#this isn’t quite as good as the Wilson one

[oddlittlestories]

Thinking about Cuddy.

House is a genius. I’ve written about how Wilson is equally talented.

But Cuddy is, too.

One of three(?) female deans of medicine in the country. One of the youngest. And every time the spotlight turns onto her, she does things no one else can do.

She has a kid by herself. Wilson points out that a man in her position would have a wife, two nannies AND two assistants. (She tries to hire an assistant and the job is so demanding they quit regularly.)

She consistently gets things for the hospital no one else can get and is the trump card only she can play. In 5 to 9, she gets (I think) 7%, which is far and away better than her opponent, her board, or anyone else but her thought she could get.

In season 1, iirc it’s implied SHE brings in Vogler, and she’s the only person who can stop him when he starts tearing the entire hospital apart to get at House.

In season 3, she ends the nonsense with Tritter.

She’s also the only person who can and will keep House on her team (no one will hire House or Foreman, other than her). And she’s the only person who can wrangle him, canonically (I disagree with canon, but Cameron does hand the reigns back to Cuddy with this exact statement). Moreover, she makes House an ASSET. In 5 to 9, she explains that PPTH is on the cutting edge, which includes their world famous ddx department.

And! Despite the fact that House routinely accuses her of being an administrator and not a doctor anymore, she still successfully treats patients from time to time. She helps ddx the babies in Maternity. She saves her patient’s baby in Fetal Position. In s5 Joy, she clocks that something is wrong with the mom when no one else does, and pushes until the diagnosis is made and saves both their lives. She figures out the diagnosis in Joy to the World at the same time as House, and is so kind and respectful to the folks caring for the baby, yet still makes sure she gives the baby what she needs.

I have to admit that I don’t remember s7-8 well enough to go through those, but it’s clear to everyone that Cuddy is a great doctor. Much like Wilson, she gets dismissed in part bc she gets too emotionally involved. And it’s also clear that no one really understands her work or how good she is at it. Everyone only sees their part, and she has to see all of it and make it all fit together, making sure everyone gets what they need. Her ability to flip between caring and hardass undermines her ability to seem tough, but it’s also necessary. If she couldn’t care, she wouldn’t take such good care of her people or patients. If she couldn’t toughen up, she’d let people walk all over her. It’s a unique style, and not without its pitfalls, but it’s all hers.

And like Wilson, she doesn’t get seen as a genius. In fact, she barely gets acknowledged as smart at all. A lot of her successes come from charisma and social intelligence. And those things often get dismissed in women, especially women who care as deeply and obviously as Cuddy does. The ability to juggle so many things gets dismissed as “basically being well-organized,” and also, no one really SEES what she does. It sometimes takes her a minute, but she reads people like THAT. She figures out and outwits that sociopathic drug dealer. She sees through most of House’s lies. She often settles with plaintiffs because of guilt, but she also often talks them out of suing the hospital in the first place.

Cuddy is just as good, and just as brilliant, at her job as House and Wilson. But she doesn’t get seen as a genius anymore than Wilson does.

[2kiran]

18+ DOM DEADPOOL X M!READER

Thinking about WADE WILSON trapping you in his grasp, his masked chin perched on your shoulder and his blood-tinted leather glove shoved in-between your thighs. He reeks of impending doom, the scent combining with his natural aroma.

“Oh, no, no, don’t run from it, pretty boy.” WADE clicks his tongue, shaking his head as you squirm. His arm snaking around your waist tightened its grip, clutching you firmly against his front.

He sneaks his hand beneath your pants, wrapping it around the base of your hard cock before freeing it from your boxers. But he doesn’t allow the cool air to hit your sensitive hardness, choosing to toy with you by keeping it hidden under your shirt. You grunt, reaching to hold onto his knees. “W—wade.” You croak, trying not to buck your hips up.

WADE hums curiously, indicating that he was listening. With one finger, he maps out the silhouette of your length through the soft material. He’s enjoying this, and that fact is one he isn’t afraid to admit. “Hmm? D’ya want somethin’, baby?”

Despite his question, he doesn’t quite let you answer. Suddenly, his thumb presses down against the side of your tip, staring in great awe at how pre-cum begins to dampen the fabric. Your dick twitches from the stimulation, and you can’t prevent the plea from leaving you. “Stop teasin’ me, please.”

You can nearly feel his lips stretch upwards into a cocky grin. His palm rests flat on your length, gently rubbing up and down. Every time WADE’S finger went to messily massage your frenulum, your shirt would press into your skin and increase your responsiveness, making you uncontrollably throb. “Awww, we both know you don’t mean that. Our buddy over here likes it.” He teases, shifting to properly but lazily jerk you off.

His hand clenches when it curls ‘round your shaft, balancing you on the point of experiencing a high but never enough for you to actually reach it. WADE WILSON knows you can handle a tad of edging. “Be a good boy, c’mon that’s it, just a liiiiiiil’ bit more.”

[doormatty3]

Onions and Orgasms (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You] Being in a relationship with Orm is interesting, to say the least—he’s loving, kind, and undoubtedly overwhelmed by human customs. To help him adapt, you often cook together, showing him human traditions through the joy of making delicious food, something you have both grown fond of. Typically, his lack of kitchen knowledge and skills isn’t a big issue, but you soon discover that some food items need more explanation than you initially anticipated. OR: You laugh about Orm’s horrible kitchen skills, and he shows you with what he *is* skilled.

Wordcount: 7,362

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, fluff, smut, dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, anal fingering, oral sex

A/N: I don't know what it is about Orm that just doesn't let me go... I had to write another story about him (I know exactly what it is - it's Patrick Wilson)

This is set after my Ocean Eyes story—you don't need to have read it, though. The only thing you need to know is that Orm and Reader-Chan are in a happy relationship, and Orm—well, he isn't that good with surface dweller stuff, but he tries.

You know that Orm doesn't understand much about humans and their customs—you'd been living with the man for quite some time, and his antics are nothing new.

Though he tries and makes an effort for your sake, sometimes he even does it so well that you forget he is the former king of Atlantis. But other times, it is all too obvious that he is still a stranger to this world.

"Why must everything be cut into such small pieces, honey?" Orm asks, his tone filled with genuine curiosity as he concentrates on cutting vegetables. The two of you are cooking together, an activity that has become a cherished routine of your everyday life. It is in these quiet moments that Orm's sincere attempts to integrate into your world were most apparent. And not only did his efforts shine, but so did the love between you.

You look at him, a fond smile playing on your lips.

His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, and his unruly blond hair nearly reaches his nose now. His piercing blue eyes are focused on the small kitchen knife and the bell pepper he is meticulously slicing. The knife seems almost comically small in his large hands, and he grips it with such strength that you are surprised it hasn't broken yet.

It is somewhat amusing, considering how skilled he is with his trident compared to the struggle he faces just holding the knife properly.

"Because we're going to fry it, sweetheart," you explain gently, appreciating his efforts to learn. "Cutting the vegetables into smaller pieces helps them cook more evenly and quickly."

Orm nods slowly, processing the information. He glances at you, his expression a mix of determination and puzzlement. "Fry… that means to cook them in hot oil, right?"

"Exactly," you confirm, guiding him through the process. "It gives them a nice texture and flavour."

As he resumes cutting the bell pepper, pleased with your answer, you can't help but admire his dedication.

Orm, the fierce warrior who once ruled an underwater kingdom, now stands in your modest kitchen, struggling with the simple act of slicing vegetables. It is a testament to how much he cares about adapting to your world - about making a life with you.

You watch as he continues his task, his concentration unwavering.

Despite the awkwardness, there is just something endearing about his efforts. The way he holds the knife, the careful precision with which he makes each cut, and the slight furrow in his brow all speak of a man determined to master even the most mundane aspects of human life for the sake of the one he loves.

"You're doing great," you encourage, stepping closer to him. "Just a little more practice and you'll be a pro."

Orm glances up at you, and a small, sweet, appreciative smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

At that moment, you are once again mesmerised by how much you love him. The depth of your feelings seems to swell within you as if you are seeing him for the first time all over again. The love you feel for him is a constant, ever-growing force that never ceases to amaze you.

"Thank you," he says softly. "For being patient with me."

You reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. "We're in this together, Orm. Every step of the way."

He smiles brightly at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and sparkling like the smoothest water in sunlight before he returns his focus to slicing the last few pieces of bell pepper.

When he is done with the paprika, Orm hands you the bowl, his eyes meeting yours with a look of accomplishment. You take it from him with a grateful smile.

"Thanks," you say, putting the bowl away so you can use it for cooking later. "Can you cut the onions, love?" you ask, gesturing towards the small pile of onions on the counter.

His puzzled expression tells you he isn't sure which vegetable you mean, so you point at them and specify. "You have to peel them—the brown skin has to go. Then, dice the white part in small pieces."

Orm nods and grabs an onion, examining it closely before starting to peel. You watch as he works, his large hands moving slowly and carefully. It is kind of cute - the way he approaches this simple task with such determination.

He peels away the first layer, the dry, flaky skin falling away to reveal the smooth white beneath. As he begins to slice, his concentration deepens, his brows furrowing just as they had with the bell pepper.

After a few cuts, however, you hear him mutter a curse under his breath. Glancing over, you see him blinking rapidly, his eyes beginning to water.

Orm wipes his arm over his eyes, confusion etched on his face. "Why do my eyes hurt?" he asks, blinking more frequently now. Before you can warn him, he uses the same hand he had just cut the onion with to rub his eyes.

"Orm, no—" you start, but it is too late.

His eyes widen in pain, and he quickly withdraws his hand, the irritation clearly intensifying. Tears stream down his cheeks, not from emotion but from the sharp sting of the onions.

"Why… why am I crying?" he asks, bewildered, as he tries to blink away the tears. He brings his hand up again, clearly frustrated, and you quickly grab his arm to stop him.

"Sweetheart, you're making it worse," you say, unable to help the laugh that bubbles up. "Let me help you."

You grab a piece of tissue paper and go to the sink to dampen it. Then you dab it over his eyes, gently cleaning his hands as well.

He grumbles, clearly in a bad mood from the sting and the tears, and you can't help but laugh again. "The mighty Orm, taken down by a humble onion," you tease lightly.

Orm's expression darkens slightly, a mix of frustration and embarrassment, his brows knitting together in a grumpy frown. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, his pride clearly stung, but your laughter only intensifies.

Acting a bit condescending, you pat his cheek. "It's okay, sweetie. Onions can be tricky. Maybe next time I'll handle them - we'll find another battle for the fine Atlantean warrior."

His eyes flash with a mix of frustration and something deeper. Before you can react, he roughly presses you against the counter, his grip firm but not painful.

Orm's lips crash down on yours in a heated, possessive kiss. You gasp in surprise but quickly melt into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest on his broad chest.

When he finally pulls back a bit, his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark with unresolved tension. "Don't mock me," he says, his voice low and husky.

You look up at him, breathless and a little dazed from the unexpected kiss. "I wasn't—" you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

"You think this is funny?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl as he interrupts you. "I may not be skilled in the kitchen, but I'm skilled in getting you off."

Before you can respond or comprehend what he said, he kisses you again roughly, his hands roaming your body with a fervour that makes your heart race. You bury your hands in his blond hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens.

It is intense and devouring.

You feel his tongue against yours, the insistent pressure of his lips sending shivers down your spine. Orm's kiss is demanding, almost punishing, and you meet it with equal passion, losing yourself in the moment. The sensation of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body, is intoxicating. You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his hair, feeling the world blur around you.

His tongue teases and explores, sending waves of heat coursing through your body. You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled by his relentless assault. He growls in response, the vibration travelling through you and making you tremble.

Orm's hands slide down your back, gripping your waist with a possessive strength that leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you against him, the hardness of his body pressing into your softness. His tongue explores your mouth with an urgency that makes your knees weak, and you moan into the kiss again, your body responding eagerly to his touch as you clench your thighs, feeling yourself growing wet.

When Orm finally pulls back, his eyes are smouldering with renewed intensity. He doesn't move away from you; instead, he tightens his grip on your waist again, pressing you firmly against the counter. The heat of his body radiates through your clothes, and you can feel the raw power in his muscles as he holds you there, trapped between the cool surface of the counter and him.

"You drive me crazy," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands roam over your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive hunger. "You laugh at me, but you have no idea what you do to me."

You shiver at his words, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. "Orm…" you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He silences you with another kiss, rough and demanding. His tongue explores your mouth with an urgency that causes your eyes to flutter closed as you respond eagerly, your hands clutching at his hair, his shoulders, anything to ground yourself in the whirlwind of sensation.

Orm's hands move with a new purpose, sliding under your shirt to caress the bare skin beneath. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explores every inch of you. His fingers trace patterns over your back and sides, each touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

He tugs at your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it aside, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, his hands roaming over your now exposed breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples.

The sensation is almost too much, and you arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as you respond in kind, moving your hands from his hair over his broad shoulders and biceps, feeling the strong muscles beneath his clothes.

He lifts you onto the counter with ease, his powerful hands gripping your waist firmly as he keeps his lips connected to yours.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you for a second before his mouth descends on your neck.

He kisses and nibbles at your sensitive skin, his hands continuing their exploration of your body. His touch is both tender and demanding, a combination that leaves you aching for more. His breath is hot and tantalising, making you let out a breathy moan as your hands come up to touch his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his skin.

"You drive me wild," he murmurs against your neck, his voice a husky growl.

His hands move to your breasts, teasing them with a touch that sends shivers down your spine.

His fingers expertly trace circles around your nipples, each caress making them harden under his touch. You gasp, arching into him, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations, and you feel your pussy growing wet as arousal pulses through your veins. He growls appreciatively, his mouth moving lower, leaving a trail of kisses down your chest.

"Orm," you breathe, your voice a mixture of frustration and need.

He smiles against your skin, his lips trailing down to your chest. "You think it's funny to laugh at me, don't you?" he murmurs, his mouth closing over one nipple. He sucks gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, drawing a moan from your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

A whimper escapes you as he switches tactics, using his teeth to graze over your flesh with a delicious roughness, sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins and making your clit throb. But then, just as quickly, he soothes the ache with a soothing stroke of his tongue, leaving you trembling with desire.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands as you pull him closer, unable to contain the overwhelming need for him. "I'm sorry," you manage to gasp between ragged breaths, though your words are lost in the haze of pleasure.

"I'm not," he growls, lifting his head to look at you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and desire. "You drive me mad."

He switches to the other breast, his mouth and hands working together to drive you wild as he sucks and nibbles on your sensitive nipple and kneads your tit with his hand. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and anticipation that makes you tremble. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your need for him growing with each passing second, slick against your underwear.

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that makes your heart race. "All mine."

With that, he captures your lips in another searing kiss, his hands moving down to your waist, leaving your breasts aching as the cool air hits your wet, hard nipples. It's deep and consuming, a mix of hunger and tenderness that leaves you breathless and makes you moan into his mouth again.

You cling to him, your fingers tangling in his blond hair, pulling at the thick strands to drag him even closer as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Orm's fingers trail over your thighs, his touch light and teasing, driving you wild with anticipation. He spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark and predatory and a smirk on his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

"Orm, please," you whisper, your voice a desperate plea.

He smiles, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Patience," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck, sending waves of pleasure through you. "I want to savour this."

His hands roam over your thighs again, caressing and teasing, driving you to the brink of madness as his long fingers draw intricate patterns through the fabric of your clothes. Each touch is electric, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers dance closer and closer to your cunt, but he never quite touches you where you need him most.

You can't help but whimper, the sound a mix of frustration and desire.

There's a part of you that wishes you hadn't teased him so mercilessly about his lack of knowledge of cutting onions and kitchen skills in general. You know he's going to drag this out, making you suffer and beg instead of just giving you what you want.

Orm spreads your legs further, positioning himself between them. His large, calloused hands cup your face tenderly, guiding your gaze to meet his. You lift your hand to touch his stubbly cheek, running your thumb over it, and gaze into his blue eyes that are now dark and reflecting desire.

He closes his eyes, his impossibly long lashes resting against his cheeks as he lets out a sigh. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. The sweet gesture makes your heart flutter in your chest, your love for him threatening to spill out.

"I love you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten with emotion.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your voice trembling with the weight of your feelings.

Orm's hands move from your face, trailing down your neck, over your shoulders, and coming to rest on your breasts again. He squeezes them gently, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

He kisses you again, deeply and passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matches your own. Every stroke of his tongue, every brush of his lips, is filled with an intense desire that makes your head spin. It's intoxicating, making you dizzy with want.

You feel his hard cock straining against his pants as he presses himself against you, making you whine with need. The pressure against your cunt is maddening, and you're sure you're wet enough to leave a spot on his pants, were you naked.

Orm's hands move with a deliberate slowness, heightening your anticipation.

He chuckles softly at your response, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through your body. Pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his hands begin their journey lower, gliding over your stomach until they reach the waistband of your pants.

He pulls them down slowly and with agonising patience, taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, your body aching for his touch. Every inch of skin he reveals feels hypersensitive, exposed to the cool air and the heat of his stare.

Orm's smirk deepens as he slides your pants down, leaving you in just your underwear. His fingers continue their torturous teasing over the fabric, pressing and rubbing in just the right way to drive you wild. Your hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, more contact, more anything , but he holds you steady, keeping control as you soak your panties even more.

"Do you like this?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "Do you like being teased ?"

You shake your head, unable to form words, your body writhing with need.

He finally slips his fingers beneath the fabric, touching your cunt directly, and the sensation is almost too much. You cry out, your back arching as his thumb finds your clit with practised ease and drags the rough pad over it in circles, finding a slow and perfect rhythm.

"You're perfect," he whispers, his voice filled with awe and adoration as he slows his movements even more before halting completely and pulling his hand from under your panties, making you whimper in protest.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, but before you can say anything and protest properly, his hands are on you again, his fingers trailing over your thighs, spreading your legs wider. He leans in, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath hot and teasing.

He starts to kiss his way up your inner thigh, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you, and you slump back onto the counter, keeping yourself upright by your arms.

His lips are soft and warm, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste your skin. The sensation is exquisite, making you squirm with need.

"Orm, please," you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of mischief. "Patience," he murmurs, his voice a deep, velvety growl. "I want to savour this."

He continues his slow, torturous journey up your thigh, his mouth finally reaching the apex. He pauses there, taking a moment to breathe in your scent, his hot breath ghosting over your panties and sending shivers down your spine.

Then he begins to kiss you through the thin fabric of your underwear, his tongue flicking over the damp cloth, tasting you in the most maddeningly indirect way possible. When his tongue finally presses against your neglected, throbbing clit, even through the fabric, you gasp loudly, your back arching off the counter.

His groan of appreciation reverberates through your pussy, sending vibrations that intensify the pleasure to dizzying heights. You can feel the heat of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue seeping through your panties, creating a delicious friction that has you moaning his name.

Desperate for more, you grip his hair tightly, your fingers tangling in the blond strands as you try to pull him closer and prevent him from stopping. But Orm maintains his torturous pace, teasing you mercilessly.

"Please," you plead, your voice breaking with desperation. "I need more."

He grins against you, the vibration of his laughter sending shivers through your body. "As you wish," he says, his voice low and husky.

Orm pulls back slightly, prompting a whine of protest from you as you tighten your grip on his hair, too caught up in the haze of arousal to grasp why he wants to pull back.

"Honey, you need to let me move a bit to take off your underwear," he says, his tone affectionate yet teasing.

Blushing furiously, you release your tight hold on his hair, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and desire flood through you. His gaze meets yours, his eyes dark with need and amusement.

"My needy girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire.

Before you can respond, he leans in quickly, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. His mouth moves hungrily against yours, his tongue exploring every inch with a fervour that leaves you breathless. The taste of him is intoxicating, filling your senses and leaving you craving more.

When he pulls back and settles between your legs again, you're dazed - by the pleasure he's providing and his closeness. It is as if you can never get enough of him.

With a deft movement, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and slowly slides them down your legs. He pauses for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, completely exposed and vulnerable. His gaze is intense, filled with a mix of love and desire that makes your heart race.

Orm leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, moving closer to your now bare cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes locking with yours, as he leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive area.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you in place. "I'm going to give you something to laugh about," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you.

This time, there is no barrier between you.

The first touch of his tongue is like a shock of electricity, making you gasp and clutch at the edge of the counter, your fingers curling around the edge as you brace yourself for the onslaught of sensation.

He licks a long, slow path up your slit, savouring your taste with a low, appreciative groan. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking and teasing with a skill that has you moaning. He alternates between gentle licks and firm strokes, driving you to the brink of madness.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the blond strands as you pull him closer and try to ground yourself. He hums against you, the vibration sending shivers of pleasure through your entire body.

His mouth works in perfect harmony with his hands, his fingers parting your slick cunt to give him better access to your most sensitive spots.

He plunges his tongue inside you, tasting and exploring your pussy with a fervour that makes you moan loudly. He moves with a rhythm that is both precise and unpredictable, keeping you on edge, never knowing what to expect next. Each movement, each flick of his tongue, brings you closer and closer.

Just as you feel the orgasm building, he pulls back, denying you the release you crave. The sensation is exquisite torture, leaving you gasping and trembling with need. He watches you, his blue eyes dark and intense, enjoying the sight of you teetering on the edge.

"Orm, please," you beg, your voice a desperate plea. "I need to cum."

He lifts his head just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal and his blue eyes dark. "Not yet," he says, his voice a low growl. "I want to hear you beg some more."

With that, he slips two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. The dual sensation is almost too much to bear. You writhe against him, your body on fire with need. Every nerve ending is alive, screaming for release.

But he isn't done.

His free hand trails down, his finger thick and calloused, pressing gently against the tight ring of your ass, the sensation foreign and electrifying.

You tense instinctively, unsure of what to expect, but the gentle pressure of his touch is surprisingly comforting as he explores your puckered hole for the first time.

He circles the entrance slowly, teasingly, his movements deliberate and controlled. Each touch sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, the unfamiliar sensation stirring something deep inside you.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs, his voice husky with need.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of anticipation and excitement flooding your senses. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin as you surrender to the pleasure of his touch.

Orm's fingers press against the tight entrance, the sensation foreign yet undeniably arousing. He moves slowly, carefully, easing his finger past the resistance with a gentleness that belies the intensity of his desire, making you gasp as a mixture of pleasure and discomfort floods your senses.

"Relax, honey," he whispers, his breath hot against your cunt. "I'll take care of you."

You nod, your body trembling with anticipation as he continues to explore you, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "Orm," you gasp, unable to form coherent words as pleasure washes over you in waves.

Orm eases his finger deeper inside you. The stretch is intense, the feeling of being filled in a way you've never experienced before, both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "That's it, honey," he murmurs, his voice filled with dark amusement. "Let go, and let me take care of you."

You moan in response as you adjust to the feeling.

You can feel every ridge and contour of his finger within you, the sensation, unlike anything you've ever felt before. As he begins to move his finger in and out, the feeling builds, pleasure mingling with the slight sting of discomfort until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is overwhelming, desire flooding your senses as he sets a rhythm that drives you wild with need.

Orm's voice is a husky growl as he speaks, his words sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You like feeling my fingers in your tight little ass."

You whimper in response, your mind clouded by desire and undeniably overwhelmed by everything he's doing to you. His fingers move within you, stretching and filling you in a way that leaves you gasping for breath.

Orm's touch is possessive, almost primal, as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. "You're so fucking tight," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "Someday, I'll take you there too."

His words send a jolt of heat straight to your cunt, the idea of him taking you in your ass sending waves of desire crashing over you as you clench around his fingers.

"You enjoy that?" he growls, his voice low and guttural. "You enjoy being filled up like this, don't you, honey? Having both your holes stuffed?"

His dirty talk only serves to heighten your arousal, the words sending flashes of pure, hot want through your body as he works you with his fingers and mouth. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin as you ride the wave of sensation, your body writhing with need.

Orm is relentless, his fingers moving with a skill and precision that leaves you breathless. You can feel the tension building inside you, a coil wound so tightly it's about to snap.

The combination is almost unbearable. Your body feels like it's on fire, each touch and movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"Please, Orm," you whimper, your voice breaking. "I can't take it."

He grins against you, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh as he pulls back slightly, his fingers still working in and out of you, the sound of your wet pussy loud and obvious. "Not yet, sweetheart," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can, and you will take it,"

His fingers in your cunt curl just right , pressing against your G-spot while his thumb continues its torturous circles over your clit, causing you to clench and whimper.

Meanwhile, the finger in your ass moves in and out, the tightness around it making Orm groan with satisfaction. "You're so tight here," he mutters, his voice filled with dark pleasure. "I love feeling you like this…And I think you need more to clench on."

Orm adds a second finger to your ass, stretching you slightly, the sensation both foreign and thrilling and even more intense than before.

He pumps his fingers in and out of both your ass and pussy, curling them to hit just the right spots while his tongue flicks over your clit with maddening precision. The pressure builds inside you, each touch bringing you closer to the edge, but he pulls back just before you can tumble over, denying you the release you crave driving you wild with frustration.

Your entire body is a tight coil of tension, every nerve ending on fire as he denies you your release again and again. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and you cling to him, your nails digging into his scalp as you try to pull him closer, but he keeps control, maintaining that perfect, maddening rhythm.

"Please, Orm," you sob, tears of frustration pricking at your eyes, your clit throbs almost painfully, and you feel your cunt twitching around him - you feel ready to snap.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg for it," he commands, his voice a rough whisper.

"I beg you," you cry, your voice hoarse with need. "Please, let me cum. I need it. I need you ."

Orm's expression softens just a fraction, and he increases the pressure, his mouth and fingers working together to bring you to the brink once more, driving you higher and higher until you finally explode.

This time, he doesn't pull back.

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, and you scream his name as you finally find your release, your voice raw and hoarse with need. Your body convulses, every muscle tightening as the orgasm rips through you.

But Orm doesn't stop, his fingers and tongue continuing their relentless assault, prolonging your orgasm until you're shaking and breathless. He flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit while curling his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again.

The pleasure is almost too intense, your body shuddering as another orgasm builds, crashing over you in powerful waves before you've come down from your previous high.

Your vision blurs, your mind slipping into a haze of ecstasy as your senses are overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

Your legs tremble, and you clutch desperately at the counter, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Orm, oh God," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your release.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it's over.

You collapse against the counter, your body spent and trembling with the aftershocks of your earth-shattering climax. The world swims hazily before your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest.

The overwhelming intensity of your orgasm leaves you disoriented, and before you can fully comprehend the moment, everything goes dark, and you black out.

When you come back to your senses, you find yourself cradled in Orm's arms, his touch gentle and reassuring. His eyes, filled with love and concern, lock onto yours. He kisses your forehead softly, the warmth of his lips soothing and tender. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice low and full of adoration.

"I love you too," you whisper back tiredly, still shaking from what happened. Your body still tingles with the aftershocks of your intense release, and you feel an overwhelming sense of contentment and love.

Orm cups your face with his large, warm hand, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he looks into your eyes. Through the haze in your mind, you can't help but appreciate how his blue eyes sparkle with emotion and how wet his chin, cheeks, and neck are from pleasuring you.

"You okay, honey?" he asks, his voice low and gentle, filled with genuine concern as he checks in with you.

You nod and bite your lip, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm okay," you manage to say, your voice breathless and shaky.

Orm's thumb slides over your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, the sensation causing you to clench around nothing and whine into the kiss.

The feeling of his residual wetness on your skin and the hardness of his cock pressing against your bare cunt only heightens your desire.

The fire in you, which had dimmed to a soft glimmer, now flares back with full fervour, threatening to consume you whole. Every touch, every breath, feels like it's adding fuel to the inferno raging within you.

When the kiss breaks, your hands move frantically to Orm's shirt. You tug at the fabric, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through your core and obliges you by pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

Your breath hitches as you take in the sight of him, his muscular chest and chiselled abs glistening slightly from the exertion. The light catches on his body, highlighting the hard lines and contours that speak of strength and power.

The prominent vein running down his biceps stands out starkly against his skin, leading your eyes down to the rest of his strong arm. You trace its path with your gaze, marvelling at the sheer strength contained within.

His pecs are firm and inviting, his nipples hardening slightly in the cool air, a contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His chest, broad and sculpted, rises and falls with his heavy breathing, the rhythm hypnotic and alluring.

Your eyes travel down to his abs, each ridge and valley inviting your touch, a landscape of desire that begs to be explored. The lines of them lead your gaze downward to where his hard dick strains against his pants, the sight making your pulse quicken and your mouth go dry with longing.

You can't help but run your hands over his firm muscles. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, a reminder of just how much you want him. His skin is warm and smooth under your touch, and you can feel the tension coiled in his body, ready to be unleashed.

"God, you're so hot," you murmur, your voice filled with awe and desire, your mind still hazy from the orgasm he gave you as the words slip out without thought.

He chuckles lowly at both your words and behaviour.

"You find this amusing?" you ask, breathless, as you trace the lines of his body with your fingers.

Orm's eyes darken with a mix of amusement and desire. "I find it amusing how needy you are," he says, his voice a low growl. "But I can't deny that I enjoy it. Don't think I have forgotten how you laughed at me with those onions."

He steps back slightly, his hands moving to the waistband of his pants. With a fluid motion, he pulls them down, followed by his underwear. His hard cock springs free, standing tall and proud and glistening with precum. The sight of him, fully naked and aroused, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

You reach out, your fingers wrapping around his cock. Orm groans, his head falling back as you stroke him, his muscles tensing and rippling under your touch as you pump him a few times.

He opens his eyes, the intensity of his gaze piercing through you. "I need you," he murmurs his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

He leans in to kiss you again, his hands roaming over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip.

His hands trail down from your face, caressing your neck and shoulders, before moving to your breasts. He teases your nipples, rolling them between his fingers and sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You arch your back, pushing your breasts into his hands, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

"Orm," you murmur, your voice filled with need. "I want you."

He steps closer, positioning himself between your legs once more. His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. "Then you shall have me," he says, his voice rough with desire.

As he presses against you, you feel his thick, hard cock sliding against your cunt, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through you. He doesn't enter you yet; he just teases you, making you gasp and moan with each movement.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he growls into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're mine, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

You whimper in response, the anticipation driving you to the edge again. "Orm, please," you beg, your voice a desperate plea.

He chuckles darkly, a possessive gleam in his eyes. "I know, honey," he murmurs. He continues to tease you, his tip brushing against your slick folds, the sensation almost too much to bear. You moan, your hips bucking in response, desperate for more.

Finally, when you think you can't take it anymore, he positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking with yours.

With a gentle yet firm push, he slides into you, stretching and filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, and your body arches into his, a mixture of pleasure and relief as he buries himself to the hilt, the fullness making you feel complete.

Orm pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, his eyes never leaving yours. "God, you feel amazing," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

He moves slowly at first, savouring the feel of you around him, each thrust measured and controlled.

His hands roam over your body, caressing your breasts, your waist, your thighs. Every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you, making you arch and writhe against him. His fingers find your nipples, pinching and rolling them gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt, making you moan wantonly.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to move faster, his thrusts deep and powerful. The rhythm is intoxicating, a dance of passion and desire that leaves you breathless. His cock fills you completely, hitting all the right spots with each powerful thrust.

He leans down to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same fervour as his hips.

"You feel so good," he groans, his voice rough with pleasure, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. "So tight, so perfect." His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Orm," you moan, your voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close."

He smiles against your skin, his movements growing more urgent. "Not yet," he growls, his voice still carrying a hint of grumpiness.

He slows his thrusts, pulling back almost entirely so only his tip is inside your pussy before pushing back in with agonising slowness. The deliberate pace keeps you on the edge, your body begging for release. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that make you whimper.

"Sweetheart, please," you beg, your voice trembling with need. "I can't take it."

Your body trembles with the intensity of the sensations, each stroke of his cock pushing you closer to the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every vein, every ridge, and it's driving you wild. His touch is everywhere, his hands roaming over your body, caressing, squeezing, sending sparks of pleasure through you.

"Orm, oh God," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your need. "Please, let me cum."

His eyes lock onto yours, and he sees the desperation there.

His expression softens, and he increases the pressure, his thumb circling your clit more firmly while his other hand grips your hip, pulling you even closer. His thrusts become deeper, more powerful, each one sparking that fire inside you. The tension builds, a tight coil of need that threatens to fracture at any moment.

His hips start to snap against yours with a rhythm that is both demanding and precise, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. He leans down to kiss you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his broad, muscular back as you meet each thrust with equal intensity. The feel of his bare skin against yours, the play of his defined muscles under your fingertips, adds to the intoxicating pleasure. His chest, hard and chiselled, presses against your breasts, the friction against your sensitive nipples like adding fuel to the fire in your veins.

You moan in response, your hips bucking against his as the pleasure builds higher and higher, an unstoppable crescendo. The slick friction of his cock inside you, the pressure of his pelvis and thumb against your clit with every thrust, drives you mad with desire.

His movements grow more urgent, his thrusts faster and harder. The sound of your bodies coming together, the slick heat of your arousal, fills the room.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you, needing him closer. "Orm," you moan, your voice a desperate plea.

"Do it," he growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic, the control slipping as he nears his peak. "Cum for me, honey. Let me feel you." His words are a command and a plea, the urgency in his voice pushing you over the edge.

You scream his name as you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless once more. Your body convulses, every muscle tightening around him, your cunt gripping his cock in a vice-like hold that draws a guttural moan from deep within him.

Orm continues to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm and driving you to the edge of madness.

His movements become frantic, his rhythm breaking as he succumbs to his own release. He thrusts into you one last time, deep and hard, and you feel the hot, pulsating rush of his cum filling you. His body shudders, and he holds you close, his breath ragged and his heart pounding against yours, his head buried in your shoulder.

As the last tremors of pleasure fade, Orm pulls back slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. He looks utterly spent, his body drenched in sweat that glistens in the light, and his hair plastered to his forehead. You reach out to brush it from his eyes and cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his breath on your face. He smiles at you, a sweet, loving smile that makes your heart flutter, before leaning forward and pressing a long, tender kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and lifts you from the counter, cradling you in his arms. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, carrying you to the bathroom with a tenderness that makes your heart swell with love.

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Three

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: none, fluff as always and some angst

Part One | Part Two

Masterlist

As you step through the door, balancing the warm pie in your hands, a flurry of laughter and chatter greets you. 

“Miss Y/L/N is here!” Elizabeth shouts excitedly and grabs your free hand, practically dancing you inside. 

“Hey!” Steve appears from the kitchen, giving you a welcoming smile and takes the pie from your hands. “Glad you could make it.”

Before you have a chance to reply, Elizabeth pulls you further into the gathering, introducing you Sam, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce, all gathered around with warm smiles and friendly greetings. Bucky hovers a little ways back, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders a touch tense. His eyes meet yours, just for a moment, and he gives you a small, slightly shy smile before looking away.

As you all move into the living room, the group’s easy chatter and laughter fill the air. You find yourself among a mix of friendly faces, each one seeming to bring something special to the room. Sam, ever the conversationalist, quickly pulls you into a story about an “epic” camping trip that had apparently ended with him rescuing Bucky from a raccoon, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Trust me,” Sam says with a grin, “Bucky here might look tough, but get him in the woods, and he’s toast. Isn’t that right, Buck?”

Bucky, leaning back with his arms crossed, rolls his eyes, clearly amused but trying to hide a smile. “I’d like to see you handle it any better, Wilson,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” Sam says, his gaze sliding toward you with a gleam of mischief. “He talks a big game, but you wouldn’t believe how much he’s told us about you.”

You feel a surprised blush creeping up, and Bucky’s expression goes from mildly amused to visibly embarrassed in seconds. “Sam,” he warns, his voice low but lacking any real bite.

Sam just smirks, clearly having too much fun. “What? You can’t spend weeks talking about someone and then get shy now that she’s actually here.” He turns back to you with a wink. “Honestly, we were starting to wonder if you were even real.”

Everyone laughs, and you can’t help but join in, glancing over at Bucky, who’s now rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze but clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t let him get to you,” he says, half under his breath, still looking anywhere but at you.

“It’s nice to know I made such an impression,” you say lightly, hoping to ease his nerves.

Natasha chimes in, leaning forward with a teasing smile. “Oh, he’s told us plenty. All good things, I assure you.”

Bucky’s face reddens slightly, and he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. You smile, touched by how endearing his shyness is. There’s something reassuring in knowing he might have felt the same quiet, lingering thoughts about you as you have about him.

You excuse yourself, wanting to say hi to Peggy, who you haven’t seen for a while for school pickup. 

In the cozy warmth of the kitchen, there is Elizabeth and Peggy, who is finishing up the last touches on dinner. The scent of roasted vegetables and warm spices fills the air as Elizabeth stands on her tiptoes, carefully sprinkling fresh herbs over a dish. She’s focused, her little hands steady, but when she sees you step into the kitchen, her face lights up.

“Come help!” she whispers, gesturing you over with a small wave.

“Oh hi Y/N. It’s so good to see you again! Elizabeth is so excited to have you over.” Peggy smiles brightly as she pulls you into a hug quickly. 

“I really appreciate the invite. Can I help with anything?” You offer your service up. You always hate showing up empty handed or standing around while the hosts do everything. 

“Elizabeth, why don’t you help Miss Y/L/N set the table?” Peggy hands her napkins while gesturing to the remaining dishes on the counter. 

You follow Elizabeth’s lead, handing her each item as you arrange the table. Elizabeth glances around to make sure no one is paying attention, then leans close, her voice low.

“Guess what?” she whispers conspiratorially, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Uncle Bucky likes you. He told me you’re his favorite friend.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. You look down to hide it, but as you lift your gaze again, your eyes meet Bucky’s across the room. He’s leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching the two of you with a gentle expression. The second he realizes you’re looking back, his eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shifts his gaze to the floor, looking like he’s been caught.

You try to laugh it off, but you can’t help glancing back at Bucky. This time, he’s watching you more openly, his gaze soft and unguarded, as if he’s allowing himself to hope. The rest of the room fades for a moment, and in that shared look, a quiet understanding passes between you—a feeling unspoken but undeniable, settling in the spaces between words.

Elizabeth tugs your sleeve gently, breaking the spell. “See?” she whispers with a grin. “I knew he liked you.”

The table is soon filled with food, and everyone finds their seat. You end up across from Bucky, who seems even quieter than usual, his gaze flicking between his plate and the people around him. When your eyes meet across the table, he gives you another brief, tentative smile before focusing back on his mashed potatoes.

As everyone digs into their food, Natasha catches you up on a few funny stories about Steve, who rolls his eyes but laughs along. Clint chimes in with his own antics, earning a lighthearted smack from Natasha, and the easy laughter fills the room, warming the space around you. Bucky seems to relax as he listens to them, glancing your way every so often but always looking away just as quickly.

As dinner progresses, you’re drawn into lively conversations with the others around the table. Bruce, sitting to your left, asks about your work, genuinely interested, his warm smile making you feel right at home.

“So, how long have you been teaching?” Bruce asks, leaning in as the others pass around dessert plates.

“Quite awhile now, almost eight years,” you reply, glancing over at Elizabeth, who’s absorbed in a chat with Peggy about the cookies they baked together earlier. “It’s challenging, but it’s worth every bit of effort. Kids like Elizabeth make it all so rewarding.”

Across the table, Bucky catches your eye. He’s been quiet throughout the meal, but there’s a look in his eyes—a mixture of admiration and something deeper—that makes your heart skip a beat. He gives you a small, almost shy smile, as if he’s only just realizing how much he appreciates having you here. You feel a warmth settle over you, a silent exchange that says more than words could.

“So, Y/N,” Natasha says from down the table, her voice pulling you back into the moment, “you seem to be handling our chaos well.”

“Oh, it’s definitely been entertaining,” you laugh, glancing around. “But in a good way. I think I could get used to this.”

Natasha grins, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re sticking around, maybe you’ll be here long enough to see us all argue over board games next,” she says, her tone mischievous.

Steve chuckles, setting his fork down. “Careful—Nat’s competitive streak knows no bounds. She once beat Clint’s winning streak at Uno, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t forgiven her yet.”

“Rematch is on the agenda,” Clint interjects with a dramatic sigh, giving Natasha a pointed look. “Just wait until tonight.”

“See?” Sam says, throwing you a wink. “If you’re up for some cutthroat board gaming, you’re in for a real treat.”

You smile, settling back into your chair, and your gaze drifts back to Bucky. Across the table, his expression softens as he watches you, his thumb absently rubbing along the rim of his glass. There’s an unspoken connection building between you, and you can feel it more clearly with each shared glance, every gentle smile that passes between you two.

As the evening begins to wind down, you find yourself surrounding the coffee table with the others as an intense game of Uno is being played. You’ve practically given up at this point as Sam has conveniently played all his pick twos and fours on you. 

“UNO!” Clint yells as he holds one card in his hands, staring Natasha down. Natasha actually looks nervous and annoyed by the five cards in her hands. 

“Okay you suck Barton. You got lucky.” Natasha tosses a card down, then Bruce, Peggy, Steve, Sam and finally you, until it gets to Clint again, who plays his remaining card, winning the game. 

Clint grins triumphantly, leaning back with his arms crossed, basking in the group’s groans of defeat. “What can I say? Skill like this can’t be taught,” he teases, earning a playful nudge from Natasha.

“Oh, enjoy it while it lasts,” she retorts, narrowing her eyes at him with a smirk. “I’m coming for you next round.”

As the group resets the cards for another round, you glance around the room, only to realize that Bucky and Elizabeth are no longer there. You hadn’t noticed them slip away, but the absence of their presence makes you suddenly curious.

Excusing yourself, you rise from the couch and quietly make your way down the hallway, glancing into a few rooms before pausing at Elizabeth’s bedroom door. Inside, you spot them: Bucky, seated cross-legged on the floor, and Elizabeth, eagerly arranging a circle of dolls in front of him.

Elizabeth is chattering away, explaining the intricate backstory of each doll, while Bucky listens intently, nodding with the utmost seriousness. The sight is both heartwarming and a little amusing—Bucky, who so often keeps to himself, fully engrossed in this imaginary world with her.

“...and she’s the queen, so she makes all the rules,” Elizabeth says firmly, placing a doll in a paper crown in front of Bucky. “And you have to be the king. That’s the rule.”

Bucky lifts the doll she hands him with gentle fingers, studying it with a small, genuine smile. “The king, huh? What’s he supposed to do?”

“He has to make sure everyone is safe,” Elizabeth replies, glancing up at him with an adoring look. “And be brave.”

You feel yourself smiling, charmed by the way he goes along with her game without a trace of reluctance. Leaning against the doorframe, you clear your throat softly, and Bucky’s head snaps up, surprised. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken there—an almost shy warmth that makes your heart race.

“Oh, hi!” Elizabeth says, beaming when she sees you. “Do you want to play, too?”

You step inside, kneeling down beside them. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your royal council,” you say with a grin, looking between them.

“Nonsense,” Bucky says, giving you a playful look as he scoots over to make room for you. “Every kingdom needs a trusted advisor.”

Settling in beside them, you pick up a doll, and the three of you quickly fall into an easy rhythm, building an imaginary world that feels as warm as the room around you. At one point, your hand brushes against Bucky’s, lingering there for a moment, and he glances at you with that same gentle, quiet smile. There’s something comforting—and thrilling—about being here like this with him.

When Elizabeth leans forward to adjust the queen’s crown, Bucky catches your eye again, his gaze lingering, filled with a depth you hadn’t quite noticed before tonight. There’s a silent understanding between you, one that promises more than either of you have said aloud yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

As the evening winds down, the group gradually disperses, the air filled with laughter and a lingering warmth that only a night with friends can bring. One by one, the others begin saying their goodbyes, each of them giving you a warm smile or a quick hug, leaving you feeling more at home than you’ve felt in a long time.

Elizabeth, exhausted from the excitement, gives you a sleepy smile as Peggy ushers her toward her room. “Thanks for playing with us,” she murmurs, her eyes heavy-lidded. You smile and squeeze her hand gently.

“Anytime,” you reply softly. “You were the best queen tonight.”

Elizabeth beams at you, her face lighting up for just a moment before she stifles a yawn and allows Peggy to lead her away. You watch her disappear down the hall, feeling an unexpected warmth in your chest.

When you turn back to the living room, Bucky is there, his hands tucked into his pockets, a soft smile on his face. The others have mostly gone, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, cozy glow of the dimmed lights.

“Looks like you’re about to head out too,” he says quietly, his voice low and slightly raspy from the night of talking.

You nod, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah, it’s getting late,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, though your heart is racing a bit.

He steps forward, hesitating for just a moment, his gaze lingering on yours with that same softness that’s been there all night. “Thanks for coming. Elizabeth had a great time tonight,” he says, his voice warm. “And… so did I.”

The two of you stand in silence for a beat, neither one of you quite ready to break whatever has been building between you since dinner. He opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but stops, looking at you with a quiet intensity that makes you wonder if he feels it too.

You reach out and gently touch his arm, giving him a small smile. “Thanks for having me over. I really enjoyed tonight… and seeing this side of you,” you add, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his cheeks flushing slightly as his gaze drifts to the floor, a faint smile on his lips. “Maybe, um… we could do this again sometime. Just, you know, without the whole crew.”

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion, warmth spreading through you. “I’d like that,” you say, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for a moment longer. “Here, put your number in and we can talk more about it later.” You grab your phone with shaking hands, flustered from Bucky’s presence. 

Bucky types his name and number, saving it. As you tuck your phone back into your pocket, Bucky glances at you, his blue eyes holding that same softness from earlier, now laced with a spark of anticipation.

“Guess I’ll, uh, see you soon then,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, as if not wanting to break the fragile quiet around you both.

“Yeah, soon,” you reply, your voice coming out softer than intended, carrying all the unspoken things you want to say but aren’t quite ready to. 

Your smile grows as he helps you pull your coat on, and just before you turn to leave, he gives your hand a quick, gentle squeeze—a touch so brief that if you hadn’t been paying attention, you might have missed it. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly, his voice wrapped in that low, comforting tone that you’re starting to find so familiar.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you reply, your voice lingering a little longer than it should, letting the silence stretch between you both for just a breath more.

You step out into the cool night, the air feeling sharper after the warmth of the evening, but your mind is buzzing too much to notice. As you walk down the quiet street, you can still feel the gentle brush of his fingers, the look in his eyes, and the quiet promise hanging in the air between you.

The next day, you find yourself reaching for your phone, unable to resist the urge to text Bucky. After a little mental back and forth, you type out a message and hit send:

You: Morning, Bucky 😊 Hope you and Elizabeth got some rest after last night’s big feast!

It doesn’t take long before he replies:

Bucky: Morning. We definitely did—she practically passed out the second she hit her pillow.

You smile, picturing Elizabeth’s sleepy face and tousled hair, and quickly type a reply.

You: Well, she was a very busy queen last night! Hope you got some rest, too.

Bucky: I did. Kept thinking about how much fun she had with you, though. I think she’d keep you around full-time if she could.

You: It was a perfect end to Friendsgiving! Are you sure you’re up for a repeat next year?

Bucky: Only if you promise to sit across from me again. I’m not sure I could handle it otherwise. 😉

You feel your cheeks warm at the subtle flirtation, and you can’t help but lean into it a little.

You: Oh, so it was my company that kept you going? I’m flattered, Barnes.

There’s a pause, and then a new message pops up:

Bucky: Speaking of… I was thinking about next weekend. I’d like to take you somewhere, if you’re free on Saturday?

Your heart does a little flip. You can almost hear his voice through the words, steady but with a hint of anticipation.

You: Definitely. I’d say I could survive another night of your charm.

Bucky: Oh, you’re in trouble now. I’ve been told I’m even more charming one-on-one.

You: Is that so? Guess I’ll have to brace myself.

He calls suddenly, interrupting your next message, and you pick up, a little caught off guard but excited.

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual, but there’s a definite smile in your voice.

“Hey,” he replies, his tone warm and familiar. “Thought I’d call before I accidentally type a novel. Or break my phone trying.”

You laugh. “Honestly, I was ready to read the whole thing.”

“Noted,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Guess I’ll have to brush up on my typing skills.”

“I don’t mind this though,” you reply softly. “Hearing your voice instead of reading texts.”

There’s a comfortable pause before he speaks again, sounding a bit more relaxed. “I’m looking forward to Saturday… any food preferences, by the way?”

“Nothing fancy,” you say. “Just good company—and maybe a view?”

“Company I’ve got covered. And I know just the place with a great view,” he promises, his voice softening. “I’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he replies, his tone warm. After a beat, he adds, “Thanks for giving this a chance.”

“Thanks for asking,” you reply, the warmth in his voice settling around you like a blanket.

There’s a comfortable silence, neither of you quite ready to say goodbye, as if each shared word and laugh has deepened the connection even further.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice quieter, almost reluctant. “I’ll see you Saturday, then.”

“Looking forward to it,” you reply, a smile on your face.

It’s been a busy week, and the anticipation of your date with Bucky tomorrow has kept a quiet excitement buzzing through you since this morning.

You say goodbye to the students as their parents pick them up. Elizabeth is the last one out running down the hall with a shout of a goodbye to you. You laugh at her eagerness to get to Bucky and you can’t blame her. You’d do the same. 

As you lock up your classroom and exit the school doors, you immediately spot Bucky, leaning against his car parked by the curb, Elizabeth sitting in her carseat with her tablet, watching her favorite Barbie movie. 

Bucky is leaning against his car, looking as relaxed and calm as you’ve ever seen him outside the school. He’s dressed in a deep red henley and dark jeans. It's the small bouquet of flowers in his hands that catches your eye—a simple, elegant arrangement of red roses.

You stop in your tracks for a moment, heart skipping a beat. As if he senses you, he looks up, his face breaking into a grin when he sees you.

"Hey," he says, pushing off the truck slightly and onto the sidewalk with one glance toward Elizabeth to make sure she’s still okay. "I hope you don’t mind. I figured I’d bring you these... thought it might be a nice way to kick off the weekend."

You feel warmth spread through you as he offers you the flowers, and you can’t help but smile. "Bucky... these are beautiful. You really didn’t have to."

He shrugs, a soft laugh escaping him. "I wanted to. Plus, I figured I’d start things off right before our date tomorrow."

You raise an eyebrow, the teasing smile playing on your lips. "Are you trying to set the bar high already, Barnes?"

Bucky looks a little flustered, his cheeks flushing slightly, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. "Well, you know, I’ve gotta keep up with any other contenders to make sure I stay on top." His voice drops a little as he adds, "And I just wanted to make sure you knew I’m really looking forward to tomorrow."

“I can assure you, there is no other competition.” Your heart melts just a little at the sincerity in his voice. "I’m looking forward to it too," you reply softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky's gaze softens as he watches you, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good. Because I think tomorrow's gonna be a lot of fun."

Before the moment can stretch into something heavier, Elizabeth's voice cuts through the air from the car, her high-pitched excitement unmistakable. "Uncle Bucky! Look! Barbie's going to the beach!" she announces proudly, waving her tablet in the air as if it’s a trophy.

You both glance over at her, and Bucky chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. "She's really into that movie lately," he says, a touch of amusement in his voice.

You laugh, watching the little girl practically bouncing in her seat. "Well, Barbie certainly knows how to make an impression."

Bucky smiles at the comment, but there's a soft, almost nostalgic look in his eyes as he watches her. He leans in toward you, his voice quieter this time. "She’s been asking about you, you know. Keeps asking when you’re going to go back over to her house again."

Your heart flutters at the thought. "She’s such a sweetheart," you reply, the warmth in your chest spreading. "I’m glad she likes me."

Bucky’s smile widens, but there's a subtle vulnerability in his expression that makes you pause. "I think she’s kind of hoping you’ll come hang out with us more. I can’t say I blame her."

"Well," you begin, trying to keep the mood light, "it’s hard to say no to such a persuasive little one."

His gaze softens and for a brief second, there’s a quiet intensity between you, the world around you seeming to fade for just a heartbeat. "Alright then. Tomorrow it is," he says with a small nod, his smile growing.

"Definitely," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch him climb into the driver’s seat of the truck, Elizabeth already turning the volume up on her tablet.

He waves at you through the window before pulling away, and you watch them drive off, feeling that same buzz of excitement filling you up for what tomorrow might bring.

As you make your way to your car, you can’t help but replay the quiet exchange in your mind—the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Tomorrow might be the start of something even better than you’d imagined.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky as you finish up your preparations for the evening. It’s Saturday—your first real date with Bucky, and the nerves you’ve been feeling all day are only now settling in. You’re nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. It’s the kind of nervous that comes with looking forward to something new, something exciting.

You’re just finishing up a last-minute check in the mirror when you hear a knock on the door. Your heart skips a beat.

You open it to find Bucky standing there, his familiar grin lighting up his face. He’s dressed casually, in a deep green button-up shirt, sleek dress pants, and a leather jacket, his usual relaxed style elevated with a subtle touch of sophistication. Somehow, tonight, it all seems to make your pulse quicken in a way you didn’t expect.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and easy, though there’s a slight hint of nervousness in his eyes as he holds out his hand. In it, he’s holding a small bouquet of white daisies. The simplicity of the gesture has your heart swelling.

“Hi,” you reply, your smile spreading across your face as you take the flowers from him. “They’re lovely, Bucky. Thank you.”

His expression softens as he watches you, and a small blush tints his cheeks. He steps back slightly, glancing toward his car parked on the curb. “Ready to go?”

You nod, feeling your heart flutter a little as you step outside, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The night feels alive with possibility, and as Bucky opens the passenger door for you, you slide into the seat with anticipation, your nerves buzzing. The butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to quiet down as you settle into the car.

Bucky slides into the driver’s seat beside you, his hands gripping the wheel for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. You both fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the road and the low music from the radio filling the space between you. The air feels easy, though you can sense a shared nervousness underneath it all. Neither of you speaks for a few moments, but the silence is pleasant.

After a beat, Bucky clears his throat, his voice a little rough as he glances over at you, his hand adjusting the steering wheel slightly. “You look, uh—really beautiful.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but in the best way. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a slight flush spread across your cheeks. You meet his eyes for a brief moment, your smile soft and sincere. “Thank you. You look very handsome tonight too.”

At your words, Bucky visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping a little as if he’s relieved. His lips twitch upward in a shy smile, but there's a quiet warmth in his eyes that makes your chest tighten in the best way. The drive continues, but now there’s an added sense of comfort, like the space between you both is slowly closing, becoming more intimate with each passing second.

“You know,” Bucky says after a while, keeping his eyes on the road, “I’m really glad we’re doing this. I’ve been... kind of nervous, actually. But in a good way, you know?”

You smile, your eyes drifting back to the road as you consider his words. “I get it,” you say softly. “I’ve been nervous too. But I’m glad we’re finally here.”

The tension that lingers between you both starts to fade with each passing mile, and the drive feels easier, more natural. Bucky doesn’t seem quite as tense now, and the silence between you becomes less heavy, replaced with small talk and laughter.

When you finally reach your destination, Bucky parks the car near a secluded spot. It’s a quiet overlook on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by tall trees and the soft sound of wind through the leaves. The view is stunning—the sprawling city lights twinkling in the distance, the stars just beginning to pierce the night sky. It’s peaceful, private, and you immediately feel a sense of calm wash over you.

“You wanna head up?” Bucky asks, motioning to the small path that leads up to the overlook. “I, uh, packed a little something. Thought we could hang out up there.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, trying to act casual, but your heart’s racing as you follow him up the path. You try to ignore how nervous you feel, focusing on the quiet hum of the world around you, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and Bucky’s presence next to you.

When you reach the top, you see that Bucky has set up a small blanket on the ground, with a basket beside it. There are candles in mason jars lining the edges, casting a warm glow on the area around you. It feels cozy, intimate, and it’s clear that Bucky’s put a lot of thought into this.

“I wanted to make it special,” he says, looking a little shy as he sits down on the blanket. “I don’t really know how to do dates like this, but I thought maybe a quiet place would be... nice.”

You sit down beside him, your fingers brushing against his briefly, and you can’t help but smile at how sweet this all is. "I love it, Bucky. It’s perfect."

The two of you fall into a natural silence for a moment, both of you unsure what to say next, but the quiet is comfortable. The only sounds are the occasional rustle of the trees and the soft hum of the city below.

“So...” you start, glancing over at him. “How’s, uh... how’s everything been for you lately?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looking out over the city, his voice thoughtful. “It’s been... different. In a good way, I think. I’ve gotten used to the quiet in my life, but sometimes it feels like I’m missing something. Like I’m waiting for something, you know?”

You nod, understanding more than you expected. “I get that. I think sometimes, when life gets a little too quiet, you start wondering if something’s missing. Like... maybe you need to take a chance on something, even if it feels a little scary.”

Bucky’s gaze shifts toward you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “That’s kind of how I feel right now. Taking chances. But with you... with Elizabeth, it feels different. It feels right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You feel the connection between the two of you deepening, a quiet understanding that neither of you has quite been able to put into words.

For the next hour or so, you talk about everything and nothing—your pasts, your dreams, the things that scare you, and the things that make you feel alive. There’s an ease between you now, a comfort that grows with each passing minute. You talk about your favorite books, childhood memories, and what you hope for in the future. Bucky shares stories of his time in the army, of the people he’s loved and lost, and there’s a quiet vulnerability in his voice that makes your heart ache for him.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence with a small smile, “what’s one thing I’d never guess about you?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Hmm... I don’t know. I guess people always think I’m just a tough guy, you know? Like, I don’t know, all muscles and no heart.” He chuckles softly, the sound warm, but there’s a touch of vulnerability beneath it. “But I’m not like that. I can be... sentimental. I keep things, little reminders of people or moments that meant something.”

You nod, your smile softening as you listen. “I can definitely see that about you. I think we all hold onto things in different ways. I'm kind of a book hoarder. I’ve got shelves full of them.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Really? What’s your favorite genre?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment. “I guess mostly fiction. I love stories that take me to places I’ve never been, things I could only ever wish to experience myself.”

He leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. “I get that. Some days I wish I could escape into something else for a while.”

You look at him, sensing a deeper layer beneath his words. “Where would you go, if you could? Somewhere far away, I mean.”

He leans back, arms circling his legs, eyes distant for a moment, like he’s picturing it. “I think... maybe a quiet place. Somewhere with a view. Maybe a cabin in the woods or on a mountain. Somewhere peaceful. I’ve spent a lot of time in chaos, in places that were loud and demanding. I don’t think I realized how much I missed silence until I had some time away from it.”

There’s a softness in his voice as he talks, something that makes your chest ache just a little. “That sounds... really nice. I think we all need quiet sometimes.”

Bucky glances at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “What about you? Where would you go?”

You pause, your thoughts drifting. “I think I’d go somewhere similar. I’ve always loved nature and the coziness of rain. I’d like to go somewhere that gets cold but not too cold. I’d like to spend time dreaming up my own stories or just think.”

Bucky nods, seeming to understand. “That sounds good, too. Sometimes being alone with your thoughts is the best way to find clarity.”

You nod, the quiet between you settling comfortably again. After a moment, you break the silence, wanting to know more. “You mentioned before, in passing, that you were in the army along with Steve and Sam. What was that like?”

Bucky’s expression shifts, and you notice a subtle change in his posture. His shoulders tighten slightly, and he stares down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “It was... a lot of things. Good and bad. You meet people who become your family, and you see things you wish you didn’t have to. But you learn a lot about yourself, too. What you're capable of when it really matters. But... you lose people along the way. Some of them were like brothers to me.”

His voice softens, and there’s a quiet ache in his words. “It’s hard to talk about sometimes. I don’t always know what to say.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you, but there’s no rush to fill the space. You don’t push him. Instead, you simply say, “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

Bucky gives a small, quiet smile, his eyes distant again. “It’s not something you ever get over. You just learn to live with it, you know? Keep going, because that’s what they would have wanted.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “I think that’s really brave. I don’t know if I could be that strong.”

Bucky meets your gaze, his eyes serious but with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. “You’d be surprised. Strength isn’t always about big things. Sometimes it’s the small moments, the ones that nobody else sees. Like... showing up for someone when they need you. Or just listening when they need to talk.”

Your heart swells at his words. You didn’t expect to find such depth in a conversation so early, but it feels easy, like you’ve both always been able to talk like this. You swallow, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’m glad you’re here, Bucky.”

His expression softens even further, and he leans forward slightly, his voice low. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, but it’s different this time. There’s a deeper connection between you now, a shared understanding, as if you’ve both opened up in ways that most people never do. And it feels right—like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Finally, Bucky clears his throat, breaking the silence with a small chuckle. “Sorry, I got a little heavy there. Didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, not at all. I like hearing about you. All of you.”

Bucky’s eyes twinkle, and he grins that soft, easy grin of his. “Well, I guess I’ll have to tell you more sometime, then.”

You laugh, the sound light and free between you. “I look forward to it.”

As the evening starts to wind down, you realize how much time has passed. The stars are fully out now, the city lights dimming beneath the vast sky. The two of you are sitting closer than before, your shoulders brushing every now and then, and you both seem reluctant to leave the spot.

“Do you wanna head back?” Bucky asks, his voice soft, though you can hear the hesitation in it. “I don’t want this to end yet, but I also don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You smile, a little shy. “No, I’m good. I’m really glad we did this. It’s... it’s been nice.”

Bucky stands, offering his hand to help you up. “Well, I’ll take you home then. If you’re ready, that is.”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you say, slipping your hand into his as he helps you to your feet. You both make your way back to the car, neither of you speaking for a moment, just enjoying the peaceful quiet around you.

When you arrive at your apartment, Bucky parks the car in front of your building. “I had a really great time tonight,” he says, turning toward you with a soft smile. “Thank you for... you know, giving me a chance.”

You look up at him, your heart full. “I’m glad I did. I think we have something good here, Bucky.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both just look at each other, and before you can say anything else, you surprise yourself by offering, “Would you like to come inside? I could make us some tea.”

Bucky seems caught off guard for a second, then smiles softly. “I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot.”

The two of you walk inside, and you get to work making the tea. The conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and small moments of silence, as the next couple hours slip by unnoticed. You talk about your favorite childhood memories, your first jobs, your biggest fears. Each topic somehow leads into the next, like you're both unraveling the little threads of who you are, but it doesn't feel rushed.

You laugh at something Bucky says, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, and he catches the movement, his gaze softening for a moment.

“You know,” Bucky says, his voice a little quieter now, “I never thought I’d be here, doing this... with anyone. Not after everything.”

You glance at him, curiosity piqued. “Doing what?”

He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Just... talking like this. Being open. Letting someone in. I’ve spent so much time keeping people at arm's length. It’s easier, I guess, to just... not let anyone get too close.”

You feel your chest tighten, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. You lower your gaze, trying to hide the way your heart swells with sympathy and understanding.

“I think I get that,” you say softly. “I’ve kind of built my own walls over the years, too. Not because I didn’t want to let people in, but because... I don’t know. It’s easier to be alone sometimes.”

He looks at you, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s as if the weight of your shared vulnerability is lingering between you, hanging in the air.

Bucky leans forward just a little, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t want you to think that... I’m not interested in letting you in,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because I am. I don’t know if it’s the right time or the right place, but I want you to know that I am.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding in your chest. There’s a rawness in his voice that makes the air between you feel thick, heavy with unspoken words. You hesitate for a moment, before speaking.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.” Your voice is soft, but certain. “I’m here. I’ll always been here, just... sometimes I think I don't know how to say it.”

There’s a quiet, tender moment that passes between you. His lips part slightly, and he leans in just a fraction more, as if testing the space between you.

And that’s when the tension shifts, palpable now, crackling in the air. You both seem to feel it—a pull, something that draws you in, something that makes the moment stretch, and the space between you disappears. For a breathless second, everything else seems to vanish.

Your lips are so close now. His eyes flicker down to your mouth, then back up to meet your gaze, searching for permission, for a sign that you feel what he does.

You feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the closeness, and your pulse quickens. The intensity between you is almost too much, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let it hang there, both of you caught in the moment.

And then, just as it feels like the gap might close between you, Bucky exhales sharply, pulling back slightly as if snapping out of it. He runs a hand through his hair, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

You laugh softly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart is still racing. “It’s not weird, Bucky. It’s... nice.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours again, a bit of uncertainty there. “I don’t want to rush anything,” he says, his voice steadying. “I just... I don’t know. I really like being with you.”

You nod, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I like being with you too.”

The tension in the air lingers for a while longer, but the moment passes, and you both settle back into the comfortable rhythm of conversation again. You talk about small things—silly anecdotes and favorite songs, and the connection you’ve built feels stronger now than it ever has before.

As the conversation winds down, your eyes begin to flutter, exhaustion finally catching up with you. You let out a soft yawn, leaning back against the couch. Bucky watches you, his eyes soft, but there’s something almost reluctant in his gaze.

“I should probably go,” he says quietly, standing up and stretching. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You sit up, still a little drowsy. “You don’t have to leave,” you say, your voice a little more vulnerable than you intend. “I... I don’t want you to go.”

Bucky hesitates, his expression conflicted as he looks at you. “I... I don’t want to leave either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I don’t want to make things awkward either.”

You smile softly, trying to push the sleepiness from your eyes. “It’s not Bucky. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

After a long pause, he sits back down beside you, though his body is tense. He watches you closely for a moment before finally settling in. ��Alright. I’ll stay. But just... just to keep you company. And because I don’t want you to be alone either.”

You feel a warm flush spread through you as you nestle deeper into the couch, the quiet between you comforting and safe. Bucky lies down beside you, careful not to get too close, but still there. You fall asleep, your head on his chest, and for the first time in a long while, you feel at peace.

Bucky lies awake beside you, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the thoughts that swirl in his mind. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to wake you, but the weight of his past—the nightmares, the fears—keeps him from fully resting. He stays awake, just listening to the sound of your breathing, hoping that his presence won’t disturb your sleep.

It’s the first time he’s ever felt this way with someone—so close, yet so distant, fighting the demons inside. He wonders, for just a moment, if he’s ready to let someone in completely.

Part Four

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[queerheadcanoncentral]

James Wilson sfw alphabet.

Prompts from @imagineimagineimagine (I just changed one)

—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about their partner?)

Physically: Their neck, hands, eyes.

Mentally: Them being more confident than him.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He definitely wants kids, but he is afraid that he would be an absent father because of his work and because House would constantly drag him away and criticise him for not spending more time with his kid/s.

C = Cuddle (How do they like to cuddle?)

He likes to be the big spoon, make you feel secure and warm, but after a hard day at work he’d like to be the little spoon.

D = Dreams (How do they picture their future with their S/O?)

After three failed marriages he isn’t sure that he wants to get married again. He would put it off for a long time until you finally get sick of waiting and propose to him.

E = Exception (Are they willing to cross their boundaries for you?)

Yes.

F = Feelings (When did they know they're in love?)

You and James have been dating for just a few months and in that time you have been spending at least half of the nights at his place. One night you were cooking dinner in his kitchen and you heard loud knocking on the door. When you looked through the peephole you saw a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at you. You opened the door unsure if it’s the right thing to do. 

“To be honest I expected a female hooker, but I guess Wilson likes some variety.”

 “Ah, you must be House, come on in.” He had a slightly bewildered look on his face but he followed you inside and into the kitchen.

“People usually don’t mention their  best friend to a one night stand.”

“I’m dating him, he’s in the shower right now, should be out soon.”

“Whatcha cookin?”

“Falafel, pita bread with some vegetables and hummus. Want some?”

“No, I don’t want to be eating your dinner.”

“It’s fine. Some of it was gonna be for his lunch tomorrow and from what James tells me you usually eat it anyway so might as well eat it warm.”

“I like you.” Just as he said it James walked into the living room in time to hear a part of your conversation.

“What did you say to them? What did he say to you? What did you say to him?” he said panicked. But who can blame him. It’s dangerous to leave House alone with someone you care about.

“I offered him to stay for dinner, I heard a lot about him and want to see what’s actually true.”

That night you talked for hours. You dogged every jab and rude joke that House threw your way. By the time that your plates were clear and wine glasses empty, you and House became quite good friends and James saw that there might be a long future with you.

G = Gratitude (How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their S/O does for them?)

There are times when he is just too exhausted all the time to notice you doing nice things for him and just responds with a half-hearted thank you. When he finally feels better and gets out of the rough patch, he realises that he wasn’t grateful enough, so for the next week or so when you do something nice for him, even as simple as passing a water bottle, he looks you in the eyes and with a smile says thank you. He will also randomly tell you how much he love you and how lucky he is to be dating you. 

H = Honesty (Do they have secrets they hide from their S/O?)

The biggest secret that he would have would be his feelings. He wouldn’t mention his depression or what annoys him about you. For the good of your relationship you would have to pry it out of him.

I = Injury (How would they react if you got hurt?)

He would absolutely freak out. Even if it wasn’t a complicated injury (like you broke an arm of something because you fell) he would still be overprotective and boss around any doctor that is taking care of you. He would insist on taking you to PPTH even if another hospital is closer.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous? How do they deal with it?)

Oh yes he does! Because he cheated on his wives he is “slightly” paranoid about you cheating. He usually bottles it up and doesn't want to talk about it so you have to bring it up and reassure him that you would never cheat on him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss you? How do they like to be kissed?)

He likes slow and passionate. If you are trying to give him a quick peck on the lips he will pull you back in for a longer one.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He does. I mean…have you seen him? He moves faster than U-haul lesbians.

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

Getting drunk at night at some medical conference and sneaking away to an orchard to cuddle and have a makeout session(maybe more).

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Absolutely yes. He never asks for anything back tho. Especially when he feels guilty about something (even if there is nothing to feel guilty about). But when you buy something expensive for him he’ll be like “No, you didn’t have to. Are you sure? Let me repay you with a nice dinner.”.

O = On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they're in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

It’s very obvious to everyone. He is immediately in a good mood and has a pep in his step. Before he confesses his feelings he's more cuddly, hangs out with you more and buys you gifts all the time. “I saw it and it reminded me of you so I bought it. You look good in it- I mean you always look good- I mean-”

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Darling, Honey, Babie, Sweetheart.

Q = Questions (What are the questions they’re always asking?)

Are you okay? How was your day? How do I look? Wanna go grab dinner? Is it okay if House joins us?

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Read, cook, cuddle, and watch movies together.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/S/O up?)

Cuddles, tea, words of reassurance, doing anything you want, stupid movies.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

We know from the show that he is a bit of a movie buff, so probably movies and anything film related.

U = Understanding (How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

He wants to know the whole you. Always listens and asks about your feelings. He’s afraid of making the same mistakes he made in his previous relationships and losing you.

V = Value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

Absolutely. When James Evan Wilson loves, he loves with his entire heart. If you asked him to move to Alaska with you, he would.

W = Wedding (When, where, and how do they propose?)

If he is the one to propose, he proposes in a place that reminds him of the first time he met you.

X = XOXO (How affectionate are they? In public/in private)

He doesn’t really like PDA (except when he’s drunk). In private he can’t get his hand off of you.

Y = Yearning (How well do they cope when they're separated from their S/O?)

Depends. If he has nothing to do he is completely love sick and mopes a lot. If he is busy with work or with House, he mostly forgets that you exist.

Z = Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship?)

Yes! (I don’t think I need to justify that. Just look at what he has done for House.)

[ronearoundblindly]

The Right Partner (2/3)

Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader

Take My Whole Life, Too, Part One (see previous or series)

Summary: Your honeymoon with Steve Rogers begins.

Warnings for vague smut (don't worry, I make up for it in pt2), cuteass!Steeb being extra, unrealistic adorable sh*t, and my complete lack of shame about it. MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist instead, but this one isn't for you! WC 3.1k

It’s bright and loud.

Well, there is light—a pale blue that gnaws at your heavy eyelids—and the song of birds.

The birds are, frankly, irrationally aggressive even for late morning.

You groan and turn over toward the inside of the tent, hoping for an hour more of darkness, maybe two.

Dehydrated. That’s what this heavy, sluggish feeling is. You should have had twice the water you managed to drink yesterday. No one would fault you for having other priorities on your wedding day though.

Your fingers branch out to find the bed empty.

From your exposed shoulder beyond the comforter, you gauge it is quite chilly here wherever you are. You didn’t even ask Steve if he found out what state (or country) you two landed in. Who cares? You burrow deeper, peeking over the thick quilted seam to see—

“What are you doing?”

Steve’s back is to you when you hear a metallic clatter in the utility sink. He whips around in just his boxers, raising a hand to cover his mouth and garble out “nothing.”

You’re prone and below eye level to the countertop, so you sit up to look while Steve poorly hides his sin by leaning over the surface.

He swallows heavily.

“You want some tea,” he rushes to ask in a failingly casual tone. “I’ve got water heating.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you jump up to stand on the mattress, knocking your head against the springy ceiling, and step down. “Are you eating our wedding cake without me?”

“You wouldn’t even give me some yesterday,” he whines, placing himself protectively between your approach and the confection. His guilty brows raise with sincerity.

“Oh, please! You got cake, and then you—” you poke his bare chest, glancing at the now quarter-demolished top tier “—you complained it wasn’t your flavor!”

“But…” Steve simply points. No other words come to mind based on his still-stunned expression.

“Fine,” you chuckle, relaxing to stretch your large sweater over your chilled hands and thighs, “I won’t tell anyone you’re nothing but a little sweets-thief. Hot tea sounds lovely though.”

“Allow me,” he smiles and leans in for a kiss, tasting of sugar and lemon like the night you got engaged, the night you first…oof. After just one reminder, the sweater is suddenly plenty warm.

“Thank you.”

The flood of mental images rushes from your brain, down your body, to your full bladder.

Next stop: the bathroom.

While he sorts out your morning boost, you chug a bottle of water to help with the rough, sluggish feeling weighing on you. No soreness though, which is good.

Steve returns triumphant with a camping mug and steeping, steaming wakeup juice, and you give him your own soft peck on his cheek.

No doubt he continues his dessert for breakfast the instant you step out to use the facilities aboard the jet. Good, he deserves all the cake, as much as he wants, whenever he wants.

The tiny mirror isn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you do have to rummage around for a few straggling hairpins. A splash of cool water on your face just before you emerge is more refreshing than expected, too. The day is fresh, you are fresh, and your marriage is fresh.

You cradle the mug in your palms, making to leave, when your gown catches your eye hanging at the locker closest to the ramp, right beside Steve’s uniform.

Yesterday feels like the most wonderful, blinding blur.

All the military men (and women) wore their first uniforms, and you have to admit it created a sharp-looking bunch. Geeta’s uniform was only from nine years ago, Wilson’s just over fifteen, Rhodes’s nearly thirty, and of course, Steve and Bucky’s come in at eighty years old. Not shockingly, their uniforms were replicas, but the boys were very picky about the details.

Gracie, Natasha, Ro, Pepper, Tony and Bruce all kept their fancy dress within the same neutral palette. Morgan and Felicity were flower (leaf) girls. Standing at the alter as a bride, a groom, and their ‘besties,’ you amassed a punk, a jerk, a nerd, and a Booboo.

Your subdued red, white, and blue gown made the boldest statement of the day.

You were so worried yesterday morning. You thought the statement would read as if you were devoting yourself to an ideal, harping that you are in some ways ‘Misses America,’ but it’s more than that. You didn’t want to walk down that aisle and sign over who you are, to belong to someone else, even someone as magnificent as Steve Rogers.

Then you saw his face.

That man belongs to you as much as you belong to him. The look of pure, undiluted, delighted adoration nearly knocked you over. You’re lucky you made it through your vows. You melted inside to help your poor, fumbling Sketch with his own speech. Bucky winked once you finally got his buddy to the important bit.

Then that kiss.

Gosh, all this time you thought maybe the desperate heat of your first kiss in an evacuated AvIn hallway couldn’t be recreated—much less topped—but you were wrong. The boning in your bodice is the real hero, that’s for sure. Girl’s gotta have good support when it counts.

Speaking of being weak for a man, you think, sipping at hot tea, better get back in there. That, plus your legs are freezing.

A polaroid snaps the instant you cross the zip-up threshold, along with praises of your beauty. You blink rapidly but smile.

“What’s that?”

“Your wedding present,” Steve beams. He fakes a frown at your following ‘we weren’t doing presents’ look. “Not big ones. They’re just for fun.”

He picks up another Canon film camera, a hefty black and silver thing from his hard-sided suitcase, and hands it to you.

“Thought they’d be nice for the trip.”

You weigh it in your hands, eye the Polaroid, then switch with Steve.

“That one’s more of an artsy-fartsy Sketch thing,” you say, stepping around him with your new toy, rushing to grab toasty sweatpants from your own bag.

As you bend over to pull out the garment though, you hear a mechanical click and whip around.

Steve still faces away from you, but his head is slightly turned and he softly whistles, so of course, you lift your Polaroid and snap a picture of his ass, too. He wrinkles his nose, looking over his shoulder with an unhidden smile. You shake out the photo card provocatively while he suits up for the fireside in a sweater and jeans.

He glances at the developed shot and, seeming satisfied, plants one more kiss on your forehead.

He hums as he holds up his picture of you entering the tent, thumb tracing the line of your hip exposed like it was on the glossy magazine pages after your bear debacle.

“Yes, ‘m out there distracting all the wild animals,” you joke.

“It’s working,” he mutters. “Hungry, Misses Rogers?”

Yeah, you think, but you’ll need fewer clothes again. Instead, your stomach gurgles in response.

“Why? Do I finally get some cake?”

“Just a taste.” He kisses your lips, which you lick immediately after. “But I was thinking more like eggs. The fire’s ready.”

Your stomach growls louder. “Shhh, peanut gallery.”

Steve puts a hand over your stomach, chuckling. “At least she’s honest.”

The light pressure of his wide palm lingers even when he steps out to the camp ground. It triggers a potent flash of life with him.

You’ve spoken about kids and it will happen (or at least you’ll try) in due course, but he’s come home from missions with doubts about bringing children up in this world. What matters to both of you is having each other, and you know he’d be enough good and love for your lifetime. Even though you can always revisit the issue, that deep flutter ravages your gut while you watch him cook breakfast.

With another hunger pang, you remember how your stomach voicing her opinion is one of the reasons you’re together. One, solitary growl started the first real night of hanging out with Steve. Without it, he wouldn’t have shared a leftover meal (and cake—hint, hint, buddy), he wouldn’t have let you in his apartment, he wouldn’t have driven you and your car home the next morning, and he wouldn’t have given you some of his own clothes to wear.

You pull the sleeves of his sweater over your chilling hands and bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply.

You wonder which one of those incidental, accidental moments was the tipping point, whether removing just one experience of you would have stopped Steve from seeing you, stopped him from loving you.

After a while, you pick up the polaroid. You can see his ease through the lens. Steve is in his element, chatting away while preparing a meal, planning what you two can do together next, complimenting how you look in his sweatpants and meaning it so profusely that his eyes light up whenever he looks your way.

You thought you caught it on camera, all of him, all of his happiness, but the shot isn’t close enough to do it justice. Your heart will just have to remember.

Yes, Steve Rogers on his own is more than enough. He is the gift. He’s your treasure.

You can’t decide what you want to do next, but a strong shiver running through you gives a hint: get warm.

Eggs are a good start.

When the food is done, Steve refills your tea and makes his own.

You snuggle up into the covers of the bed again, leaning your head into the dip of Steve’s sternum, using your furnace husband to full effect. The birds aren’t so annoying now. The air is so crisp and refreshing, laced with the smell of Steve’s skin. The rise and fall of his chest is so soothing as you sip and ponder the future.

Steve fiddles with the dials on the vintage camera above you. That’s the last thing you remember before waking up again, this time wrapped in his warm, toasty arms.

For once, he hasn’t woken up yet. He’s stretched, out-cold and perfectly content, unmoving as you wiggle out of the covers.

He never rests in the middle of the day, so you have to capture his sleepy form, eyes still tucked beneath the comforter, keeping the light out for just a little longer. He’s so beautiful.

Your husband is so beautiful.

Steve desperately wants to take the wedding presents for a spin out in the woods, so the afternoon is entirely consumed by a hike.

The Polaroid makes too much noise for wildlife and can’t focus on the tinier details among the branches and leaves, so you settle for jotting down some fanciful descriptions that come to mind and watch him sneak closer to birds, bugs, and color-changing foliage.

He gets so distracted with excitement that you two walk much farther than intended. Steve insists on carrying you the last few miles of your return, and you spend the entire piggyback ride with your chin tucked over his shoulder, your cheek against his neck, quietly discussing what you’d like to change in your lives now that you’re officially married.

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

Nothing needs to change because you two are the exact same people as forty-eight hours ago. Perhaps the rings on your fingers mean more for your life, but they just transmuted the love already in existence to matter.

Steve’s bright blue eyes go dreamy with philosophizing.

Your husband is beautiful, smelling of fresh air and optimism.

Steve refuses to miss another sunset, so you two lay in the hammock before lighting your evening fire.

You snuggle and chat, teasing each other, telling stories. You watch the Milky Way bloom to life above you.

Something Steve never figured out was how the Team knew about his plan to propose. He’s been going over it and over it, but he can’t see where he gave himself away. Steve says, when he asked Bucky yesterday in the men’s ready room, Bucky smirked.

Apparently, Steve, only once while you two dated, told his friend “there’s an order to these things,” and that was enough. Buck knew Steve’s intentions immediately, watching for the signs, the clues. Everyone understands that for a long time now Steve has resented his birthday is a holiday—not in a disrespectful way, but it annoys him that the day is already a big, loud affair,—and the whole group guessed (correctly) Steve would rather replace the symbolism with his own meaning.

“And hey,” Steve rumbles, faking Tony’s nonchalance as he quotes the billionaire playboy, “if you chickened out, fireworks are fireworks.”

His added shrug for effect shifts you and rocks the dangling net.

“Almost did, didn’t you?” you chuckle. “Chicken out?”

Your husband’s whole body tweaks harshly.

“You know I was scared shitless, Keeps! Almost fainted.”

“Or at least fell off your one knee…”

His hands fly up to scrub at his stubbled face, pinning you. “Oh! It was so bad,” he groans.

You sit up carefully in the wobbly fabric of the hammock, barely suppressing more laughter, and pound a flat palm at his chest. “It’s ok, soldier. You got the job done. We got there in the end.”

Steve’s hand covers yours, his peaceful smile glowing in the soft starlight.

He reaches to cradle your cheek, sweeping a delicately callused thumb over your skin.

“I almost can’t believe it,” Steve says quietly.

“Believe what?”

He could mean the beauty of the sky, or that Tony knocked it out of the park with your escape of a honeymoon, or that he didn’t croak instead of getting through all those mental and physical hurtles to be with you. You’re just not sure. Personally, you’ve ‘almost not believed it’ since the Captain America started talking to you, so it’s hard to judge.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His voice grows even softer. “Happy. That’s all.”

Your heart breaks and mends in an instant.

“You can’t believe you’re happy?”

He goes shy, ducking then raising his gaze even higher towards the treetops. He clears his throat before admitting, “I lead…an unusual life. Not many would want this.”

“I dunno. Seems pretty nice to me,” you giggle.

“Yes, but—“ he pulls you into his chest and squeezes “—I get no guarantees. Not like others. We couldn’t even set a date. We could have been waiting years to get married.”

It’s your turn to shrug.

“You got something else to do?”

“No,” he sighs, “just more of this.” He nudges your body closer and closer to his, until all your arms and legs are tangled together. “As much as possible. I only meant…I love you.

“I love you, and I don’t think I had any faith left that I would find you.”

You. Not someone like you. Not someone for him.

You.

Even without a fire, even without sunlight, even without shelter surrounding you, Steve provides everything you could ever need: heat, comfort, safety. He provides, and it’s only right that he should have the favor returned.

Happiness. That’s what this is. Happiness that wasn’t guaranteed. Happiness that wasn’t expected. Happiness that was hard-earned.

Your muscles shiver and your skin tingles, all with need of him. “Sweetheart,” you whisper, clawing at his sweater.

He knows. He sees. He feels it, too.

When Steve lunges to kiss you though, the hammock swings with your combined weight and tries to topple you.

You giggle and squeal, flipping out and onto the ground with zero grace, and he follows.

Steve crawls over you, starlight and the glow from the tent painting his face in primary colors.

“Here, Mrs. Rogers?” He fakes shock. “In the dirt?”

“You fucked me on that picnic table just last night,” you joke, a dark, taunting edge to your voice which he matches.

Steve leans in again. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

He holds your gaze, his focus flickering to your lips while the crickets’ song roars around you.

It sounds silly after all you’ve done to get Steve out of his shell, but what you crave most in this moment is the familiar, traditional love-making that he offers best. His tenderness leads you on a merry dance not unlike long wilderness walks. He’s consumed by discovery and attention to how you feel in that very second. To him, you change as frequently as the landscape. He yearns to explore what’s the same, what’s new.

Steve never phones-in sex. He never just goes through the motions. Somehow, he makes an art of reevaluating your body, your pleasure, each and every time. He’s the proof vanilla is an infinite flavor.

But…

That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the chase.

Steve is leaning in to kiss you when your knee raises to his chest, halting his progress. You bite your lip and scramble to the ‘door’ of the tent. Obviously, he lets you win because he could easily have snatched you into his grasp.

Steve’s laugh stays close, but he follows all the way to the bed.

There’s something to be said about a good ol’ fashioned undressing, garment by garment, that dance of who leads and how much they touch the other as each piece of clothing falls away. Steve’s become a very good dancer.

Nothing is rushed. Nothing is missed.

He doesn’t combine the acts of maneuvering you and dragging open mouth kisses along your skin. He moves you, and then he lingers.

Time spent mapping you is time well spent to Steve Rogers.

You’re drunk on him. High on him. It’s an out-of-body experience that has you watching his broad back curve sharply while he thrusts and traces your collarbone with his tongue, noticing your toes seize up from force of your first orgasm, and admiring how fine his ringed finger looks laced in with yours and pinned over your head.

No one leaves the tent. The evening fire never gets started.

After a long and sweaty fuck in the bed, you’re filthy, gathering food for Steve who’s hungry, following you around with wipes. It’s comical how thoroughly you try to take care of each other.

No. Sit still. No. Let me just grab this. No. Fine. Together?

You two finish the top tier of cake after cleaning off…because Steve Rogers is the most stubborn, beautiful, and optimistic husband.

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist; Fools Rush In Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Training Chaos

X Men Masterlist

It’s a quiet afternoon at the School. Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are standing in the large training hall. Both are focused on training their powers or at least trying to. But as soon as Y/N enter the room, you know that focus won’t last long.

Charles stands upright with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Erik stands next to him with a skeptical expression. They both look serious, but you know them well enough to understand that they’re quite easy to tease behind that façade. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do today.

"Hey, guys," you call out with a mischievous grin as you close the door behind you. "Who slept upstairs last night? Or did you switch again?"

Charles’ eyebrow twitches slightly, but he holds back and replies calmly, "Y/N, we’re trying to train here. We should—"

"Train?" You interrupt him, your gaze deliberately wandering over his body. "So that’s what you call it? That explains why Erik always looks so… tense." You wink at Erik, who exhales deeply as if trying to maintain his patience.

"Y/N," Erik says calmly, though there's an undercurrent of humor he can’t completely suppress. "If you’re going to distract us, at least try to do it with some class."

"Class?" You laugh softly and move closer to him. "Oh, Erik, I thought you liked direct approaches. You know, how… ‘specific’ I can be." Your finger lightly trails over his chest as you circle him, feeling his muscles tense slightly.

Charles clears his throat, trying to regain control. "Y/N, we really have work to do. It would be… better if you—"

"Charles, Charles, Charles…" You slowly move toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking deeply into his eyes. "I thought you liked it when I… challenge you." Your tone is deliberately ambiguous, and you see his eyes flicker before he regains his composure.

But before Charles can respond, the door suddenly opens. Wade Wilson—Deadpool—bursts in, wearing his typical red and black suit, and his face lights up as he sees you, Charles, and Erik.

"Ohhh, jackpot!" he exclaims loudly, theatrically rubbing his hands together. "I was actually just looking to mess with Logan, but THIS? It’s like Christmas and Valentine’s Day all rolled into one!"

You grin at Wade and make a theatrical bow. "Wade! You’ve come at just the right time. I’m having fun throwing Charles and Erik off balance a bit. Want to watch?"

Wade promptly sits on a bench, propping his chin on his hand as if he’s at a show. "Of course, Darling! You know I love drama. So, what did I miss? Any hot comments about Xavier’s telepathic ‘abilities’?"

You throw Wade an amused grin, then turn back to Charles, whose face shows a hint of embarrassment despite his usual composure. "Oh, Wade, you have no idea. Charles here isn’t just good at reading minds; he also… well, let’s just say he knows how to twist someone’s brain in other ways."

Charles clears his throat again, this time a bit louder, trying not to react to your cheeky grin. "Y/N, I really think that—"

"What? That I talk too much?" You lean closer to him, almost brushing your lips against his ear. "Or is it that you just have a hard time focusing on other things when I’m around?" You playfully slide your hand along his side, and though Charles remains outwardly calm, you feel his breath catch for a moment.

Erik, who has been trying to stay serious, finally shakes his head and lets out a soft laugh. "You’re driving him crazy, Y/N."

"Oh, Erik, you know that’s nothing new." You give him a meaningful look. "But don’t worry, I’ve got enough energy to throw you off balance too. We all know how much you like to keep control… at least most of the time."

Wade claps his hands, thrilled by the dynamic unfolding before him. "This is better than any soap opera! So, Charles, when are you finally going to let her have at it? I mean, we all know you’re just trying to look professional."

Charles sighs, but this time he can’t hide a slight smile. "Wade, if you only came to stir up trouble, then—"

"Trouble?!" Wade jumps up and dramatically approaches Charles. "Darling, I LIVE for trouble! But honestly, what’s happening here is the real reason I’m here. I mean, three sexy mutants pushing each other to the edge of insanity? I should have brought popcorn!"

Erik, who has been silently watching, steps forward and crosses his arms, his eyes on you. "Maybe we should kick Y/N out of the training hall if she can’t behave."

You grin at Erik, moving closer until you can feel his breath. "Oh, I can behave… but you know you secretly enjoy it when I don’t." You let your hand glide lightly along his arm. "And honestly, Erik, you don’t mind giving up control every now and then. At least sometimes."

Erik raises his eyebrows slightly, but the smile on his lips shows that you’re right. "Maybe you should focus on what you really want."

"Oh, I know exactly what I want." Your gaze shifts between Erik and Charles. "Two of the most powerful men I know… and neither of you can resist me."

Wade interrupts your playful banter with an amused laugh. "Wow, Y/N, I’m really impressed. You manage to drive two guys crazy at the same time. Respect!"

Charles sighs deeply and puts his hands on his hips. "I think we should end the training for today. It seems someone has already caused enough disruption."

You wink at him and back toward the door. "Disruption? Oh, Charles, that was just the beginning. But you know where to find me if you need more."

With a cheeky grin, you leave the training hall while Wade, Erik, and Charles watch you go. Wade calls after you, "You’re my role model, Y/N! I could learn a lot from you!"

Erik just shakes his head, while Charles shows a gentle smile that expresses both affection and amusement. Despite all your teasing and cheeky remarks, they both know that you have their hearts as firmly in your grasp as they have yours.

And so, the unusual trio remains intact, in a strange but beautiful balance of love, chaos, and a bit of madness.

[siancore]

SamBucky | M | 2.1K | AO3

A/N: Written for the @sambuckylibrary SamBucky Summer Bingo 2024 Loving Card. Square Fill: Free Space.

Just my take on why we suddenly saw Bucky wearing the bright blue Henley when he visited Sam in Louisiana.

Content: Getting Together; Flirting; Crushes; Canon Universe

One of the best things about the 21st century was online shopping. Bucky loved it. He could get what he needed delivered to his door and not have to worry about venturing out into the crowds and being noticed.

Shopping for clothing had been a breeze online. He could just go back and order the same outfits that were in his order history, and he was set; good to go. Plain ensembles that were good all year round. His leather jacket was the most expensive piece of attire he owned. It was reliable. Comfortable. It was his signature look. Didn’t need much else.

Though, in saying that, he supposed he might get a couple of new outfits, since he was going to drop the new outfit off to Sam in Louisiana. Didn’t want to give Sam the opportunity to point out that Bucky hadn’t changed his outfits, yet he wanted Sam to embrace his gift. Sam could be quite contrary at times. Bucky wanted the gift giving to go as smoothly as possible. 

He had a plan, after all: Hand the new Captain America suit over, spend some time with Sam where they’re not dodging bullets, and maybe turn on that 1940s charm that he was so famous for. If nothing eventuated from it, then he was just glad to have Sam as a co-worker and friend. 

Bucky sat at his laptop and looked through the garments on this website he liked. He added a few new items to his cart, removed them, then added them once more. While he was arguing with himself about how he used to wear button down shirts his whole life, a notification box popped up in the corner of his screen denoting an incoming call. Bucky sighed and then answered.

“Ayo?”

“Guess again,” came the voice on the other end. 

“Aneka, what’re you doing?”

“Hello to you, too,” she replied. 

“Sorry,” Bucky amended. “Hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you James.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. “Does your girlfriend know you’re using her personal secure line to bother me?”

There was a sound of jest to his voice that made Aneka smile. 

“Of course,” she replied. “There are no secrets between my beloved and I. As for you and your beloved –” 

“I don’t have a beloved,” Bucky insisted, knowing exactly where the conversation was headed. 

“Oh, I think that very lovely gift you had my beloved organize for you begs to differ.”

Bucky rans his face over his hand and said, “Ayo told you about the suit?”

“She didn’t have to,” Aneka replied. “I was in the Design Suites testing my prototype for these new blades I’m hoping to incorporate in the field when I saw your gift.”

“General Okoye isn’t gonna let you take anything but your spear into the field and you know that,” Bucky supplied.

“Hush your mouth,” said Aneka. “Anyway, like I was saying, I saw your gift while I was there. Very thoughtful, James. Captain Wilson is going to love it.”

“How do you know it’s for Sam?”

“Firstly, he is your beloved.”

“Aneka.”

“Secondly, that awful, awful color scheme has to be for an Avenger – has to be for Captain America.”

“Is it really that awful?”

“Yes,” said Aneka with a laugh as Bucky groaned. “But, it’s the thought that counts. What did he say when he received it?”

“I haven’t delivered it to him yet.”

“Oh, that is good, James. Good thinking. Hand deliver the gift to Captain Wilson, get him to try it on and do a little twirl for you, and then charm him. Right out of those red, white, and blue pants.”

“Aneka.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“James, what is it?”

Bucky took a deep breath and then said, “I kinda want this to go well. Sam deserves nothing but the best, and while I’m so far from bein’ good enough for him –”

“I rebuke that in Bast’s glorious name,” Aneka supplied, affronted. “You are good enough. Captain Wilson would be lucky to have you.”

Bucky said nothing for a moment but smiled at his friend’s words. Then he spoke up, nervous but honest.

“So, are you gonna help me?”

“Of course,” said Aneka. “Now, what are you going to wear?”

…..

“The blue really brings your eyes out,” Aneka had said to Bucky, and he listened. 

He kept the blue Henley packed away in his bag. Decided against wearing it when he arrived to deliver his gift to Sam. Though it was not in Sam to be rude or an outright asshole, there was the small possibility that Sam would tell him to fuck off and take the goddamn Captain America suit with him. Bucky was really going out on a limb, just as he had been asking Ayo for help after what he had done. But love, it seemed, made you do crazy things. 

Love? Right, yes. Love. For a co-worker slash friend. They were friends and Bucky could admit he cared for – hell, that he loved Sam Wilson. Who didn’t, right? At any rate, it was all going well. He showed up and showed his willingness to help. Showed Sam that he cared about what Sam did and his life outside of the Avengers – outside of being Captain America. Sam had accepted the gift, while he did not open it, he knew what it was. Let it sit on the docks while they worked on the boat. Kept a curious gaze flitting towards it every once in a while. 

When Bucky had mentioned getting a hotel for the night, Sam had reassured him that he could stay in Delacroix. Assured him that the people there were welcoming and friendly. Assured him that they did not care if he wore his shirts too small. 

Ha. Sam noticed what Bucky was wearing. Aneka was a genius. Bucky was glad he had saved the blue Henley for later. 

…

There was something ethereal about working away in the early morning with Sam on the boat. The sounds of the water and wildlife; the calm morning sky; Sam humming some unfamiliar song while he worked. Bucky could get used to that. He could easily and happily settle into that life in that place. It was no wonder that Sam worked and fought so hard. The place and people in his life were special. Bucky could see that. Bucky longed to have something like that for himself. 

After Sarah had relieved them of their duties, Sam took Bucky around. It was a very small town. There was not a lot to see from a tourist’s perspective, yet Bucky didn’t feel like a tourist, like a visitor. Maybe it was Sam that made him feel like he belonged. Maybe wherever he was in the world would always feel that way if he was by Sam’s side. 

They found their way back to the Wilson residence. Bucky helped Sam set up a training area outside. They tossed the shield around and talked. There was so much that Bucky wanted to say to Sam. So much he needed to say. But he listened. He listened to Sam when he spoke about how the history of the shield was complicated, especially for Sam as a Black man in America. How what had happened to Isaiah Bradley was abhorrent. How there were people, Sam’s own people included, who would be against him carrying the shield and taking up the mantle. Bucky listened, really listened. He listened until Sam had said everything he needed to say. 

“I owe you an apology,” Bucky said then. “There was no way Steve, or I could’ve even imagined what it would be like for you. Thing is, we didn’t even consider it. He said you were a good man. He said you’re the only person he could see taking up the shield. And I believed him because I trusted his word before I got to know you. And he was right. You are a good man. The best man for the job. But I got caught up in my own feelings of – of loneliness and I projected a whole lotta stuff onto you when I had no right to do that. I learned how to live in this day and age, I could’ve taken a little time to learn about how the world treats you and your people. I am so deeply sorry, Sam. Sorry for making all of this harder on you than you needed. Sorry for dismissing your feelings. Sorry for barging into your life because I was angry and upset and spiralling in my own way. None of that was fair on you. I’m so sorry.”

Sam looked at Bucky through those pretty lashes and gave him a small, soft smile. 

“Thank you,” said Sam quietly. “I appreciate that.”

The sincerity and peace in Sam’s eyes caused something to clench inside of Bucky’s chest. There was vulnerability there that Sam hardly let the world see. They spoke for a while longer while continuing to toss the shield around. Sam seemed lighter and it looked so good on him. Happiness looked good on him. He was soft and jovial and even a little flirty. It made Bucky feel like he was floating. 

When there was a lull in their conversation, Sam took a moment to drag his gaze over Bucky’s form.

“What?” asked Bucky, with half a smile playing on his features. 

Sam placed his hands on his hips, tilted his head, and gave Bucky an appraising look. 

“So, this is new, uh?” asked Sam.

“What’s that?” asked Bucky, feeling warm under Sam’s stare. 

“This color on you,” Sam explained. “Gotten so used to seeing you in black. It’s a nice change.”

Bucky could feel the blush spread across his face as he said, “Thanks.”

“That blue, it ah – it really brings your eyes out,” Sam offered, somewhat coyly, which was new. “It’s nice. You look – nice.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He was almost stunned to have all of Sam’s attention levelled at him like that. To have Sam being shy with him. To have Sam compliment him. 

“Well, you always look nice,” he ended up blurting out. “Doesn’t matter what you wear. You always look great. So handsome. Christ, pretty, even. You’re just – gorgeous. Shit. Sorry.”

Sam let out an amused little laugh as he dipped his head and looked up at Bucky. 

“I think you’ve apologized enough for one day,” said Sam, stepping closer. “For the record, I think you’re pretty, too.”

“Really?” asked Bucky, a blush completely covering his face and neck. “You think I am pretty?”

“Yes,” said Sam, inching closer. 

“It’s just the new shirt,” said Bucky, trying to regain his composure and going for flirty; he moved closer to Sam. “Trick of the light and all this blue.”

Sam laughed once more, “I don’t know about all that. Maybe we should get you out of that shirt and test that theory?”

Bucky almost choked on air right then and there, but recovered quickly as he said, “Really?”

Sam took hold of Bucky’s hand, and said, “Yeah, if that’s somethin’ you’d want to do – with me.”

A hint of that coyness on Sam’s part came back and Bucky found it wholly charming and endearing, 

Bucky brought Sam’s hand to his chest and said, “Happy to oblige you, Cap. Whatever you want or need, just let me know.”

“How about a kiss?” asked Sam. 

“With pleasure,” Bucky replied as he cupped Sam’s face and then pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. 

…

Later in the evening, after the pair had made love for the third or fourth time – Bucky couldn’t keep count as he was delirious with happiness – Sam needed to leave the bedroom and get something to drink. He searched their discarded clothing looking for something to put on and found Bucky’s blue Henley. Bucky reclined on the too-small bed and watched Sam pull his shirt on. Something swelled inside of Bucky as he smiled up at Sam clad in his shirt. 

“That color looks good on you,” said Bucky as he dragged his gaze over Sam’s body for the hundredth time that night. 

Sam beamed brightly at him, smoothed his hand over his chest, and said, “Yeah, I might keep it.”

“It’s yours if you want it,” said Bucky sincerely, a lazy, contented smile crossing his lips. 

“Hmm,” said Sam as he climbed back onto the bed to kiss Bucky once more. “Might keep you, too.”

Bucky kissed Sam back fervently and said, “I’m yours if you want me.”

“I do,” said Sam as Bucky’s hands moved to rid him of the blue Henley. “And I’m yours, too.”

[scremogirl]

☾✧꥟ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✧✰☀︎︎

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐬

!Deathstroke; Slade Wilson Edition!

Yea…no.

Sure, you knew when signing up for this job that you’d be dealing with the worst of the worst. You knew that the amount these guys racked up is probably more than your yearly salary. You knew that this was a building filled with maniacs and lost souls. You knew that. What you didn’t know is that you’d have to be dealing with this guy.

Slade Wilson; mercenary, assassin, business man, and just over all powerhouse. You will say that he isn’t the worst on your roster, but he isn’t the nicest either. It doesn’t matter to you though, everyone in here could be thrown into the same category. You snapped out of your thoughts when the telltale buzzing sound hit your ears, signaling that your next patient was here. The conversation between you and the guards was routine; telling you the patient's name, what they're here for, blah blah blah. As they leave, Wilson takes the seat right across from you instead of the much more comfortable couch. You suspect this to be some sort of intimidation tactic, lessening the distance between you so you feel uncomfortable. He wants to make himself look bigger, badder; you’re not falling for it. Noting this makes you feel more certain so you puff out your chest more, head held a little higher.

“Good Afternoon, Mr Wilson. I’m Dr. (L/n) and I’ll be your new physiatrist and occasional therapist,”

“Occasional?”

“Yes, occasional. Lord knows how understaffed we are,” that last part was mumbled under your breath, or at least, you thought it was; seeing as you earned a chuckle from the mane across from you. Yes, this is a good start.

“So, Mr Wilson,” you perk up a bit

“Is there anything you’d like for me to know about you? Any worries, concerns, hobbies, things of the sort?” He pauses, his good eye analyzing you from top to bottom. His brows furrow slightly and the cuffs around his wrist slightly flank against each other from the tapping of his leg.

“Just one,” he says in a deep voice sending shivers down your spine. Not like that…I mean, yes like that, but could anyone really blame you? Just look at him.

“Anything, Mr Wilson,” you smile lightly as a sign of welcoming. You know whatever comes out of his mouth won’t be the most savory, no matter how severe, but you won’t let him see any weakness.

“How long do you think you’ll last here?” you’re about to inquire the meaning of his question but get caught off before you could ask.

“It’s obvious someone like you isn’t meant for a place like this. Too kind, too friendly, too small,” the octave of his voice goes down a little at the end.

“You’d get eaten alive in here,” you smile, soft and content. You sigh a tiny bit before looking up from your notepad looking directly at him.

“You’ve know me all of,” you take a glance over at the clock to the clock

“…five minutes and you’re already making assumptions. Even implying I quit the job I spent 13 yrs practicing for. How inconsiderate, Mr Wilson,”

The playfulness in your voice brings back that slight tug of his lips and melodic chuckle. Two (Y/n) zero Slade Wilson.

“One could say that’s the whole point of your job isn’t it? Making assumptions. Trying to see what you think would help people like us; analyzing us as soon as we step through these doors,” damn, 2-1.

You return to smile again, this time in defeat, still never losing the airiness to it.

“Touché. However, I’m not so worried about assuming. It’s human nature to do so, is it not? You see a guy standing in a dark alleyway, hoodie covering his face, hands tucked deeply in his pockets,” you rummage through your desk drawer before pulling out two erasers. One a cow face and the other a little pig. You set them down in front of you before continuing.

“You’ll think one of many things; A, he’s a smoked out crackhead waiting to ask for some money. B, a low life thug ready to mug you for all your worth, or C, a murder in the loose ready to make you his next victim,” you glance up at your patient, he seems confused as to where you’re going with this. Good.

“My point is that everyone assumes. No matter what. It’s my job to separate the lies from the truth m. To find out who you really are,” you smile for the nth time, he starts to grow annoyed. How can you be so carefree with someone like him?

“You gonna tell me where you’re going with this?”

“Tell me, Mr Wilson,” you point to the erasers you previously set out.

“Which one of these do you think is my favorite?” He shoots a quick look at his choices and then back at you. He assumi-…guessing that you want to prove a point, make him see he’s wrong. Not gonna happen. He takes his time, he knows about you, how could he not. Everyone knows when fresh meat gets sent into this hell hole, easier to manipulate. When he heard you were assigned to him he did some digging into your history, but… he couldn’t find anything. A regular person with an irregular job. There has to be a reason for this. Earlier when tried to assess you he thought you were nothing but another innocent to be corrupted, but from the situation that he’s in now… he’s assum- guessing he’s wrong. Damn… you are good. 3-1.

“Neither,” hm? What is he talking abou-

“It’s the one on your pencil. That’s your favorite,”

You laugh, of course he’d figure it out. Ever since you two started talking you’d fiddle with the end of your pencil from time to time. The little bunny remains stationary at the end of it. 3-2.

“You figured it out, didn’t you?” he smiles before man-spreading his legs a little wider, shoulders falling back slightly.

“Well, Deathstroke, I just give credit where it’s due. However,” you say dragging out the last syllable.

“One thing you failed to notice this one thing,” you for some god unforsaken reason flip the eraser inside out and his face drops.

“It’s a sheep,”

4-1

I kinda lost motivation at the end so it’s a lil sloppy and doesn’t really make sense ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Just tryna get over my writer’s block and last week's bust ass schedule. Hope you enjoyed it anyways.

Love, Sosa❤️

[jackfrombaskinrobbins]

road trip as a teenage avenger headcanons!

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 1k

request: yes / no

dynamic: avengers x teen!reader (teenage avenger series)

characters: lots ofc but i'd say big emphasis on reader (duh), harley keener, peter parker, miles morales, scott lang, clint barton, bucky barnes, sam wilson, tony stark, happy hogan, natasha romanoff, and bruce banner. more are prob in it but i don't wanna type it all out lol

a/n: y'all i think my pictures are getting more chaotic & tbh i think it's a good thing anyways requests are still open, send in an ask whenever :)

taglist: @nutellani @thecloudedmind

(fill out this form to be on my taglist!)

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it was an annual tradition for the avengers to go on a road trip.

steve always said it was "team bonding". it was honestly kind of fun.

better than the other "team bonding" you did, which mainly consisted of running long distances!!

anyways, they usually would do it soon after you, harley, peter, and miles finished school (also yes im including miles now bc i love him)

tony would come over the intercom while you all were lounging around and tell you to pack your bags.

packing is always a big issue.

let's just say that SOME people are big overpackers...

COUGH scott COUGH

no offense to him but like ppl have had to sit in the trunk before because of him

and he overpacks with stuff that rly doesn’t make sense

like once y’all went to colorado

and he packed snorkeling equipment

and so you were like “scott. seriously?”

and he looked at you with such a serious face

“y/n. what if all the snow melts? then we would be underwater!! i have an extra snorkeling mask too. i was gonna give it to you, but now idk….”

HAHA

bruce overpacks too

but he overpacks in a good way

guys bruce is like the mom on vacation

well him and tony both

you’d think steve would be but he is NOT

like the man doesn’t even wear sunscreen

and then here comes bruce with a tote bag full of snacks

which tony eats half of by the way

smh

the best part of having thor on a trip is that he will ALWAYS pick you up if you’re too tired

like once he had you and peter under both his arms like footballs bc u got tired

and clint was sad bc he was tired too

he tried to get scott to pick him up but scott wasn’t ready and they both fell and they like hit their heads

that was an interesting day

ok so setting the scene again

you, peter, harley, miles, natasha and bruce were in the middle of a very competitive round of uno

like y’all

competitive doesn’t even begin to cover it

anyways you were about to get uno

FR

you put down your card and suddenly 

“HEY EVERYBODY” “SHHH you’re being too loud” “ohh sorry HEY EVERYBODY”

you started laughing at the quite obvious blunders of thor and clint in the intercom room

“thor, buddy? you don’t need to be kissing the mic when you speak, alright?”

tony, from another room, always quick with the jabs.

“AH! MY BAD STARK. HAHA! THIS MUST BE BETTER”

natasha just shook her head but you and peter, harley and miles were DYING

“ANYWAYS IT IS ROAD TRIP TIME. EVERYONE PACK UP AND BE IN THE FAMILY ROOM IN TEN MINUTES… what? MY MISTAKE. ONE HOUR. THAT’S RIGHT ONE HOUR.”

with that done, you all got up, groaning.

“uno.” natasha smirked at you, noticing that you only had one card.

“darn it!!!” you said. “well, doesn’t matter now. we have to go anyways.”

“we can always resume it later, y/n :) “ 

“fine, nat. but i’m going to win this time!! right bruce??”

“well, kid, you know i’m usually on your side, but…”

“aw, come on!!”

ok fast forward. 

you were in the family room

aw guys isn’t that cute that they call it a family room

bc ur a family

awwwwww

ok anyway

and here comes scott with his fifty bags

“relax sharpay, we’re not gonna be gone for THAT long”

guys i wanted a cool tony nickname and tbh i just remember vaguely that sharpay had like suitcases on the cover of her movie i never even watched it so i could be wrong but that was my intention

“tony, these are my essentials.”

“scott, why don’t you just shrink that down? like seriously, man.” miles remarked, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“hey, y’know what? that’s a great idea miles!!”

and so he ended up shrinking his luggage

but then he couldn’t find it

oh scott

sigh

anyways tony and happy did a lot of car assignment work

to make sure everyone would get there safely

and your car

was

drum roll please

ok also this was only for the trip there

the trip back would be different

ok the car was

tony, happy, clint and peter

tbh this was not a bad car at all

poor miles and harley were stuck with scott, bucky, sam and steve

natasha and wanda and pietro and thor were the other one

although here’s the issue

guys

fr

tony is a bad driver

but happy didn’t feel like driving

and u were just starting to drive so clint was like “NO WAY do i trust y/n in a car!!!”

that goofy clown fr

so tony was driving

oh and btw y’all were going to the compound

tony told you and you were like 

“dude, that’s not a road trip”

and he was like “we’re in the car for more than an hour. it’s a road trip, kid.”

and miles and harley kept texting like theorizing about where u were going

harley said europe

and you were like

harley

anyways ya 

so tony is like swerving and speeding everywhere 

ok maybe thats dramatic

but happy was holding the little bar

and he was like yelling at tony to slow down

meanwhile clint is just singing along to the music thats BLASTING

and u and peter are ready to accept ur deaths

like u literally texted sam a video of what was happening and he almost called happy to tell him to pull over 😭 

sam’s got ur back thats for sure!!

anyways tony pulled into a drive thru

bc he needed coffee

guys hes tony stark he needs stuff like that

and he got u and peter and clint happy meals :D

and clint was so excited like 💀 

love him

happy made sure u and peter had ur seatbelts on 

he said it was bc he didn’t want to have to explain to midtown why yall didnt come back for the next year 😭 

that and “too much paperwork”

smh

anyways tony finally got it together

u and peter decided that he just needed an acoustic song on the radio bc as soon as something more relaxing came on he was a lot better lol

the rest of the drive was pretty alright

i'm gonna do another headcanon set about the avengers actually on vacation but yeah there ya go :)

thats how the road trips work yahoo

-----------------------✰--------------------

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#355

“Hey Wilson.  Get over here….  I hear you are a faggot cocksucker.  Are you?...  Don’t bother answering.  I heard from Rebecca that her husband, Deputy Akers, questioned you at the rest stop on the highway.  When she told me that, I was going to talk to my father to get you fired.  We don’t need your kind around here.  I was telling Frank and Burt that I was going to do it, and you know they both told me not to.  Frank said he would quit if I did that.  It seems that you’ve been gobbing their knobs for some time….

“Frank and I go back a long time, to our days in the Corps.  We used to go through whores together, hundreds of them.  When he said you suck better than all of them, I thought no way.  Burt totally agreed.  Frank told me I should give your mouth a try, that your mouth knows how to take care of a big dick.  But unlike the bitches we used back in the days, you can take a good skull fuck.

“That got me thinking.  If my best bud from the Corps and my six-foot six foreman—two of the manliest men I know—can let a faggot swing on their dicks, when they can get any woman they want, you must be that good.  You better be that good. 

“I made sure everyone has left for the day.  It’s just you and me.  If you mention this to anyone, even Frank and Burt, I will personally shove my fist so far into your face that you will have to reach behind your head to pick your nose.  That’s not just a promise, that’s a fucking threat.  Now get on your knees.

“The fuck?... You want another bitch slap?  Then don’t fucking look up at me….  Did you just say, ‘Sorry Sir?’  That’s right you know who’s fucking in charge.  It’s big isn’t it?  It gets thicker at the base.  I know you fags like to know size, that’s eight and a half inches of grade A beef. 

“To the root faggot.  To the fucking root.  Oh fuck.  Oh man.  Damn boy, Burt and Frank were right, you know how to take a cock.  But this isn’t about you bobbin’ my knob.  I’m in control of this fucking blow job.  That’s it, gag on it faggot.  Your throat pussy is sliming up my dick real good…. 

“No, this is no pussy; this is a cunt.  Cunts are meant to be used and tossed aside.  Treat them like shit.  Make them feel that they are nothing.  They are nothing.  You know what?  You are worse than that.  Pull off.  What do you have to say about that, faggot?

“…Jesus fuck.  You want to be treated like a piece of shit?...  Do Frank and Burt treat you like that?...  They do?  And faggot, you were addressing me as ‘Sir’ at the end of each sentence a few moments ago.  I want that to continue. 

“What does Frank do to you to treat you like shit?...  Smacks you around?  Across the face like this?...  Oh yeah.  I like doing that.  Very few bitches know how to take a hand slap and know that it is a man’s right to assert his dominance….  The best part of cunt slapping you is that I don’t have to hold back my strength, and you thank me afterwards.  I’m beginning to get the appeal of you faggot.  What else does Frank do to you?  He probably does your ass….  I knew it….  He also shoves his fist in there?...  How the hell does that work?...  Nevermind.

“What about Burt?  What does he do to you?...  Oh that’s nasty.  You stick your tongue into his ass crack?  Why?...  What the fuck?  What if there’s skid marks?...  You really are disgusting.  You want to eat his ass like that?... And drink his piss?...  Of course you are a piss drinker. 

“In the corps, there were a couple of bitches that Frank and I would fuck before pissing all over them.  Do you drink his piss too?...  What do you mean you drink from ‘all of them’?  How many other guys on my payroll use you?...  Just one?  Who?...

“…No way!  My dad’s best friend Clay Richardson?  The man I have known since I was a boy?  That one?  Wow.  And what does he do to you?...  The entire weekend?...  And when you are not tied up in his basement?...  You are a party whore?  Fuck, I haven’t been to a guy’s night out with a party whore in years, and you do it every weekend?  What do you do there?...  Yup, that’s a party whore’s duty, but you are a faggot.  You probably do a lot more. 

“As disgusting as you are, and you are quite disgusting, my dick is rock hard and leaking.  I can see why Frank and Burt were so protective of you.  You going to Clay’s tonight?...  What time is he expecting you there?...  That’s forty-five minutes from now.  You show up like that?...  OK.  What if you are late?...  He’ll whip you?  Well, my cock stands between you arriving on time and you being whipped. 

“Get that mouth open.  I’m in control of this blowjob.  I don’t care if you gag, puke, or pass out; I’m not going to stop.  Breathe when you can. 

“Fuck yeah.  That face was made to be slammed into my crotch.  Your throat is better than any cunt, bitch, or whore I have been with.  The throat slime is so juicy.  Oh man, I will be using this quite frequently.  It’s not going to be long.  Faggot.  Oh fuck.  I’m going to be fucking brutal to you.  So brutal, that you are going to want to quit.  But I ain’t going to let you quit.  The guys won’t let you quit.  You belong here to be on your faggot knees.  I’m going to enjoy smacking you around.

“I’m getting close.  You ready?  Don’t give a shit if you ain’t.  Here it comes.  Here it comes.  Faggot!  Here it cuuuuuummmmms!  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  Goddamned!... Whew!  I will be using that throat going forward.

“No. No. Don’t pull off.  I need to piss….  Ahhhh!  That feels so good.  So fuckin’ natural.

“Fag, fag, fag.  You really need to get going if you are not going to be late….  What are you doing?  Get back on your fucking knees.  I’m not done with you.  I want to know what it’s like to have a tongue inside my shithole.

“Of course that will make you late for Clay’s party.  In fact, I’m going to take you there directly from here.  And I am going to ensure you are late.  I want to watch him beat you.  I want to see you servicing Frank and Burt.  I’m fucking crashing that party.

Here’s my ass.  I trust you know what to do….  Oh fuck.  Oh Fuck.  Goddamned.  Man alive!  I’m going to set my watch timer.  You have thirty minutes back there.  I expect your tongue to be active all that time.”

[bumblebee-art-blog]

Silly Ruby Wilson fun facts because I got bored and figured this was a good idea

- Ruby has ADHD (you can guess whose fault was that. Cough- cough WADE).

- Owns Deadpool Merch. Despite the fact Deadpool wasn’t around as much in this universe, he made quite the impression. Killing villains in a highway can do that.

- Can’t seem to keep a single part time job…

- She originally was gonna go full out and stick with the name ‘Deadpool’ but she quickly changed it to GirlPool because people kept mistaking her for a very flamboyant guy for some reason.

- Since Ruby was born in the Great year of 2000, that would make her Gen Z (It’s an AU, the timeline isn’t 100% movie canon)

- Ruby used to be on a baseball team in middle school but got kicked out after hitting another kid in the knees with the bat.

- She is probably one of the most competitive people out there. Especially in laser tag or paintball.

- Learned how to use a gun by the age of 13 (thanks, Wade. Vanessa scolded him for that).

- Was deemed a ‘problem’ child in school (𝓉𝓂)

- Ruby has a rational fear of Canadian geese

- Externally, she looks like she would be one of the cool, intimidating kids from school. In reality, she’s just an insecure, lovable idiot.

- Has attended Comic-Con every year since she was five.

- Would be the type to say things like “let him cook” and “rizz” unironically sometimes. (she dies a little inside every Time she says rizz)

- Ruby makes her own comic-con cosplays (which is how she made her GirlPool suit).

- Owns a lot of X-Men comics and takes extremely good care of them.

- Colossus used to be her babysitter.

- Yukio taught her how to dye her hair.

- Wade and Ruby have monthly karaoke nights.

- A very good drummer!

- The cut eyebrow originally happened with a razor (she will not elaborate), but then she thought it looked cool so she kept it.

[avoutput]

Ryan, Wade, Logan, and Hugh || Deadpool & Wolverine

I have been on a bit of hiatus from seeing films in the theater, but what always seems to bring me back is even the faintest hint of good action comedy or the glimmer of a return of some legacy. In Deadpool & Wolverine, you get the promise of both in a single package. But I waited so long because I was still apprehensive. It bothered me more as time went on because it was so well received, as of now I believe it's the highest grossing “R” rated film of all time. The public largely isn’t a good barometer of whether anything is good or not, certainly not the amount of money it brings in, and definitely not the collective critical conscience. Word of mouth from trusted sources. People you love to disagree with. When both of those sources agree you simply have to take a look. I brought one of those people I disagree with, my father. A man who claims to hate the profane, but indulges in all sorts of films with deeply profane language, especially ones starring cops or detectives. Still he has always had a love for the X-Men, for Wolverine, and the chance to see him in the iconic 90’s suit was enough of a draw despite his lack of interest in Deadpool. He sat through all the violence, all the gore, all the dirty innuendo, the implied buttsex, and the 4th wall nods to the camera. He was the balance to my indulgence, and as I glanced over at him, I saw in his stoic stare, fingers resting on his temples like he had a headache, just how much it bothered him to see the swearing and the gore, and I knew in that moment that we might have a home-run on our hand.

Out of the gate, I’ll go ahead and assure you that the spoilers for the film will be marked at the very end of the article, and the initial review will simply go over the main points and my thoughts on the film in general. All I can think about right now is how I wish I was clever enough to write a review in a voice that broke the 4th wall, if there is even such a thing. 

I am not sure if it's worth explaining the plot of the film, because it feels as though by design that it hangs around in the background, simply a vehicle for the jokes. Going into most action comedies, the driving force is usually the plot with the attached jokes along the way. With a franchise like Deadpool, forced to merge his well thought out and narrow franchise with Marvel, limited as it was by the copyright protections and constricted access to characters outside the Fox owned universe, you would be wise to be concerned that this wouldn’t be handled well. Even though both previous Deadpool films should have proved this creative team is a well oiled machine, I was still surprised by how well they merged their ideas into the Disney Marvel conglomerate. This film is constructed upside down, with the jokes being the engine and the plot being the fuel. Comic moments are designed in which the plot flows through them to create the momentum instead of the plot having appropriate jokes to follow the action. When the comic moments collide with the plot, you get these uniquely Deadpool action moments, with his masked smirk, potty mouth, and penchant for splitting bodies apart starting at the taint. It's quite an elegant display of talent that you don't see too often. If I had to make one thing clear, this action comedy redesign is the shining crown on Deadpool’s tight ass.

To satiate the curious, let me pour out the fuel for you, though common sense would tell you not to huff fumes, but it's your funeral. Wade Wilson is having another downer moment. In a desire to prove to himself that Deadpool is an important cog in the new Marvel Cinematic Universe he has found his way into, he tries to join the big leagues at Marvel headquarters. When he doesn’t make the cut, he gets depressed and the love of his life, Venessa, decides he needs to grow before their relationship can continue and moves out. Deadpool is then recruited by an interdimensional agency that keeps the multiverse from unraveling, which he is genuinely excited about. Only, the agency decided that Deadpool is the only thing left in his home universe that can be useful and relay to him they plan to destroy it prematurely. They plan to destroy it because the central character from his universe, Logan, perished heroically in a completely unchangeable Fox story cannon. Realizing the now dead Wolverine is the center of his home universe, Deadpool sets out across the multiverse to find the perfect Wolverine to replace his own so he can thwart the multiverse administrator villains and stop the destruction of his universe. Unfortunately, the only one he can find is a Wolverine that failed to live up to the legend of any other Wolverine’s from any other universe. This exhaustive story presentation is brought to you by the people who overthink Deadpool.

Brilliantly, this setup appears to be born out of conversations with a possibly real Disney boardroom. Disney appears to have told Ryan Reynolds and the Deadpool team that when James Mangold, director of Logan, closed the door on the X-Men universe when he put Logan out to pasture, and that all the other characters and creative choices across the Fox cannon were now worthless. Except for him. Ryan and Deadpool radiate star power, and Hugh Jackman had already confirmed he was done playing  the Wolverine. This transformation of real world conversations into compelling meta-narrative is the part that feels genius. Not only did they write a narrative to fit the world in which they were writing Deadpool, they found a way to make that an entertaining bedrock of their film. And then they flipped it one more time, made this narrative the background story, the fuel as it were, of the film instead of the engine. They made the comic moments the focus, the action the result, and their creative purpose the driving point. Like Deadpool on screen, the creative team wants to matter and maybe the only way for anyone to believe in them is for them to prove that all that creative work at Fox has more value than the Disney executives can possibly imagine. As a result, they spoke the one language any executive knows, that language translated to now 1 billion dollars in ticket sales. Creative work again saved by the power of capitalism. (I hope that hits with the irony intended. I am not in the Deadpool creative team.)

Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman are still sublime as their alter egos. They define these characters for an entire generation. As such, it should go without saying that they are incredible in their roles this time as well. In fact, every actor in this film hits pitch perfect notes on every joke, every line, every stroke. I’d list out the various actors, and their strengths, but some of them feel like spoilers and as a man of my word, I cannot betray your trust. My only personal complaint is the amount of blood and gore in this movie would make a Mortal Kombat fan blush. It was by a wide margin the only thing in the film I thought should be toned down. It was consistently distracting in almost every one of the action scenes to the point that I couldn’t even be sure of what was happening, especially when they really got things going. It made me wish for an “R” rated, light cut of the film. All the language, half the gore. The take away from this should be that the only bad thing about this film was how distracting the gore was. Imagine this horse I just beat to death is an example of how distracting the gore in Ryan & Hugh: BFF4Life was as a whole. Damn, that is a great turn of phrase and critique. Good job me.

I can’t lie to you though. Or maybe I just won’t lie to you. I left the film after this meta-narrative thinking that, while the film was great, it came with a lot of baggage. The fire to this fuel is mostly lit by knowing not just the catalog at Marvel, not just Fox, but the careers of the actors, the artists in the soundtrack, and a never ending myriad of collective popular culture knowledge as well. I can still remember sitting down in the year 2000 to see the first X-Men film in the Fox franchise. It was quaint by today's standards, and while fan service could be found in the film, it wasn’t created to specifically cater to the demands of fans or their knowledge. Its primary focus was to tell the classic X-Men story. Lucky for us, Fox attacked it with a kind of fever no one really expected at the time. Not quite as unique as Tim Burton’s Batman, and not quite as earnest as Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man, but it was grounded without being gritty. It was real. Just before that, Batman & Robin and its 60’s hokey aesthetic had basically closed the door on superhero films for a while, or that was how it seemed. But a slow build was happening adjacent to this with R rated features like Blade, a gorey mess that kept the hinges of that door oiled. Fast forward almost 25ish years and Deadpool & Wolverine turned all these creative successes (and failures) into their showcase for the executives at Marvel. In doing so, they had to throw everything in the entire backlog at us, for us and everyone who worked on those films. They asked fans to light the fire, but in doing so, they ended up having to make a film that relies on people in the future being cultural anthropologists, lighting their own torches as they dive deeper into the dank caves of our popular culture past. I think films should have some amount of presence in the present, but at this point, we are basically asking people in the future to understand an entire lifetime to truly capture the thrust of the film. 

And this time tunnel goes both ways. If you are my father’s age, a boomer disconnected with the now, there are a series of synapses that don’t fire. He may know a lot about X-Men, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the history of mutants, all sorts of nerd culture, but I could see him lost in about every other word out of Ryan’s mouth. He may have been alive, he just wasn’t participating in pop culture beyond his 30’s. He just can’t connect to it. I fear that may be how people perceive this film in the future, and in fact this whole MCU. The MCU as a franchise is an overwhelming excess that rarely touches brilliance across its entire catalog. It's not like it is a new cinematic language either, but rather a recreation of what makes serial comics like those under the Marvel and DC banner so uninviting to newcomers. What I love about films of the past is that they may capture the moment, but not at the cost of the story and not at the cost of the future. It's helpful to know what was happening around the time of films like The Godfather or Apocalypse Now, but the films don’t misfire because of your lack of historical awareness. When Iron Man came out, it was alone. It set a tone for itself and it was completely free to do so. Future generations would better grasp the whole of the film with knowledge of the Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan wars of its era, but the film doesn’t rely on this knowledge for its story and thus will have a stronger legacy.

That being said, even if it is stuck in the present, all cylinders are firing on this film, even if it's only because I know how the car works. I think it can still run without it, just like starting a car is a simple turn of the key or press of a button, I don’t need to understand how the engine works, but it helps. Ryan and Hugh have completely brought to life Deadpool and Wolverine as they were always intended to be, you’d think they were born to play the roles. I think that here and now, we can call this film a complete creative success, and that is truly set in stone, but I am subtracting a few points in my own cannon simply because I believe films should also preserve their point within the runtime of that single film's arc. They should be able to stand on their own, speaking the human condition without the baggage of complete cultural knowledge. A great film is both universal and timeless. But I can still love a good film. And maybe that’s enough. It's clear that the success of this creative endeavor is shared by the entire team, from the director, the actors, the writers, the camera operators, all the way down to the lowly grips. Maybe that will be clear to new people watching this film in 50 years. Maybe that will ring true across all the baggage, across all the jokes, across all of time. A collective creative success.

****SPOILERS****

The greatest spoiler is that I won’t burden you with any spoilers at all! No, no, I jest. But with a kernel of truth. This film has a never ending slew of celebrity cameos, all playing a few one off jokes, but ultimately, they aren’t really worth talking about in a review because they have very little consequence. The Marvel Universe usually has cameos for the purpose of creating branching paths, but that doesn’t really happen in Deadpool. Not really. It's like an Easter egg hunt where there are hundreds of eggs of all different sizes and colors and it's hard to really tell them apart or make any one of them more important than the other.

So let me share my favorite eggs with you. I really enjoyed the post credit sequence, making the final case for the creative passion that went into Fox's cinematic universe over the years. I really enjoyed seeing Wesley Snipes’ Blade turn the corner and make possibly his last appearance as Blade, with all the original swagger. The riff on Gambit’s accent was fun, and Channing Tattum really hit the mark, but still made you wonder if Gambit really ever stood a chance on the big screen. And finally, seeing most of the original X-Men and X-Men First Class series villains. I think the biggest loss was not seeing Nighcrawler or Mystique. But you can only do so much, and the film acknowledges that. So there we go. Remember to plug yourself like daddy Deadpool likes and thanks for reading!

[clownowo]

Ace attorney characters ranked based on how well I think they dance

Phoenix Wright: 6/10 he’s nothing to write home about but he took a musical theater class or two in college so he can keep a beat at least.

Mia Fey: 6/10 no real interest in dancing but she's not bad or anything. could keep up with Diego well enough

Apollo Justice: 4/10 he wouldn’t suck so bad if he could just loosen up.

Athena Cykes: 9/10 very fit. does cardio. has taken some dance classes for fun.

Maya Fey: 8/10 what she lacks in skill she makes up for in spirit

Pearl Fey: 6/10 has the physical abilities to dance but not the confidence. also has very little reference for how she could be dancing

Trucy Wright: 8/10 performer with good dexterity for sleight of hand. Music isn’t really her area of expertise but she does well enough. enjoys playing just dance with Athena

Miles Edgeworth: 3/10 he can do one dance and it’s the Steel Samurai season 4 ending credits dance and he does it flawlessly but nothing else. took ballroom dancing classes with the von Karmas but he wasn’t particularly adept.

Franziska von Karma: 4/10 she found the aforementioned ballroom dancing classes tedious but damn if she wasn’t going to perform in them perfectly. she can’t do anything else and refuses to try

Godot: 7/10 he can do a killer tango

Klavier Gavin: 2/10 despite being an internationally famous rockstar, when performing he usually has a guitar in his hands so he’s never needed to dance. he cannot dance. he doesn’t particularly want this info getting out

Simon Blackquill: 6/10 danced with Athena a fair bit growing up. knows several anime dances

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: 7/10 i haven't met this guy yet but my friend tells me they think he'd know a fair bit of traditional dances.

Winston Payne: 0/10 or 10/10 no in between. he's either literal garbage or so bad it loops back around to incredible. he had insane disco game in the 70s but now all the rookies laugh at him.

Larry Butz: 8/10 best dancer between him, Phoenix and Miles. he’s gotta be getting his girlfriends somehow

Dick Gumshoe: 5/10 a little too clumsy and can't keep a beat well but bonus points for his enthusiasm

Ema Skye: 1/10 doesn't even try

Kay Faraday: 10/10 incredible dexterity and physical ability. lots of whimsy and spirit.

Sebastian Debeste: 3/10 despite the baton, no real sense of rhythm

Manfred von Karma: 4/10 the one to sign Franziska and Miles up for ballroom dance lessons

Matt Engarde: 2/10 he got the jammin samurai killed so I don’t think he can jam

Dahlia Hawthorne: 8/10 she can boogie. gets down at clubs and parties. arguably the most normal about dancing

Sister Iris: 7/10 had to learn to boogie to properly emulate her sister but she isn’t quite as suited for it and has much less experience

Kristoph Gavin: 1/10 he likes watching but he doesn’t dance at all

Ryunosuke Naruhodo: 10/10 the most beautiful dance of deductions you've ever seen in your life

Susato Mikotoba: 10/10 while she's not particularly skilled with a koto, she learned to dance from the best

Herlock Sholmes: 10/10 THE dancer. THE ONE AND ONLY great detective known for his dance of deductions

Iris Wilson: 10/10 raised by the aforementioned one and only herlock sholmes

Yujin Mikotoba: 10/10 took to tap dancing incredibly well during his time in britain

Kazuma Asogi: 6/10 he's not particularly good but he somehow makes it look cool anyway

Barok Van Zieks: 7/10 used to be much better, before the professor kililngs he actually enjoyed dancing a fair bit. took classes growing up. retained a lot of the muscle memory

Gina Lestrade: 6/10 she doesn't have any training but if she did she'd do fairly well

Tobias Gregson: 2/10 he's the best investigator at scotland yard according to Sholmes, so you can imagine how bad the rest of the yard is at dancing

Maria Gorey: 8/10 she can dance just fine she just has no interest. the one time they got her to dance Herlock had very courteously offered his body up for dissection. "AFTER I'M DEAD, WOMAN!"

Albert Harebrayne: 1/10 he can't. he tries. Barok tried to teach him. he understands the theory! he knows the steps! he can't do it. he can't.

[onlygenxhere]

"With all due respect, which is none." – Principle Lessa

She saw him as soon as he came in the office. Saw him wave away Helen, her severely underpaid front desk receptionist, as she tried to stop him before he barged into her office holding up his phone like it was exhibit A in a criminal trial.

Honestly, she should have seen this coming since seven o’clock this morning when she stopped Willie and Flynn from “decorating” the lunchroom bulletin board with Willie’s latest artwork depicting what they thought of standardized testing.

Or at eight o’clock when she caught Julie and Luke NOT practicing in one of the music rooms.

Or at eight thirty when she checked behind the school to shoo in the smokers and found not only the usuals, Bobby and Alex, but also Reggie, Kayla and this asshole’s daughter. None of the last three actually smoking, but still, late for class again.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Trevor Wilson exclaimed heatedly as he let her door slam shut behind him.

One one thousand, two one thousand. “What seems to be the problem Mr. Wilson?”

“Why isn’t my daughter, or her band, listed as preforming in the spring talent show!? There are always college scouts in attendance, and she needs to be featured!”

“Well, Mr. Wilson, that was your daughter’s decision.” She calmly replied.

“What!?” He gaped at her. “My Carrie would never miss out on this kind of opportunity! This is just some bias against me for being who I am.” He put his hands on her desk and leaned toward her aggressively. “I can assure you I don’t have any sway with UCLA or Berkeley and to cut her out of the performance because you think I do is cruel!”

How dare this entitled prick accuse her or the school of doing anything but supporting these children, including children with ignorant fathers.

“Mr. Wilson.” She stood and leaned on her hands toward him. “With all do respect, which is none.” He flinched at her tone standing back up, away from her. “If you had bothered to talk to Miss Wilson before you came in here to yell at me you would know that one of her band members broke her foot last month and rather than preform without her, she and Miss Taylor have been working with their student advisor Mrs. Harrison organizing and planning the talent show. It’s a huge responsibility and quite frankly I have been extremely proud of her hard work these last few weeks and told her just yesterday I would personally write a letter of recommendation to any university she wanted explaining her part in the showcase.”  

“Oh.” He dropped his eyes, taking another step back. “Um, ok then.” She watched as he seemed to pull his bravo back on like a jacket. “A letter of recommendation from you will be fine, under the circumstances.”

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes and reply with, ‘you think?’. She nodded and sat back down, “If that was all Mr. Wilson.” She dropped her eyes to her desk and gathered some random papers in front of her refraining from actually telling him to get out. “I have a school to run.”

“Yes, yes, well.” He stuttered. She could have sworn she heard him open his mouth again to say something but when she glanced up all she saw was the door closing behind him.

She waited till he was all the way out of the office before picking up the phone. “Harrison, we’re gonna need a full pitcher of margaritas tonight at the planning meeting.”

“What’s happened now?” She sighed.

“Trevor Wilson.”

“Say no more.” She snickered. “I’ll have the drinks chilled and the chips and dip ready when you get there.”

“Don’t tell the others.” She whispered. “But you’re my favorite.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She could almost see Harrison shaking her head. “Get back to principling. It’s not even lunch time yet.”

“Don’t remind me.” She sighed. “Good luck with the seniors this afternoon.”

“We may need two pitchers tonight.”

She laughed as they both hung up without saying goodbye. They rarely did. On days like today, with the Trevor Wilson’s of the world trying to make her feel like she wasn’t enough for these kids one phone call to her best friend was all she needed to get her head back on straight.

The sound of a banjo echoing through the halls pulled her out of her thoughts and she shook her head and sighed pressing the intercom on her desk. “Helen, would you step out in the hall and tell Mr. Peters he needs to take that to a music room please.”

She laughed. “Sure you don’t want him to just come in here and play?”

Principle Lessa laughed. Helen knew she had a soft spot for country music and Reggie. “Wish I could but I actually do have some work to do.”

It wasn’t an easy job, being the Principle of a Arts focused High School, but she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.  

[oddlittlestories]

Okay so I can’t find it but I saw a post about wishing at least one other character would acknowledge there’s a reason House doesn’t want to go to his dad’s funeral. And I wanted to say that I agree with this. And I think it’s the point. And that House as a show was also subverting expectations, so I wanted to talk a little about this.

So first off, I think it does really interesting things when you take a non-diegetic / non-in-universe approach to the show.

One, this was Supernatural era. You know, the show that sometimes categorized the dad (who would leave his child sons alone for weeks at a time, was sometimes implied to hit them, and openly shamed them especially Dean) as the only true hero. And also iirc a lot of shows and movies at that time centered around the theme of forgiving your abusive parent.

Two, in the previous season, we get an episode that canonically parallels the severe traumas of rape and physical child abuse.

Three, House never apologizes or forgives his dad. Yeah, he’s a misanthrope, so there’s a narrative excuse there, but he’s also allowed to do it. And he’s right about his dad not being his bio dad.

Four, for the above reasons, it is reasonable to view the narrative as being on House’s side. He goes because of extreme social pressures (which exist in the real world!) and, possibly, because his mom wants him there. But the narrative essentially says that his dad was a bad person and House shouldn’t have had to go. (With the possibly caveat of ‘[even shitty] funerals are sometimes a place to reconnect with living people you actually care about.’)

Part Two: Diegetic / In-Universe

House’s mom. This is really interesting, right? House’s mom is brought up over and over again. And the narrative thread is—she was abused, too. Should House connect with her? And if so, why and under what circumstances?

And what’s really interesting is, House doesn’t want to under the given circumstances. Because it means submitting to social mores he doesn’t agree with, including the circumspect of implying, “My dad was a good guy.”

But his mom doesn’t seem to see it quite the same way. “He’s not going to care [that we started late], Greg. He’s dead.” Essentially saying, this really isn’t about him. He’s dead.

So it’s this moral ambiguity again. Can and should House align with his also-abused mother? What would it cost him to do so? (And implied: childhood abuse can have lingering impacts forever, especially when people dismiss it because - the war is not over.)

To me, this episode is one of the examples where many characters take on roles as foils to expose a narrative theme. In this case: social pressure around “respecting your parents.” And I think it’s brilliantly done. I think when you have the overwhelming suffocating feeling of WHY ISN’T ANYONE LISTENING TO HIM

I think that’s EXACTLY the point

These motives are, to a degree, being placed on the characters. It’s extremely well-written, so it feels authentic, but to me it’s just as likely Chase would say “he shouldn’t have to go” and Cuddy with her mom would be more sympathetic. But the writers chose to unearth all the reasons each of them would put social pressures on House. And this happens to people in real life.

And of course, Wilson. It’s not inauthentic for Wilson. He’s doing two things at once. One, he’s playing out his own issues around social obligation. Two, he’s grabbing onto “I am socially obligated to be around House” like a lifeline.

Which leads us to the second theme of the episode, which is inherently true to the characters and deeply humanizing.

Complicated grief.

House’s grief is complicated because of social pressure. And he’s not sad his dad is dead—he’s sad that it changes nothing. Like he says to the kid with the facial deformity: “you can change your face, but you can’t change who your face made you.” House can change his circumstances. But he can’t change who they made him.

And Wilson’s grief is complicated because his girlfriend died suddenly, violently, unreasonably. And his best friend was deeply involved—in trying to save her and in her ultimate loss. He’s terrified of losing people and he almost lost them both. And because it’s Wilson, he represses, justifies, and misunderstands his own motives which makes everything harder. And it’s also deeply real. People compartmentalize. They misunderstand their own feelings.

So yeah! This episode is a twofer. One is meant to make you scream internally about the social pressures around funerals and abusive parents. The other is about complicated grief and mourning, and reconnecting despite and sometimes because of death.

The complexity gives me brain worms. I love this episode.