. If y’say yellow, I’ll slow down and ask you again. And then we can either continue or stop, whatever y’want. But if your color is green, I’ll keep going. Understand, love?”

There was a lot of information, but you were able to keep up. It was actually similar to the traffic light system, which makes the name very fitting. You reply with a firm yes to note that you understand.

All while he was talking and explaining everything, you were getting used to looking at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t always confident in your body, but staring at it in between Harry’s made you feel safe and sexy somehow.

Before your mind can wander too far, Harry’s hands are falling down until they’re at your nipples. His rough fingers lightly pinch the already-hard buds until you’re pushing up into his touch. The warmth and the nakedness made you overly flushed all over. He gropes your breasts with care, slyly sliding another hand down lower.

Throughout this entire process, you’ve been soaking; in your underwear, in your shorts, and now on his bathroom tile. Your lower body has been throbbing in desire to be aided, and Harry seems to know just what you need.

His fingers hover right above your mound that’s screaming for him to go lower. Your heart rams against your chest in anticipation of his bare hands on your bare body, on your most sacred and vulnerable parts. No one has ever touched you beside yourself. A small part inside of you was glad that the first person was Harry because you knew you wouldn’t regret it.

Right?

“Stop thinking s’much,” he says, rubbing a warm palm over your belly. His face moves your head, so his lips can kiss your temple reassuringly. You slightly arch your back, so maybe he could see how desperate you are. Your legs were still spread by his, so you know he can see your wetness. If you can see it, so can he. “Just let me show you how it’s done.”

“Okay, Mr. Cocky,” You roll your eyes as he shifts your hair behind your ear, “What if I don’t even like it?”

“The name is very fitting. But that’s for a different day,” he says with a cocky smirk on his face. Now that sounds like something Harry would say. But your entire face gets warm and your head gets a little fuzzy when you actually imagine it. “and you will. Trust me.”

You take a deep breath. You weren’t sure how far you guys were going to go, but you’ve never felt more ready and more safe. With the system Harry told you about and all his reassurance, it was clear that even if he was teaching you, you were the one that had all the control.

“Now watch me.”

With those words his hand turns into just one finger and resumes on your clit. You gasp into the air as your body jolts. The roughness of his thumb paints your arousal over and over on your skin.

“This little thing is important. Don’t neglect it.”

His rhythm is slow and tedious as he circles the nub. You see and feel him dip down to collect some more of your wetness as he continues stroking you.

“How’s this? Color?” he gruffs in your ear while staring at you darkly in the mirror. You could barely understand him because you were panting embarrassingly and trying your hardest to focus on the reflecting glass in front of you.

“Good! Wait—green,” You corrected yourself as a moan elicited from you, his touch feeling even better each second.

“Good girl.”

“Fuck,” You feel yourself clench around nothing but your own wetness at his words. You both watch as the liquid quenches out of your dripping hole, making Harry groan from behind you.

“Do y’think you can handle one finger? Hm?” his voice rolls perfectly into your ear as he twists your peaked nipple. You couldn’t control your moans at the pleasure. His voice sounded just as good as the feeling of his hands.

“Yes, yes. Harry, please,” You nearly cried from how bad you needed it. You didn’t even know you needed it this bad. You thought you were going to hate this feeling, but you’re far from it.

“So submissive, so responsive,” Harry’s middle finger pushes against your hole, teasing the opening. You hold your breath as he makes you wait. “Breathe, Doll. Relax.”

Your eyes close for a moment. You breathe deep and feel your limbs lose their sudden tenseness. Before you can open them again, Harry’s finger is slotting inside of you easily. A gasp falls from your mouth as your hand grips on his meaty thigh for support.

“O-oh.” The feeling was insane. Intense. Nearly overwhelming. You clenched around his digit, consuming and caging it like it would fade away.

You’re so tight around him, he swears his finger might fall off. Harry’s cock is pulsing and pleading behind your back, but you don’t seem to notice. He’s making sure he doesn’t rut into you, but it’s so difficult when you’re all spread out and submissive for him.

He’s never thought of you like this, but fuck, now he can’t think of you any other way.

“Color, Doll?” Harry grumbles in your ear, voice low and breathy as it fans over your skin warmly.

“Green. What’s more than green? B-blue? Just–don’t stop–God,” Your squeaky voice rambled as his finger pumped in and out slowly. You can hear his smile behind your screwed eyes. The pad of his thumb rubbed delicate circles over your throbbing clit to escalate the pleasure.

Your chest was beating fast when your legs started to shake. Your hips bucked closer to his hands, needing more as you chase the glorious feeling.

“Look at you, takin’ me so well,” Harry praises, subtly curling his finger as your back arches. You know that one finger isn’t a lot, barely anything, but you were melting at the praise that Harry gave you. His constant encouragement is what made you putty in his hands. Literally.

“Harry,” You moaned into the heated air, causing Harry to groan desperately behind you. And you’re not too stupid to deflect that Harry might be turned on from the scene unfolding. If you knew more, if you knew better, you would have offered to help him after. But you were inexperienced, and you assumed he wouldn’t want someone to give him head who could possibly bite his dick off.

“Are you close, baby? Hm? Gonna come for the first time on my hand?”

“Y-yes! Please,” You begged as you climbed your high, wondering what the top would feel like if the chase was this blissful.

Your head falls restlessly on his shoulder while his right hand keeps focusing on your cunt. It was covered in your arousal as his pace picked up. The stimulation was almost too much, your body wanted to push away. But your mind was pleading to feel a release you know your body needed.

“Is it gonna h-hurt?” You groaned as your cunt clenched around him again, stomach tensing. A strong rush you assumed could only be an orgasm was approaching you all too fast.

“No, Doll. It’s gonna feel real good,” He twisted your nipple again, pushing you over the edge. You felt his thumb and index pinch your clit, causing you to scream his name against his chest. “Look in the mirror. Watch yourself fall apart f’me. Watch and make sure this time is memorable.”

You always thought Harry had a way with words. You never thought that about dirty talking though. His hands were as skillful as can be, and maybe one day you’ll be able to make yourself feel as good as he made you feel. But his words are something that you’ll never be able to treat yourself with. You don’t think you’ll ever meet another person whose voice is as fitting as Harry’s.

With his demanding tone, you came right over the edge. An overwhelming ripple of pleasure ceased through your body, shaking your legs to the max. Soundless moans and clawing nails were all you were capable of as you came on his large hand. Although you were straining, you never took your eyes off of the mirror. He told you to look at yourself as you came, but you were only staring at the glaring green eyes reflecting back at you. He rubbed all of your orgasm until you were trembling from overstimulation.

Just when you thought he was done, he raised his ringed hand to his mouth and tasted you. You thought that was something that they only did porn or movies. You swallowed intensely as his hum vibrated through you.

“Do you always… taste it?”

“If I think it’ll taste good,” he smirked as you scooted forward to grab your shirt. As you throw it over your head, you just had to ask.

“Did mine taste any good?” You slightly cringed as you asked the question. Does cum usually taste good? What does it even taste like?

His smirk widens, a hint of evilness rising, “do you want to find out?”

Your skin flushes even against the chilling tile. Your heart skips a beat at trying yourself. You hadn’t ever thought of it before. But you’ve come (literally) this far tonight, so why not just take it a little further?

“O-okay,” You slowly lift up your shirt, revealing your fucked-out cunt to him again. “So I just…?”

“May I?” he suggests.

“Yes.”

Two of Harry’s fingers swipe over your cunt, which was still covered in a mix of your arousal and cum. You jolted from the stimulation, tensing quickly before his touch was gone.

“Open,” and without thinking, you do. Your mouth falls open as his fingers lay flat on your tongue. Salty and creamy, it spreads over your tastebuds. You hummed around his fingers just like he did because it tasted good. Yeah, it was a bit odd, but once you got past that, you realized how erotic and sexy it was. “How’s it taste?”

After a bit of suckling on his digits, he puts them out way too soon for your liking. “Good, actually.” You creak from your dry throat.

“I think so too. Let’s clean you up real quick.”

Still sitting on the floor, a warm, wet towel soothes your sensitiveness as he wipes away all of your liquids. A smile broke out on his face when he finished before his hand landed on top of your head. He shook your hair like crazy until it was already wilder than it was. The action was childlike and friendly, almost as if everything between you guys never happened and you were back to square one. It was better that way, though. Right? To just go back to how everything used to be?

Harry grabs the small hand towel and exits his bathroom. You assume he went to discard it and add it to his laundry, but you just sat there in oblivion. You already missed his touch, longing for something you should’ve never even had in the first place. He was the one that offered himself to teach you, but now you’ve been taught, so where do you guys go now? Are you really supposed to just go back to the way it was?

He saw you in ways that no one else has before. You always thought that you would be intimate and have your groups of firsts with someone that you were dating, someone that you loved. Because of this, you realized that Harry was the safe option. Doing this with Harry changed your views on everything, and your body, heart, and mind couldn’t keep up with the rapid reversal.

You knew that Harry had a few notches in his belt. But were they all from relationships or just one-night stands? You didn’t know because you two rarely ever discussed the topic. Was it easy for Harry to go from girl to girl? Or did he get attached like you?

If there was one thing you always feared from sex and sexual doings, it was the intense attachment. You had heard about the infamous addiction intimacy laces within your veins that makes you crave a person. Now that you’ve been with Harry, that won’t happen to you, right?

You’ve known Harry forever, yet you’ve never craved him. He’s your best friend, and you’ve never seen him as more than that. If it was anyone else, you’d probably lose all control because you have no significant relationship with them. It would be easy to latch onto anybody because it would be easy to lose them too. Harry, on the other hand, was not easy to lose.

The last thing you want is to convince yourself of anything. You don’t want to “crave” Harry just because you saw something about an article online about “sexual chemicals fusing.” You couldn’t. No, it was too risky.

You’ve known Harry forever, so you couldn’t lose him forever too.

“I think I found a good movie to watch!” Harry’s voice echoes from his living room and all the way into the bathroom where you haven’t moved a muscle. Your overthinking was louder than it’s ever been. With a shaky breath, you rise from the tiles and stare at your disheveled appearance in the mirror. The same mirror you watched Harry finger fuck you with.

“Be out there in a second!” You shout back as your heart beats rapidly from his heartwarming voice laughing loudly at something. You clutched your chest, wondering why the fuck you were feeling the organ lurch for him in a way that wasn’t meant for him.

You knew that it was way too fucking personal.

—

thanks for reading angels 😙 part 2

taglist: @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @bisexual-desi @littlenatilda @raajali3

[hllywdwhre]

Dress

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

Summary: A year’s worth of random memories between the two of you

Warnings: age gap (Cillian is current age, reader’s age is unspecified but of legal age), mentions of slut shaming, smut, light choking, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it)

MDNI

Word Count: 3656

Notes: This is NOT based on real life. This is an AU and we love Yvonne in this household. Also this is my first attempt at writing smut in literal years so I apologize if it’s not the best💀

Based on the song ‘Dress’ by Taylor Swift

Our secret moments in your crowded room

They got no idea about me and you

One hand gently placed on the middle of your back alerted you to his presence.

“You look stunning,” He said, low enough that no one else could overhear.

Luckily, your make-up artist had made sure you wore a full coverage foundation, as the blush tinting your cheeks would’ve been noticeable if not.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” you replied, glancing up at him with a small smile on your face.

You had been eyeing him the entire night, his salt-and-pepper hair hung around his face, only making his blue eyes pop due to the sharp contrast of the colors.

To anyone else, it would look like two co-stars speaking at the premiere of their movie. They wouldn’t see the way you two wanted to step closer to each other, to latch to each other’s hand, or share an excited and proud kiss.

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Cillian had made sure to take things slow with you. You were younger and he was the leading actor in the movie and he wanted to make sure there was no question about power imbalances. He made sure you were comfortable and that you knew he would’ve never used that power over you to force you into something you weren’t comfortable with. It was up to you to make the first moves… from the first kiss to the first of others.

The day after the night all of the clothes the two of you wore had been shed for the first time, you’d found extremely small bruises on your hips from his grip the night before.

“I didn’t realize I had… I’m sorry,” Cillian apologized, kissing your cheek softly as his fingers ghosted over the bruises.

“Don’t apologize. I rather like the marks and the memories they bring back,” you said, turning to him and kissing him.

All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

My hands are shaking from all this

Your hands shook as you gave him the documents. Your character was supposed to be nervous, but the shaking of your hands went beyond your character.

You were surrounded by some of the greatest actors, and while you were no new actor yourself, it was still nerve wracking to stand in front of all of them, along with Chris, as they watched you. It was even more nerve wracking to have Cillian’s eyes following you — your character — as you entered the room and handed over the documents.

The shaking in your hands lessened once the scene was finished, but you still saw the way your tea wobbled just slightly when Cillian walked to you.

You wanted nothing more than to pull him close to you, but at this point, the two of you had only just begun talking. The flirty undertones were nothing near enough for you to feel confident enough making a move.

Say my name and everything just stops

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

Your heart stuttered every time he said your real name and not your character's name. When he called your name this time it was no different.

“How are you?” He asked, joining by your side as you walked away from the restaurant.

Emily had seen some of your works and was a fan of them; she had made sure to include you when inviting other members out to dinners like the one that had just finished. This was one of the few times Cillian had agreed to join and hadn’t had a reason he needed to stay behind.

You weren’t sure if it was your imagination or not, but you thought his eyes lingered on the way the dress hugged your waist for a second longer than what would be seen as just looking you over.

Your pleasant conversation continued until you reached the front door of the guest house you were placed in until your part of the filming was completed.

“Green?” He questioned as his eyes trailed down your figure again and you smirked.

“Green has always been my favorite,” you said, feigning innocence.

“I’m sure it has… it’s starting to become my own,” he told you, one hand settling on your waist to bring you closer to him.

“You said that first bit like you don’t believe me, Murphy,” you teased as your arms came to wrap around his neck.

“Perhaps I don’t,” he replied. His forehead rested against yours, tone still light and teasing despite the tension and proximity.

“Well I can’t possibly reveal the truth,” you teased back.

“And what would that be?”

“That your agreeing with Robert’s comment about us seeming to become very close ‘best friends’ a couple days ago caused me a great deal of jealousy and I’ve noticed the way your eyes seem to linger when the costume department puts me in something green. I could never tell you that or the other truth.”

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

“What was the other truth?” He asked, slowing his thrusts to a teasing pace as his hands gripped the frame of the bed.

“What?” You asked, confused on what he meant as your mind was only clouded with the pleasure he made you feel.

“The other truth, from earlier,” he said again, his hips still moving at the agonizingly slow pace.

You blushed as you realized what he meant and at the thought of revealing the little secret, despite the fact you were both naked with him buried inside of you.

At your lack of response, he moved one hand to grip your thigh and push it towards your chest, allowing himself to be buried even deeper inside you. The action caused your eyes to roll back,

“The other truth, doll,” he prompted.

“I wore the dress for more than just the color. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me once we’re alone and I wanted you to stop holding back,” you told him.

“You could have just told me, didn’t need to spend an entire night teasing me,” he said and began picking up the pace of his hips again, causing your head to drop back and a moan to leave your lips.

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try

And if I get burned, at least we were electrified

I'm spilling wine in the bathtub

You kiss my face and we're both drunk

Everyone thinks that they know us

But they know nothing about

Giggles filled the air as your glasses met in the bathtub you shared, the light pink liquid spilling over the sides.

“We have filming tomorrow and we’re both going to be incredibly hungover,” you said with a wide smile on your face.

“One of us will have to pretend to be okay. Most of the crew already has suspicions,” Cillian replied, still smiling.

“And what have they said about it?” You asked as you took another sip of wine, your interest peaked by his comment.

Cillian shook his head, a look of distaste taking over his features as some of the comments replayed in his mind.

“That bad?” You asked as your face fell.

“The comments we expected,” he replied as he took a large drink of wine.

“You’re lucky to be sleeping with a younger woman, but you need to watch out because I’m after fame and your money?” You asked him, your tone revealing that you already knew the answer.

Cillian nodded and your face fell further. You looked away from him and down at the wine in your glass.

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” You asked.

The water sloshed around you as Cillian scooted himself closer to you, his finger coming underneath your chin and lifting your face to look him in the eyes.

“Everyone is going to have something to say. Even if we were sharing equally large roles and the exact same age.” He said in a firm voice.

You nodded in response as you knew he was right.

“They know nothing,” he said as he leaned in, kissing you softly.

Flashback when you met me

Your buzzcut and my hair bleached

You hadn’t stepped foot onto the set of “Oppenheimer” until a couple months after filming had begun, due to the nature of your smaller part. You played a wife to one of the scientists involved in the making of the atomic bomb and only had a couple lines, but you had captured Cillian’s eye on the first day.

After his divorce two years prior, he hadn’t tried looking for anyone else. He had focused on his kids and his career. You coming along and capturing his attention had been unexpected and he had tried to ignore the attraction he felt at first, only to fall victim to your charm during a break in filming on your first day on set.

A week later you two exchanged phone numbers. A month later and you two were sneaking around on set like you were children all over again. One of you would somehow sneak to the other after filming was complete for the day.

The first time he had fallen asleep at your place, the overnight stay being completely unplanned and you had awoken to hear him let out a surprised “fuck!” before he gathered up his things and left in a rush.

You still had another hour before you had to be on set and laid back down in bed, scrolling through your phone. Rolling over, you noticed the spot he had left was still warm and filled with his scent.

‘I hate this haircut so much. Way too short.’ He texted.

‘I hate this hair color. Way too blonde.’ You replied.

Even in my worst times

You could see the best of me

“It’s one simple fucking scene and I can’t get it right!” He shouted in frustration.

Cillian had shown up an hour prior, saying he needed your help running lines. He was supposed to film the scene where Oppenheimer brings the calculations to Einstein tomorrow and had been pressuring himself over it the entire week.

“It’s not simple though, Cill. You’ve been working nonstop and your character is facing a huge moral conflict in this scene that you have to manage to portray in a subtle way. You’re not just doing your best, you’re doing amazing,” you tell him, standing up and walking over to him.

You gently take the script from his hands and set it down then take his hand in yours to bring it to your lips, placing a soft kiss on his palm.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said, pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t be. You’re allowed to be frustrated,” you replied as you wrapped your arms around him.

Flashback to my mistakes

My rebounds, my earthquakes

“I didn’t say I was proud of it,” Cillian said with a laugh.

“Two weeks?” You questioned and your own laughter followed, showing you weren’t holding it against him.

“I haven’t been single since I was 27, I went a little crazy,” he explained as if trying to defend himself.

“I’m not passing judgment, Cill… as long as you didn’t catch anything,” you teased, causing both of you to burst into a fit of giggles.

Even in my worst lies

You saw the truth in me

“A home wrecking whore,” you said through tears, slapping the magazine down in front of him, “we didn’t even know each other two years ago and somehow I’m the reason your marriage ended.”

Yours and Cillian’s relationship hadn’t even been confirmed and already the cruel rumors had started. It was one photo of the two of you leaving a cast dinner, cropped around to look like it was just the two of you and conveniently not showing the other actors that were trailing right behind you.

Cillian was standing with his arms around you in seconds while he placed kisses on the top of your head then on both of your cheeks.

“You know better than to listen to that… that… shit,” he said, words failing what he really wanted to call that article, “you’re the woman who came around at the exact moment you were supposed to.”

And I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

Light flickered into the room, Cillian’s arms were wrapped around your waist, and, for once, the sound of an alarm wasn’t what woke you up. You rolled over in his arms, facing his chest. Even at the small size he had to be for his role, you could still bury your head in his chest and curl into him.

He remained asleep as you situated yourself against him. You weren’t able to fall asleep again, but you didn’t mind. The peace that morning brought made all the sneaking around and rumors seem trivial.

My one and only, my lifeline

I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

My hands shake, I can't explain this

Filming had wrapped a month ago and you and Cillian had both gone to your own separate homes. He had spent months with only phone calls to his kids to stay in contact with them and your own family had missed you. The two of you had made sure to stay in contact, phone calls made to each other when he was able to sneak away from his kids for a moment and once night had fallen.

This pattern lasted for only a couple weeks longer before you were planning a trip to Ireland and waking up back in his arms.

It wasn’t the sun that woke you up this time, though. It was the feeling of Cillian’s lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone.

“Cill,” you hummed with a smile coming across your face.

“Missed that sound,” he said, moving to hover over you as his kisses and nips at your skin trailed down your chest.

“Thought you heard it enough last night,” you joked. Your hands trailed to his hair as his lips attached to your nipple, causing a rush of pleasure to wash over you.

“Never getting enough of that,” he replied and his mouth attached to the other as soon as the words left his mouth.

Another moan left your mouth and your hips pushed against his, causing him to chuckle.

“Seems like you’re not getting enough either.” His lips began trailing down your stomach, one of his hands running up and down your thigh as he moved lower.

“Seems like you should do something about that,” you teased.

He offered no verbal response and instead continued his trail down your stomach and hips. Your legs spread apart as he positioned himself in between them and added new love bites to the ones from the night before.

“Cillian, please,” you moaned out, your hands still in his hair and pushing your hips towards him.

“Say it again, love,” he commanded. Both of his hands wrapped around each of your thighs and he looked up towards you. His usual bright blue eyes were dark with lust and the look of hunger he held was enough to make your body shiver in anticipation.

“Please, Cillian, I need it,” you begged.

Your head dropped back as his tongue ran across your folds and offered you some amount of relief. You were convinced his favorite place in the world was with his head buried between your legs. The way his tongue danced between your lips, taking in all of your taste and moaning at your unique flavor. The grip you had on his hair tightened when his tongue pushed into you and began exploring every centimeter of you before curling up to nudge against the spot inside you that made your legs shake.

Your legs tried to close around his head, but the grip his hands held on your thighs kept you from doing so. One of his arms wrapped around your thigh and his finger traced circles over your clit. Jolts of pleasure rushed through you and your moans grew louder. They were a constant praise of his name that only seemed to egg him on in his actions.

You felt your high rapidly approaching and you let out a needy whine,

“Cill, please, don’t stop,” you mewled, your hips jerking against his face. There had been plenty of times where he would sense your climax approaching and would pull away in order to tease you until you were begging, but luckily for you he skipped the teasing and continued on.

He pushed his face impossibly closer to you, his tongue still working inside of you and pushing upwards to cause your eyes to roll back in your head while his finger continued rubbing circles on your clit.

When your climax washed over you, his head stayed buried between your legs and drank up everything you gave him. It wasn’t until your moans had turned to overstimulated whimpering that he pulled away from you and rose up to capture your lips in a kiss.

You could still taste yourself on him when his tongue slid into your mouth. Both of your bodies were pressed against each other, his chest pushing against yours and his hips grinding against yours. His cock was pressing against you, teasing both you and him as you felt the head of it sliding between your folds.

“You’re teasing yourself as much as you’re teasing me,” you mumbled into the kiss, causing him to chuckle.

“You’re right, but I love hearing your little moans when you beg for it,” he replied, pulling away and making eye contact with you with an expectant look on his face.

“But don’t my moans sound better when you’re actually inside of me?” You questioned.

He seemed to agree with you since he didn’t offer any verbal response and instead moved away from you, grabbed your hips, and quickly flipped you over.

In the couple weeks since Oppenheimer had finished filming, he had started to put back on weight… and apparently muscle as the movement seemed to be easy for him.

You rose to your knees and kept your chest pressed to the bed, arching your back and pushing back towards him,

“Please, Cill, need you,” you moaned out in that pathetic tone you knew he loved.

“I know you do, kitten, just came and you’re already soaked again,” he taunted, lining his cock up with your entrance and pushing inside of you, “feel so fucking good wrapped around me.”

“Feel so full with you inside me,” you moaned out and tangled your hands into the sheets.

Cillian’s hands came to rest on your hips, giving you brief flashbacks of the first time you had slept together and he had left bruises on your hips, though the thought quickly left your mind when he began moving his hips. He gave you only a moment before his grip tightened, his hips picked up pace, and he was bringing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

He had been able to read your body in ways no one else could since the very first time the two of you had been together. After the first couple thrusts he had changed the angle of his hips to hit your g-spot and cause your moans to heighten in volume.

“That’s right, kitten, let it out. No more sneaking around and having to keep your voice down. Let me hear those pretty little moans,” he coaxed, keeping a steady rhythm with his thrusts and making sure to repeatedly push against that spot inside of you.

A mixture of his name and swear words fell from your lips like a prayer. You could feel your second orgasm of the morning already approaching and you clenched around him, trying to give him some kind of warning as the only thing you seemed to be capable of thinking of was his name.

One of Cillian’s hands moved from your hip to around your throat, pulling you up so your back was pressed against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your hips, his fingers circling your clit to edge you on while he continued his thrusts into you,

“Cum for me. Wanna hear you moan my name as you cum wrapped around my cock,” he commanded.

Your head dropped back onto his shoulder as you came, your moans and his mixing together as your orgasm only spurred him on to reach his. After a couple more thrusts his grip on you loosened and he slowed his movements down as the two of you rode out your highs.

There is an indentation in the shape of you

…

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Both of you laid back down on the bed, breathing heavily as you caught your breath. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you to him, kissing you softly for a moment before pulling away.

“You’ve made quite the mark on me, love” Cillian said, looking at you with a small smile.

A smile of your own crossed your face and a blush spread across your cheeks,

“I thought you left the marks on me,” you replied in a teasing tone, causing a small bit of laughter to leave his lips.

“Had to make sure it was mutual,” he replied in the same tone, leaning in to kiss you again.

“It definitely is,” you said with a smile against his lips.

[heartbreakgrill]

stiles stilinski: breakable heaven; pt 2, "it's new, the shape of your body. it's blue, the feeling i've got."

description: situationship x stiles stilinksi.

"so, you didn't even fuck him?" danny leaned forward in his desk, whispering pathetically to y/n, who was seated in front of him.

stacking her textbooks onto her desk, y/n twisted around to face her friend. "sh!" she looked around with paranoia, hoping no one heard danny's loud mouth. she rolled her eyes back towards danny, "quiet down, idiot. no, we didn't fuck."

"why?!" danny groaned, planting his forehead in his hands, "you had the perfect opportunity!"

y/n shrugged, "i just wasn't ready. i still barely know the guy."

"you don't need to know his favorite color to have sex with him. it's supposed to be casual, remember?" danny reminded.

twisted around to face danny still, she crossed her arms over the curve of the top of the chair, "i know, i know. but, ugh, i don't know. i just want to know a little bit."

he replied, "just a little bit, though. you don't want to get too attached."

"yeah, no, of course," y/n trailed off, focusing her attention back to the front of the room as the teacher demanded the students' to listen.

y/n pulled her phone from her pocket as it buzzed. underneath her desk, she responded to stiles' text.

stiles stilinski: nah, literally. i understand the books weren't finished, but they didn't have to end the show the way they did.

y/n: i kinda liked how dany went off the rails, but it was way out of her character development. i'll have to text you later, class is starting, and i'll be busy the rest of the day. see ya!

stiles stilinski: no problemo, have a lovely day!

y/n quickly shoved her phone into the side pocket of her bookbag. she sat up in her seat, doodled across the top of her notebook with a new pen, and attempted to focus her eyes on the chalkboard as the teacher wrote out the lesson title.

but her mind was focused elsewhere.

"y/n," stiles moaned against her lips as his body pushed up against hers.

she grasped at the hairs curled at the nape of his neck, giggling slightly at his neediness. "yeah?"

stiles sighed, exasperatedly, "you're...so...pretty."

y/n grinned, interrupting their kissing. stiles pulled his head back slightly, "what? did i do something wrong?"

she shook her head, meeting his brown eyes, softer in the dim lighting. "no, you're perfect.”

stiles had drove her home after the hangout at danny's. he insisted on listening to taylor swift and continued to intently ask her questions about anything and everything.

when he dropped her off, he waited at the curb, jeep idling, until he saw he safely enter her house. it made her heart skip a beat.

then, when she closed the door, reality came crashing back down.

y/n showered, went to bed. she was coming off of her high, and she was remembering all of the awful details of the past summer. stiles became an afterthought.

she made the mistake of looking at a few photos in her phone. missed stiles’ text telling her he got home safely.

she texted him when she woke up. he immediately replied, assuring her it was okay for her late response. he made one comment on something insanely random, but they delved into a conversation about it.

it got cut short, as it was saturday, and y/n had to go straight to work. it was insanely busy i’m the restaurant she waitressed at, so y/n didn't get a chance to check her phone all day. she hoped, though, that stiles would text her. of course, she hoped sam would, too. but that was always a hope a heartbroken person carried, right?

even if they knew, logically, it made no sense. it wasn’t right.

stiles, he did message her. they continued to text, back and forth, all weekend long.

y/n didn’t agree that casual sex needed to exclude any and all forms of friendliness. the only thing that needed to be removed from the situation was feelings, beyond anything amiable. and that was easy as pie.

after class, y/n had a free period. and that was the last class of the day. so, she dumped some of her books off at her locker, and decided to head home for the day.

on her way out to her car, she texted stiles back.

y/n: how’s your day going?

he didn’t respond right away, which he normally did. but, she knew he was in english, and the new teacher was pretty strict about phone usage.

y/n opened the driver’s side door, tossed her book bag in, and went to slip into her seat when she heard her name being called. she looked to her left and saw stiles jogging across the parking lot.

y/n furrowed her brows, tilted her head, “shouldn’t you be in english?”

stiles came to a halt before her, hands on his hips, “what? oh, um-“ he looked behind him, as if the answer lied towards the lacrosse field, “i got let out early?”

that sounded like a question. “hm,” y/n smiled slightly, “you’re skipping class.”

“oh, you’re one to judge,” he shot back, “what’re you doing right now?”

“going home. i have a free period!” y/n defended, motioning back to the school building.

“mhm,” stiles nodded, “sure.”

y/n stared at him for a moment. she lifted her phone up, “i just texted you, by the way.”

stiles pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, “oh, oh, here…” he typed out his response, and clicked send, proudly.

y/n smiled appreciatively, “i’m eager to hear your response to my riveting question. anyways, if you’re gonna skip class, do you think it’s a good idea to hang out in the parking lot?”

stiles leaned against the car beside y/n, “oh, probably not.” he looked like there was something else going on, and there was. y/n just didn’t know about all of the supernatural threats surrounding the school on any given basis. “but, i saw you and wanted to ask…”

“what’s up?” she stood up, eager.

stiles rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick, y/n noticed. “are you free tomorrow night?”

y/n nodded, probably too quick to respond, “yeah, absolutely.”

“okay, cool,” stiles pursed his lips. a beat of silence passed, and y/n tilted her head, encouraging him to continue. “oh, well, maybe i can finally meet your dog?”

“smooth,” y/n poked his shoulder, “text me when you’re leaving school. i’ll send you my address.”

stiles grinned, “really? cool, cool. i’ll- see you then.”

y/n climbed into her car, and stiles closed the driver’s door for her. she waved before pulling out of the parking lot.

stiles fist pumped the air.

he met back up with scott, allison, and isaac by his jeep. they were skipping class because the alpha pack in town was causing a load of harmful trouble. just another chapter in the book of the supernatural.

“what was that about?” scott asked, secretly for his friend.

stiles, pretending to be casual about the situation, placed his hands on his hips, shrugged. “nah, nothing. just made plans to chill tomorrow night. no big deal.”

scott didn’t want to pressure his friend. he simply nodded, smiling kindly. “sounds good.”

stiles shrugged, again, though scott could see right through him.

he could see right through his sarcastic, solid exterior, straight to the scared teenage boy with the giant heart he wore just under his sleeve.

and he knew, already, things were gonna get messy.

–

y/n took an everything shower when she got home at her free period. and, by everything- she did everything. shaved, exfoliated, scrubbed every pore on her skin, wrapped her body in masks, conditioners, body washes, hair treatments, a teeth whitening kit. everything.

she tried to present her makeup and hair casually, but y/n still put enough effort into both to make herself look better than average. she was dressed and ready to go as soon as stiles messaged her that he was leaving school. she replied with her address, and proceeded to pace the length of the front room of her house until he arrived.

y/n’s dog started barking, in response to a short knock from the front door. she shushed winnie, who was up in arms about the person outside; ears perked up, eyes alert. all german Shepard, guard dog-esque. y/n patted winnie’s head, calming her slightly, before unlocking and opening the door.

stiles stood there, posture hunched slightly, in jeans and his usual t-shirt combo. his palm was cupped in front of his mouth, as though he was smelling his breath. he met y/n’s eyes, coughed awkwardly, and quickly wiped his hands on his thighs.

“oh,” he cleared his throat, again, “sorry. uh- hi. sorry. just- smelling my breath!” stiles cringed at his own words and glanced at his feet. he scratched the back of his neck.

y/n giggled, “oh, my goodness. just come in.”

she stepped aside, motioning him into the house. winnie took this moment to run up to stiles, panting like she’d run a marathon. stiles responded with excitement, ushering the old girl inside while patting her fur and gushing with baby talk.

“oh, you’re so cute- oh, yes you are, yes, you are. you are gorgeous, sweet girl,” stiles crouched to winnie’s level. “this is winnie, right?”

y/n nodded appreciatively. he listened to her when she talked. “yep. she’s very happy to meet you.”

“i’m very happy to meet her- oh, yes, i am!” stiles accepted the kisses winnie offered.

“now you’re breath might smell!” y/n laughed, gently pushing winnie’s face from stiles’ mouth.

stiles stood back up straight, though winnie continued to nudge him with her snout.

“you can take your shoes off,” y/n instructed. stiles followed suit, kicking his converse off towards the side, with the other shoes.

stiles moved further into the house, peering around the corner, into the living room, then on the other side, into the kitchen. “are…your parents home?”

y/n met his eyes and smiled gently. “no,” she shook her head. “they’re out of town this week.”

“so, you’re all alone? in this giant house?” stiles walked through the kitchen. outside the big picture windows was nothing but woods. she lived only a few minutes from school, but, “in the middle of…nowhere?”

y/n giggled, again, looking out the window, too, “yeah. i used to be scared, but you get over it. they’re out of town a lot.”

she didn’t know why stiles became worrisome. she didn’t really notice the creases deepen in his forehead, or the constant thought that would now exist in his mind. she didn’t know about the supernatural. she didn’t know of the massive threat looming right over her throat every single day.

“that’s…” stiles met her eye. she frowned slightly because he looked freaked out. he covered up his concern, “you should throw a party. yeah, that would be sick.“

she shrugged, “yeah, maybe. i don’t know, that’s a lot of work. i’d be stressed the whole time. wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself cause i’d be worried about people fucking up the house.

“well, that’s why you have me. i can co-host. we can worry together,” stiles nudged her with his elbow.

she looked up at him, shoulder brushing his, goofy grin on her face. “okay, yeah…i’ll take you up on that offer sometime. maybe next weekend. after the game?”

stiles gave her a thumbs up, “nothing better than getting shit faced after being hit with lacrosse sticks for three hours.”

y/n laughed, loudly. she wrapped her hand around stiles shoulder, leaning in as the noise rang from her throat. people were usually sick of his sarcasm after being around him longer than 24 hours. she seemed ever-appreciative of it. his bareskin tingled beneath her fingers. he sweat a little, breathed a little heavier.

feeling no sense of self control, stiles grabbed her by the hips, pushed his lips up against hers. he pressed her back up against the kitchen island, nearly tossing them both to the floor from his rush. she yelped, slightly. but she managed to balance herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and wrapped her fingers up in his hair.

they continued moving against each other, lips sloppy together. stiles had little to no experience, save for the few times he had made out with a girl. but, his expertise ended there. he’d, obviously, read- watched- a lot about that. there were a few tricks he’d been keeping up his sleeve. and this was finally his moment.

he situated his hands back on her hips, as they’d wandered up her torso. using all of his strength, stiles lifted y/n up onto the kitchen counter. she gasped, surprised by his muscle. she met his eyes, pupils blown out, mouth swollen, hair in disarray. once she was situated on top, stiles moved back in for her lips.

y/n fought the smile crawling out of her mouth. she focused on his shoulders, his arms, his chest. she reached the bottom of his shirt and began to slowly, painfully, pull it over his head. stiles quickly helped her toss it across the kitchen.

his lips aimed for her, but she took the upper-hand by steadying his shoulders. she first kissed the nape of his neck, which caused his breathing to completely shorten. she smiled as she felt his heart thump against his throat. as y/n nipped her way up and down his neck, rolled his ear lobe between her teeth, stiles moved his hands back to her body.

every once and a while, he’d shudder under her touch, let out a little breathless moan. at the same time, his fingers would clench whatever piece of skin he was touching. at first, her hips, then her sides, then her breasts. she moaned at this accidental movement, and stiles smiled to himself.

stiles gently pulled her shirt up and off. she dropped her head back to his neck, intending to continue her battle there. but, stiles cupped either one of her breasts in his hand, gently squeezing again. he felt goosebumps tickle all up and down her skin, and saw them rise on the curve of her breasts. he didn’t know where his confidence was coming from, but he leaned forward, and kissed the hills on her skin.

y/n’s forehead dropped to stiles’ shoulder, sweet sounds escaping her lips. he delicately swept his fingers around the edge of her bra, to the back, where the clasp was. before he could try to undo it, y/n pulled back. the way she looked at him- stiles swore he could fall apart from that gaze.

“as much as i’m enjoying this, i’d rather not fuck on my kitchen counter,” y/n steadied her hands on his shoulders.

stiles grinned, stepped back, helped her land on the floor, on her feet. before she could move past him, stiles dipped his head low, grabbed her jaw between his hand, and kissed her fiercely. y/n’s knees knocked together.

and she led him to her room.

when he left, y/n showered, again. she was sweaty, and he lingered on her skin like frostbite. showers always made her feelings irrepressible, like they were being sucked out of her lungs by the water.

she cried.

and it wasn’t befause stiles was terrible at sex. no, he was good. he’d made her feel good. he drew movement from her she didn’t know was possible.

it was everything else.

it was sam. it was the endless summer she had felt come to a stubborn, painful close. it was the ugly feeling he had left lingering on her skin.

she didn’t she’d ever get over it- him. he’d be etched into her like stretch marks. he pulled her apart, stretched her thin, and punched holes everywhere he could. left a brutal, bruising mark.

all because he was too scared to try.

she wanted to call danny afterwards, to tell him all about. to ask for solace from him in her confusing heartbreak. but, it felt too burdening.

stiles texted her when he got home, shortly after she got out of the shower. she thanked him, she didn’t know why, but she thanked him. she was grateful. he made her feel worthy. hell, he’d spent half the time in her sheets worshipping and praising her body, her lips, at her hips like an altar.

it was almost overwhelming. but it felt good. he felt good. everywhere.

he thanked her back with some witty, thoughtful message. she wanted to text back, but a conversation felt like too much right now. she needed to rest her weary heart.

besides, this was all casual…right? she wasn’t obligated to text him back. it didn’t matter if she did. she didn’t care if she did.

right?

–

“and then what happened?” danny slammed his hands down on the table between them, leaning his face close to y/n’s.

the smack of his palms resounded throughout the library, garnering hushes from the independent study instructor, and glares from the other students. y/n looked around, embarrassed, before shoving danny’s face away with her own hand.

“shut up!” y/n shushed him herself. “don’t have to tell the whole school how i fucked stiles stilinksi!”

she said it in a whisper, but danny still heard it. he cheered, loudly, jumping up and out of his seat. y/n stood, too, grabbing his biceps and trying to calm him down. she shot apologetic glances to her fellow classmates. coach blew his whistle, causing danny and y/n to whip their heads his way.

“that’s it! if you can’t study independently, you can’t study at all! get out, go home, go to the alley by the gas station and buy drugs, i don’t care! just don’t stay here!”

he ushered them out the door, and they barely managed to grab their things before the library was shut tightly behind them. y/n smacked danny across the chest, but he barely winced.

she pumped her legs, hard, moving down the hall away from him. danny followed, quick, singing, “she just had sex! y/n finally had sex!”

stopped at her locker, y/n rolled her eyes, and tried to quiet danny down. “literally- danny! i won’t tell you anything if you don’t shut the fuck up! please!”

danny groaned and leaned up against the locker. nevertheless, he shut the fuck up. “please tell me more before i combust!”

y/n waved him off as she shoved some books into her locker. “we had sex. it was good- like, really, weirdly, mysteriously good.” she emphasized the word, shooting danny a confused look.

his jaw was dropped, “be for real. right now. no way- stilinksi? stiles stilinksi?”

y/n nodded with a look of surprised assurance. “i know. and- like, sure, he’s not at all experienced. but, he somehow knew what to do. plus- oh, my god…” y/n trailed off, gesturing to the floor with head, her eyes widened.

danny’s mouth opened further, if at all possible, “no fucking way! no way. i refuse to- how big?”

he put his hands out beside each other in the air, about three inches apart. y/n shook her head, offended. he opened the space further, until y/n nodded, smirking.

danny slapped a palm over his mouth, “holy fuck! stiles stilinksi-“ he said, shocked, before he repeated, “stiles stilinksi,” impressed.

“i know,” y/n shrugged. she shut her locker.

danny began walking towards the exit, y/n falling in step beside him. “you lucky bitch. so, do you think it’ll be a regular thing? are you gonna do it- him- again?”

danny held the door open for her. she stepped through with a shrug. “i would fucking love to. but, i don’t know. he hasn’t said anything since. we’ve just been texting about other shit.”

“like, what?” danny inquired.

y/n pulled out her phone, where a fresh, unread text from stiles sat patient. “like, right now, we’re discussing his favorite band. music, in general, i guess.”

danny scoffed, “be for real.”

“bitch,” y/n shoved him, “what?”

“discussing music,” he tsked his tongue. “that’s how it always starts. before you know it, you’re married in the burbs with a baby and a dog.”

“shut up,” y/n shoved her phone back into her pocket, self conscious about responding, now. “you know i don’t want that. i’m not interested in dating. i’m moving away in less than a year and- and…”

she trailed off, but danny knew what her distant look meant. “sam,” he filled in the gap. “i know,” he touched her arm lovingly.

y/n looked up at him with her sad, puppy dog eyes. “fucking- ugh. i hate him.”

“i know, babe,” danny comforted. “at least you don’t have to see him. at least he’s off at college.”

“it’s sad, though,” she opened her car door and dumped her backpack inside. leaned up against the side of the vehicle, she elaborated, “i saw him almost every single day, over the summer. and then he just- i don’t know.”

“tells you he loves you while breaking up with you? i do know. he’s a fucking pussy. and you deserve better. he was manipulative as fuck, anyways,” danny waved off the issue at hand. “i don’t know, just…i don’t know. stiles is weird. i don’t really know him that well. he doesn’t seem like he’d fuck you over, but it’s just that tricky line of friends with benefits. it almost always leads to someone getting hurt.”

y/n picked at a piece of dirt on the side of her car, focused on danny’s words. “i think we’re both smart enough that we won’t let that happen. we both know what we want from each other- sex. strictly. nothing else. it’s black and white.”

“oh, love,” danny patted her shoulder, “nothing is ever black and white.”

danny bid farewell, hugging his friend tightly, with a saddened gaze shot her way. she was distant, stuck in her head, thinking over her words.

it didn’t matter. it really didn’t. she didn’t want anything from stiles, but sex. she didn’t want an attachment. so, she simply wouldn’t form one.

it didn’t matter if they were discussing music. it didn’t matter if she knew what made his cheeks crinkle into a smile. it didn’t matter if she was learning his favorite colors depended on the seasons, or that his dad was his role model. it didn’t matter.

she had boundaries, and she could keep them.

she could.

couldn’t she?