#which. you know i kind of have a thing for

[meo-eiru]

Since I'm busy working on a valentines day drawing I thought we could do something different until I'm done with that. Trivia night! I'll be writing what's basically a compilation of fun facts we've already established or haven't learned yet. We will also learn more about their backstories.

For tonight we have Silas

Silas has a mom and dad but isn't close with neither of them

As a child he was quite needy compared to other elven kids

Elves almost never stray too far away from the elven village but Silas liked to play in the depths of the forest

He learned about humans from a story book he found while playing in the forest

He was amazed by the colorful imagery and the familial relationship depicted in the book and wanted to have the same, which kickstarted his human hyperfixation

He's currently the most knowledgeable elf in humans within the village

His house is located quite far away from the village, he can still reach there by walking but it's not somewhere where the other elves can just stumble upon

He likes sweet things like fruits or honey but dislikes the taste of meat so doesn't feed it to you much as well

He, just like the other elves, while natural with most other living things, hates all demonic creatures

He's very nice and sweet with you but wouldn't glance twice at other forest creatures and is actively hostile towards demons

Of course he would never let you see him make that kind of face

He thought of using magic to make you live as long as he does but it feels like tempering with your humanity so if you die he's planning to die with you

He's actually not that good at magic compared to other elves, he just knows the basics and relies on books for the rest

He's average height for an elf

He doesn't like leaving bite marks or hickeys on your body because it feels like dirtying your perfect form

But he really likes it when you mark his skin, whether they are hickeys or wounds

While more compassionate than other elves, Silas does have a bit of a superiority complex like them

For example, unlike other elves he does see the intelligence of humans but would still say elves are smarter

He doesn't have any ill intentions with it, to him it's just like saying a unicorn is be better than a horse

He doesn't like eating carrots because he thinks they look like elf ears

He loves learning more about you but dislikes hearing about your family

He doesn't want you to have pets, only the two of you are allowed inside his house

He does have a bathroom in his house but it's just a replica of what he saw in books and isn't actually that functional

If you want to use the bathroom for your baths instead of the river like he does, he just carries the water from the river to his house then uses magic to make it rain on you like a shower head

Even if you don't allow him inside the bathroom he still watches from the window

He has a diary where he writes everything you do in a day, from what activities you did to how many times you blink on average

If you offered to live in a human city with him he would refuse, while he likes humans you are his utmost priority and it's better for you to be inside his house away from everyone's reach

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

i know nanami’s only 27, but i can’t help but think that he’s probably got a lot of “old man” traits that he’s acquired one way or another. maybe life made him that way, maybe he chose to act like he is in his 40s and not late 20s, but either way, having him around would be a very interesting experience to say the least because i’m pretty sure he…

he complains like a seasoned retiree. he’s got that heavy sigh, rubs his temple routine down to an art. the kind of man who mutters, “i’m too old for this,” when he’s only been awake for ten minutes. if you suggest staying out late, he just looks at you like you suggested committing a crime.

he has a very specific way of doing things. nanami doesn’t just go grocery shopping—he has a route. he knows which brands he likes, which cashier is the fastest, and he refuses to go on weekends because “that’s when the amateurs show up.” he folds his laundry a certain way, and god help you if you disrupt his system.

his idea of “treating himself” is so dad-coded. nanami doesn’t do impulse buys—when he does spend money on himself, it’s always something practical. “i finally got those orthopedic insoles” or “this is a quality briefcase; it’ll last a lifetime.” and he probably has one (1) expensive pen that he never lets anyone borrow.

he dresses like he’s ready to scold someone for stepping on his lawn. pressed slacks, polished shoes, dress shirts with the sleeves neatly rolled up. casual wear? good luck catching him in it. even his loungewear is suspiciously put-together—like, who wears an actual button-up pajama set in 2025? nanami kento, that’s who.

he drives like a dad. he never speeds, always uses his turn signal, and complains about “reckless drivers” while driving exactly the speed limit. the kind of man who refuses to start the car until everyone has their seatbelt on.

oh, and dating nanami as someone younger than him would be an experience. he already acts like he’s in his 40s, so the age gap (however small) feels so much bigger because he refuses to let loose. but deep down, he wants to—he just doesn’t know how. so to be in a relationship with him is to get used to stuff like this;

he sighs like he’s raising a teenager. if you stay up too late? heavy sigh. if you forget to bring a jacket? exasperated sigh while taking off his coat to drape over your shoulders. if you tell him about a reckless decision you made? pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs like you just told him you totaled his car. but beneath all that dramatic suffering, there’s genuine care. you might get an “honestly, do you have no sense of self-preservation?” but it’s followed by him adjusting your scarf, making sure your shoelaces are tied, and keeping a steady hand on your back when crossing the street.

he pretends to be annoyed by your energy, but secretly loves it. he acts like your enthusiasm exhausts him, but if you ever stopped being excited around him? he’d miss it desperately. when you drag him to try something new, he’ll complain the whole time (“this is a waste of money”), but afterward, he’ll admit—very quietly—that it wasn’t that bad. he likes how you remind him to enjoy life in ways he never lets himself. he’ll never jump in recklessly, but if you say, “just trust me,” he’ll hesitate… then sigh… then go along with whatever nonsense you’re up to, even if he acts like he’s suffering the entire time.

he acts like a responsible adult, but enables your habits in secret. “you shouldn’t be drinking so much caffeine.” and yet, the next morning, there’s an extra coffee waiting for you. “wasting money on little things adds up.” but somehow, that limited-edition item you wanted just magically appears on your desk. he talks a big game about being responsible, but when it comes to you? he has no self-control.

he takes care of you like an old-fashioned gentleman. he opens doors, walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, and insists on carrying heavy things for you. not because he thinks you can’t—just because he wants to. he likes taking care of you, even if he pretends it’s just out of obligation. if you try to carry something heavy, he just looks at you. doesn’t even say anything. just crosses his arms and waits for you to give up and hand it to him. if you call him a gentleman, he’ll scoff, “that’s just basic decency.” but if you really gush about it, you might catch the tips of his ears turning pink.

he thinks trendy slang is ridiculous. you use modern slang just to see his reaction, and it never fails to make him sigh like he just aged ten years on the spot.

“nanami, be so for real.”

“…so for real what?”

“you should just trust the process.”

“i’d rather not.”

if you ever jokingly call him “king” or “bestie” he’ll give you the look. he pretends he doesn’t care, but if you say something really out of pocket, you might actually get him to break character and let out a very exhausted, “what does that even mean?” (you’re keeping track of all the slang that makes him react the most so you can use it strategically. it’s your favorite game.)

he secretly likes when you cling to him. nanami acts like he’s too mature for overly affectionate behavior, but the first time you loop your arm through his or rest your head against his shoulder in public, he freezes. clears his throat. tries to pretend he doesn’t care—but his hand naturally comes to rest over yours, holding you there like it’s second nature. if you ever hug him from behind or whine “but i missed you,” he won’t admit how fast his heart is beating, but he will sigh and say, “i was gone for twenty minutes.” doesn’t matter. he still lets you cling to him as long as you want.

he plans the most responsible dates, but lets you drag him into chaos. nanami’s idea of a date? a nice dinner, a quiet café, maybe a bookstore. nothing loud, nothing unpredictable. your idea of a date? “let’s go to an arcade.” “let’s take a random train and see where we end up.” “let’s sneak into a rooftop at night.” he knows he should say no. but when you look at him like that? sigh. fine. but if you get into trouble, “i had no part in this.” (he’s definitely bailing you out of trouble five minutes later.)

he absolutely dads you when you get hurt. if you get a tiny scrape? nanami reacts like an overprotective father. “what happened?” “let me see.” “you need to be more careful.” and you’re like, “it’s a paper cut.” but he’s already pulling out a bandaid (which he definitely carries with him, because of course he does). if you ever get seriously hurt? he’s scolding you while carefully patching you up. “you’re too reckless.” “next time, call me.” but his hands are so gentle, and he won’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re okay.

he adores when you fall asleep on him. you knock out on his shoulder? he won’t move. his arm is numb, but he doesn’t dare wake you. if you fall asleep on his lap? his hand naturally comes up to run through your hair. if you curl up in bed and mumble “stay with me,” he’ll sigh, say something about how he has work in the morning… and then stay anyway. and if you ever catch him staring when you wake up? he’ll immediately look away. “you were drooling,” he lies. (he was watching you like you hung the stars.)

he acts like he’s too old for all this, but deep down? nanami loves you more than anything. and if loving you takes years off his life? so be it.

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[navybrat817]

Cooking Together

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky asks you to cook a meal with him.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, longing, pining, canon divergent neighbor AU, flirting of sorts, mention of HYDRA, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for @stellar-solar-flare’s Starry Winter Sky Event! I went with cooking together and Neighbor AU as a small expansion of this nonsense. February has had some lingering January energy, and I hope you enjoy what I was able to write! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If you asked Bucky if he thought he was a good cook, he’d say he was decent. He retained some of what his mom taught him many years ago and he carefully followed recipes once he was completely free of HYDRA. It was admittedly a bit of a rough go at first. Being able to choose what he could eat was a foreign concept after he didn't have the choice for so long. It got better each day. Every single meal he got to reclaim a piece of himself by making the choice of what he did and didn’t want.

Until today, he always cooked alone.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” you smiled, graciously accepting the apron he handed you.

Bucky had moved into the building a few months ago and you lived across the hall. As far as neighbors went, you were the best. Since day one, you always greeted him with a smile and a kind word. You never played your music too loud or disturbed anyone. Alpine adored you, which told him everything he needed to know since she was the best judge of character. And you never once objected to looking out for her when he had to leave for a mission.

Out of paranoia, he left harmless little “traps” to see if you'd snoop through anything the very first time you went over. Nothing that would hurt you or draw your attention, of course, but something that would let him know if anyone tampered with anything. You didn't. You were a genuinely good and respectful person, and that made him trust you more.

“Thanks for accepting the invitation. And allow me,” he offered, stepping behind you to help you tie it. His fingers lingered on the fabric and he took the moment to inhale your sweet scent before he stepped away. He didn't want to be a creep. “And it’s the least I could do since you offered to watch Alpine. Again.”

“I love watching her. She’s wonderful.”

The photos you sent were something he always looked forward to when he was away. Some of the captions you added made him laugh and smile. His favorite was a selfie you took with Alpine’s cheek against yours. He saved it as “my girls”, which you weren’t aware of.

Because you technically weren’t his girl.

“Well, she adores you,” Bucky smiled. He adored you, too. It stunned him when he found out you were single, and he was selfishly thankful for that. 

“I’ll have to get her another toy,” you said, your lips curling in a small smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

He laughed, a warm and easy sound. “Between the two of us, she’s spoiled rotten and she wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He never expected to be a cat dad, but life surprised him. In fact, it also surprised him that Alpine wasn’t camping out nearby or brushing against one of your legs. She was a smart cat and likely somehow sensed that he wanted alone time with you.

“Well, she deserves it,” you winked before things went quiet.

One of the nice things about hanging out with you was that he didn't mind any bouts of silence. They didn’t feel awkward or tense. In those quiet moments and stolen glances he felt like he had the best conversations with you. He was happy and felt safe being in the same space as you.

“You know,” Bucky began as he set the ingredients on the counter. He lucked out by having a decent sized kitchen since he took up a lot of space. “If I was a better neighbor, I would've just cooked a meal for you while you relaxed.”

It felt romantic for the two of you to cook together, but you weren't together and now he felt like an idiot. A gentleman would've made you a meal and pampered you. Or take you out for a nice meal. He hadn’t dressed up, opting for his jeans and a trademark Henley while you wore a sundress that had his mind racing with both sweet and filthy images. He didn't have flowers for you either.

His “game”, as Sam would say, was rusty.

“You're a great neighbor, Bucky. The best neighbor I’ve had,” you defended. He tried to be a good neighbor and person. A minor way to make up for some of his forced wrongdoings. “And cooking something together is fun! We could even try something at my place next week if you'd like.”

Bucky almost knocked the salt over, his eyes wide. “Really?” You were inviting him over to do this again?

“Yeah, really,” you replied, taking a moment to scan the simple recipe in the cookbook. You always had the cutest expression when you concentrated on something, and he didn’t want to choose something too difficult for the first meal. “We can take turns picking things out to try and trade off cooking at your place and mine. You can even bring Alpine over if you want.”

He suddenly had the image of you in his arms, dancing around the kitchen as you both waited for a meal in the oven to cook. Soft music, low lighting, his hands on your hips, and a tender smile on your face. Stealing a gentle kiss and keeping his eyes open only for a moment so he could see for himself that it wasn't a dream.

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling his hair back in a ponytail and washing his hands to distract himself from his thoughts. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” you exhaled. His heart beat faster when he caught you staring. He liked to pretend the look in your eyes was longing. “Sorry. You just…” you cleared your throat and gestured to his head. “You have really nice hair.”

The compliment had his heart racing even faster. “I have nice hair?” he asked. Your fingers would feel amazing in his hair.

You ducked your head for a moment before you met his gaze with a soft smile. “Yeah, you do.”

“Thanks,” he smiled back, his shoulder brushing yours when he stood beside you. Electricity lightly cracked between you. Did you feel it, too? “Um, I peeled the carrots before you got here. Would you like to cut them?”

“Oh, I think you’re better with a knife than I am,” you giggled.

He puffed his chest out and twirled the knife he selected in his hand without thinking about it. Part of him was showing off because, well, he wanted you to stare again. “How about I help you?”

“Help me? How?” you asked.

“Here.” He placed the knife in your hand and stood behind you once he had the carrots on the cutting board. “I’m going to preface this by saying I’m far from an expert, but I usually cut them into decent sized pieces before I dice them.”

“I trust your judgement,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. Your faces were close enough that he could kiss you if he leaned in a fraction. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t take what you didn’t offer.

Carefully placing his hands over yours once you faced forward, he felt that electricity crackle again as he helped guide you. He angled his hips so he didn’t press against you, but still stayed close. “See? You’re a natural,” he whispered against your ear when you made the first cut through the vegetable.

He heard the hitch in your breath and how your blood rushed faster in your veins. He felt your skin warm under his touch as you cut the next piece. He also caught the slight tremble that went through your frame when his grip tightened, but he didn’t sense any fear. He hadn't detected any sort of fear or disgust since he came into your life.

But what he sensed in this very moment was excitement.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you whispered back. The way you spoke his name was breathy, beautiful, and he longed to hear that again. “You’re a great teacher.”

“I’m not,” he said, thankful your back was to him so you wouldn’t see the pink that tinted his cheeks. “But I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you are,” you stated, tempting him to turn your head toward him to kiss you. If he did that and you stabbed him, he wouldn’t blame you or hold it against you. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am glad you invited me over,” you said.

He stopped himself from putting his face in the crook of your neck. “I am, too,” he said, smiling to himself as he helped you finish up. “And now that you’ve mastered the carrots, we can chop the onions.”

“Onions? Oh, no,” you groaned playfully.

As the sound of both of you laughing a second later filled the room, Bucky was glad he went with his gut and asked for you two to cook together.

And maybe before the night was over, he’d ask you out on a date and prove to himself that his game wasn't completely hopeless.

I wonder just how he'll ask you out! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[transgenderer]

Give me your Islam trutherism stance. Lay out the whole position. I think I've asked about this before but I forgot. I'm kind of an Islam head. Islam is the only Abrahamic religion I give a shit about. I think the other ones are bullshit. Academically I think critical scholarship on Islam is like just getting off the ground so we barely know anything about it yet. Anyway drop the trutherism. Mohammad was a girl... Mohammad was actually a beautiful anime woman...

well see the thing is. mohammad was almost certainly a real guy, who was some sort of leader of a group of people. POSSIBLY he never lead a large group, and the large group didnt form until afterwards. but it seems like he led at least a large-ish group. he probably had some sort of religious teaching, altho its unclear if he had any original doctrine or was just a passionate judeo-christian monotheist. oh and yknow, he lived and did stuff around arabia (well. some people say syria. probably not syria).

and that's...sort of all we can say for sure about the real muhammad! there's all sorts of other stuff that MIGHT be true about muhammad, especially after they got to medina. but his early life is a blank to us, the same way jesus' life before his ministry is a blank to us. who knows! but people who confidently tell you "mohammad lived in a city of pagans and converted them all" are exceedingly credulous. we have no good evidence that happened

one interesting thing the shwepisode talks about: so, obviously the islamic conquests "happened". in the sense that there wasn't a state there, and then there started being a large state there. but we dont see them archeologically! which is not crazy, they allowed people to surrender. they didnt just raze everything to the ground. but it's unfortunate, it would be nice if we could use archeology to say stuff about early islam. in part, we cant use archeology re: early islam because a huge number of artifacts were destroyed, there's a weirdly small amount of surviving stuff that could tell us about early islam. but it's not clear! posssibly even the *stories* about uthman destroying a whole bunch of alternate qurans aren't true!

its a very weird field. something that is clearly very important to a huge number of people, and yet is in some ways even more poorly evidence than the early history of the christian church, which we have a large number of texts from (i mean, starting in the early 2nd century. but christianity grew much more slowly, so "early christianity" lasted much longer than "early islam")

[navybrat817]

Just.... Bucky getting on his knees and begging "honey, open your legs please" like he's a man that's been starving for months, him breathing and tasting through the panties because he's that impatient.

I love this so much, nonnie.

Sweet Like Honey

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky begs to have a taste when he gets home.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), implied sex, possessive behavior, established relationship, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: This feels like Feral Bucky. Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You sat on the couch fifteen minutes ago. You closed your eyes five minutes ago. It amazed you that you hadn't fallen asleep with how tired you were from your long day, but Bucky would be home shortly and you wanted to curl up with him before you dozed off. He’d find it sweet, and so would you.

You should've known he’d have other ideas.

“Hey, Bucky,” you mumbled when you heard his deliberate footsteps. When he didn't answer you cracked an eye open. “Bucky?” you asked, watching him toss his jacket away and flex his hands. He had a familiar look in his blue eyes. Not quite feral, but close.

Oh, he was hungry.

He pushed the coffee table out of the way with his foot and bent down to kiss your lips. Soft, but desperate, so it didn't surprise you when he dropped to his knees in front of you. “Honey, open your legs,” he demanded in a dark, deep voice once he pushed your dress up. One that made you grip the cushions when he rested his hands on your knees. “Please.”

“Well, hello to you, too.” You rolled your eyes, but your smile was affectionate. What had him so wound up? “At least you said please.”

“I did, now please open your legs,” he demanded again, but it wasn't as forceful. You heard a hint of desperation, the same kind you tasted on his lips when he kissed you. “I’m already on my knees.”

“You are,” you agreed and you loved how badly he wanted you. “But why should I open my legs for you? I’m pretty tired.”

His mouth fell open. You never passed up an opportunity for him to pleasure you, and you’d let him eat as much as his heart desired. But you wanted to hear him beg a little for it for no reason at all.

“Because I'm horny and hungry and your pussy is the only thing that’ll satisfy me,” he answered, looking at where your legs were still together. “C’mon. Pussy’s so good. I need it. I crave it. Soft as silk, sweet like honey.”

You moaned. They were good reasons. “Tempting, tempting, but you just ate my pussy yesterday,” you reminded him, which earned you an offended look from the love of your life.

“Yesterday. An entire day ago. Your pussy needs me,” he snarled, his fingers sliding to your thighs and digging in. “Or should I say my pussy?”

“Easy, tiger. We both know it’s yours,” you teased, burying a hand in his hair and making him groan when you tugged on the strands. His words could turn you into molten lava, and you were wet the second he dropped to his knees. “But opening my legs doesn't address the fact that I'm tired. You understand that.”

He smirked when your legs opened an inch. “I’m sorry you're tired, but making you feel good is the perfect way to get you to sleep. I’ll get you off on my tongue and fingers… Make you pass out when I get my cock in you.” He sounded wrecked as your thighs parted more, your core . “And I’ll carry you to bed and wrap you in a warm blanket.”

“And you’ll cuddle with me, too? If you’re demanding that I open up, I demand some cuddles,” you said. He’d cuddle with you even if you didn't demand it.

“Cuddle, snuggle, curl up with you, spoon you, can even keep me cock warm while I hold you,” he rattled off, smirking when you bit your lip. “Just let me eat, please.”

You hummed. It was tempting. And how many people could say a super soldier begged for just a taste of them? To fuck them? “Just how hungry are you and for what reason?”

Bucky licked his lips when you completely opened your legs and showed him your clothed cunt. “Fucking hungry and for no reason at all except your existence,” he growled.

You made a small noise when he dove in and inhaled, your face nearly burning from how hot it felt when he licked and tugged impatiently at the wet fabric with his teeth. “Bucky!”

“Told you. ‘m fucking hungry.” He licked the fabric again with a growl and nudged your clit with his nose. “God, you’re so wet for me. Need it on my tongue. Need it on my cock.”

“Fuck…” you whimpered. He wanted your pussy so badly he couldn't even wait for a proper taste. “Okay, you can eat.” He had begged enough in your eyes.

“Fucking finally.”

You scoffed. “Finally? You just-”

He ripped your underwear off and left you bare, drawing another breathless sound from you at the first touch of his mouth on your damp folds. He brought his hands to your hips and pulled you closer so he could open you up with his tongue, his broad shoulders keeping your legs apart. You nearly lost it when he plunged it deep inside and licked around your walls, his throaty moan making you shudder. Every lick and caress made you feel like you’d melt into the couch. The sensations were overwhelming, especially since your senses went from dull to heightened.

“Beautiful,” he rumbled.

“We both are,” you smiled. He made you feel beautiful, and he sure as fuck looked beautiful between your thighs.

“And I’m so…” His thumb on your clit had you pulling his hair. “Fucking…” You tightened around the finger that slipped inside your tight channel. “Hungry.”

There was no getting between Bucky and his meal. No stopping him once he had a taste, his fingers and mouth tender even as he devoured you. It almost didn't seem fair some days. All you had to do was flash your tits or spread your legs and the ex-assassin was lost to the world. Even after a long day you got to lay back while he pleasured you simply because he wanted you. You reaped all the benefits, came every time.

You’d make sure he came, too, before the night was over.

“You… really are hungry,” you moaned, your back arching when another finger. Bucky wasn't just an enthusiastic lover. He was attentive. He knew what made you tick and how to make you let go. “Fuck! There! Please!”

“Music to my ears, and you really do taste like fucking honey.” He gazed up at you with a smirk on his wet lips as his fingers curled. You tasted yourself on his lips before and it tasted nothing like honey, but who were you to argue when he enjoyed it so much? “Melt for me and I’ll carry you to bed on my cock.”

It didn't take you long to reach your peak of pleasure once his mouth was back on you, your thighs shaking and his name leaving your lips in a cry. He hummed and groaned as he tasted your release like it was the most delicious treat he ever had. You were aware that he called you a good girl as your vision blurred, and he also said he loved you as you rode out your orgasm. He may have even apologized for the “lack of foreplay”.

But as he carried you to bed with a kiss to your forehead and his cock buried inside you as promised, you knew he’d more than make that up to you.

The man needs you, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 1

paige x azzi

word count: 4.7k

A/N: This is me attempting to continue a story that someone else started so there’s a little bit of 1st person at the beginning. The two of them don’t know each other in this universe 🫣 Let me know what you think and leave live reacts and comments if you can 🫶🏼

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1st Person POV - Tuesday

The morning light filtered through the windows of Ronald Reagan National Airport, casting a golden hue over the terminal. I walked with an easy confidence toward my gate, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air from the small kiosk in the corner.

My Delta flight to Hartford, Connecticut, was set to depart soon, and while most travelers shuffled impatiently in their boarding groups, I moved at my own pace, having the quiet privilege of a first-class ticket.

I wasn’t nervous for the trip to Harford. I never got nervous.

Traveling was second nature to me, and today was no exception. Adjusting the strap of my carry-on, I took a quick glance at my phone. Still good. The game wasn’t until Thursday, which meant I had more than enough time to settle in–explore Storrs a little before tip-off.

“Flight 2136 to Storrs, now boarding.”

As the flight crew called for first-class boarding, I stepped forward, handed over my ticket, and was waved through without a second glance. Within seconds, I was making my way down the jet bridge, the cool air-conditioning of the plane a nice contrast to the warmth of the terminal.

Seat 2A. Window. Perfect

I slid into the seat, stretching out with an appreciation for the extra space. The quiet hum of boarding announcements and the occasional shuffle of bags filled the cabin, but I was content. This was going to be a good trip. I’m making the right decision.

A movement beside me caught my attention. Someone slipped into the seat next to mine with an easy kind of grace. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but when she settled in, a sense of familiarity stirred in my chest, so I glanced over slightly.

Azzi Fudd. That’s ironic.

UConn’s star shooter. One of the most talented shooting guards in the country.

For a brief second, I considered saying nothing–letting her exist in peace for the duration of the flight. But then, why would I? Hesitation had never been my thing.

I turned toward her, offering a small but confident smile. “Good morning.”

She glanced over, her expressions polite but neutral, clearly used to traveling alone. “Good morning.”

Leaning back, I let my posture speak for itself–relaxed and effortless. “What’s got you flying to Connecticut on this random Tuesday?”

She let out a soft chuckle, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I go to school there. Was visiting family for a few days.”

I nodded, letting the moment stretch just enough to spark curiosity before adding, “I’m flying in for the game on Thursday.”

This caught her attention. Her head tilted slightly, and she gave me a curious look.

I let the silence linger, enjoying the moment before saying. “I hope you have a great game, Azzi Fudd.”

A small, almost shy smile crossed her lips, her guard lowering just a fraction. “You know who I am?”

I held her gaze. “Yeah, I know who you are.” Then I smiled softly.

She studied me for a second longer, as if trying to piece something together, before letting out a quiet chuckle and turning her attention forward.

Still, I could tell she was thinking about our exchange. I’d seen that look a few times before–the subtle mix of curiosity and amusement. The kind that said, Who is this person?

Which is nice. Something about her not recognizing me made me smile internally. Made a lot of questions fly through my head.

The flight attendants moved through first class, offering pre-departure drinks. I opted for water and Azzi did the same. The cabin was filling up quickly, the sounds of rolling luggage, hushed conversations, and the occasional overhead bin slamming shut blending into the usual pre-flight chaos.

As the final passengers trickled in, I glanced at her again. She was settled comfortably, dressed in a UConn hoodie and joggers, her hair pulled back. Even here, in an airport, getting ready to go 30,000 feet in the air, she carried herself like a top athlete–poised, confident, focused.

Eventually the engine rumbled to life as we pushed back from the gate. I kept my gaze ahead, but I could feel her sneaking quick glances in my direction, still trying to figure me out.

Finally, she spoke.

“So, are you a UConn fan, or…?”

I smirked, turning toward her just slightly. “I just respect greatness.”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “That’s not really an answer.”

“Sure it is.” I leaned back in my seat. “I appreciate good basketball. UConn typically plays good basketball.”

She considered my words, then nodded, satisfied with my response–for now.

“You from Connecticut?” she asked, shifting slightly to face me better.

“Nope.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re flying in just for the game?”

I nodded. “Yeah something like that.”

“Must be a big game for you to make the trip.”

I shrugged. “It’s basketball and it’s UConn. It should be a good game. Why shouldn’t I?”

She smiled again, this time more openly. “I like that answer.”

I smiled softly, letting my gaze linger for a moment longer before looking away.

The plane started its ascent, leveling off the ground. So I pulled out my phone, flipping through my playlist, but I could feel her still looking at me, still wondering.

I let the silence stretch a little longer before glancing at her. "You always sit next to people who know exactly who you are, or am I just lucky?"

Azzi laughed at that, shaking her head. "This is definitely a first."

"Glad I could make your morning interesting."

She tilted her head slightly, as if she was debating something, then asked, "So what's your story? You a journalist? A scout? Former player?"

I chuckled. "You tell me. What do I look like?"

She squinted, pretending to analyze me. "Hmm... not a journalist. You don't have that nosy energy and you aren’t leading the conversation much."

I smirked. "Good start."

"Not a scout either. You're too relaxed."

"Keep going."

She tapped her fingers on the armrest. "Former player?"

I gave a small shrug. "Something like that."

Azzi gives me a curious look so I simply add, “Tore my ACL.”

Azzi nods at this, a few thoughts flickering across her face, before she decides to be satisfied with the answer, even though I hadn't really given her a complete one.

For a while, we just sat there, the quiet hum of the plane filling the space between us. It wasn't an awkward silence-it was comfortable, like two people who had met at just the right time, in just the right way.

Eventually, she glanced over again. "Since you know who I am, do I get to know who you are?”

I turned toward her, meeting her gaze with a confident ease. "You'll figure it out."

She let out a breath of laughter, shaking her head. "Mysterious huh."

I grinned. "I try."

She didn't press further, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, arms crossed loosely, a thoughtful look on her face. The rest of the flight stretched ahead of us, and something told me this conversation was far from over.

The flight had settled into a steady hum, the initial rush of takeoff giving way to a quiet cruise above the clouds. I let my head rest lightly against the seat, simply watching the muted sunlight filter through the window as I got lost in my thoughts.

After a while, I reached into my bag and pulled out a book, flipping it open to where I’d left off. The familiar weight in my hands was comforting, and I easily lost myself in the rhythm of the words.

A few minutes passed before I felt it–that subtle sensation of being watched. I didn’t reach right away, just kept reading, letting the moment stretch. But sure enough, when I shifted slightly, I caught Azzi glancing at the pages from the corner of my eye.

I turned another page, pretending not to notice, until she finally spoke.

“Not many people our age read these days.”

A small smirk tugged at my lips as I glanced up, amusement flickering in my eyes. “Our age?”

Azzi shrugged, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. You carry yourself a certain way. Too confident to be young, but definitely not old.”

I chuckled at that, licking my slightly dry lips before I titled my head. “Twenty-two.”

Azzi nodded, like she had just proven a point. “Exactly.”

Something about the way she said it–so certain, so sure–made me grin. I let the moment linger for a beat before turning back to my book, the words on the page suddenly a little less interesting than the person sitting next to me.

Azzi had gone quiet again, but I could tell her mind was still turning.

She was debating something, mulling it over like a question she couldn’t shake. I went back to my book, letting the silence settle, but it didn’t last long.

“Okay, I’m sorry—I can’t help it,” she finally said, exhaling a quiet laugh. “I need some more answers from you.”

I arched a brow, slightly amused at her behavior, before slipping my bookmark into place and setting the book down on my lap. Adjusting slightly, I leaned against the window, fully turning my attention to her now.

Azzi met my gaze for a brief moment, her brown eyes flickering with something unreadable when they met my blue ones before she blinked away breaking the eye contact as she shifted just enough to regain composure.

“I’m usually not much of a talker,” she admitted.

I tilted my head slightly, a small smile playing at my lips. “But?”

Azzi exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe herself right now. “But you know who I am, and you’re flying in for the game on Thursday. That seems like the universe trying to tell me something. Like I should talk to you more.”

I laughed at that. “God works in mysterious ways.”

That made her smile. “So you’re religious?”

“I am.”

Azzi nodded, taking that in, before grinning. “You’re a woman of few words.”

I chuckled. “I’m not much of a talker these days.”

Azzi picked up on that instantly. “These days?”

Her curiosity was sharp, intentional. She seemed to pick up on little things that most people didn’t. I met her gaze again, letting the words settle between us before answering.

“Things kinda just happen in life that change how you used to be,” I said simply, my voice carrying something quieter. Then, with a small, almost nostalgic smile, I added, “I used to be a chatterbox.”

Azzi studied me for a moment, then exhaled a soft chuckle. “I see you’ve opted for more of the mysterious route these days.”

I smirked. “Something like that.”

She hummed, shifting slightly in her seat. “How much do you know about me, exactly?”

That question made me grin. I could tell she was fishing, trying to gauge just how much of her life I’d kept tabs on if any.

“I just follow basketball,” I said smoothly, tilting my head slightly. “I don’t know much about you specifically… if that makes you feel better.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, a smile tugging at her lips. “I never said I felt bad about it.”

That made me squint slightly, studying her. There was something playful in the way she said it, like she was testing the waters, waiting to see how I’d respond.

After a beat, I nodded. “Fair.”

Azzi held my gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she finally looked away, exhaling softly. She drummed her fingers against the armrest, like she was debating whether to keep pressing or let it go.

I figured she would drop it, but then she glanced back at me. “So, if you just follow basketball, that means you’re a fan of the game itself—not necessarily the players?”

I smirked slightly. “That’s what I said.”

Azzi hummed, shifting in her seat so she was angled toward me again. “Alright then. Who’s your favorite team?”

I chuckled at that. “You want the real answer or the diplomatic one?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, so there’s a wrong answer?”

“More like one that might bruise your ego a little.”

Azzi let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Now I have to know.”

I leaned back, letting the suspense build for a second before finally answering, “I’ve always been a South Carolina fan.”

Azzi made a face at this answer. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

I laughed. “I warned you.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You had me thinking the universe was setting something up here, and then you hit me with that.”

I smirked. “Didn’t realize this was a dealbreaker.”

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to think. “I guess I’ll allow it.

I let out a soft laugh, nodding. “That’s generous of you.”

She grinned but didn’t say anything for a moment, just studying me again, like she was still trying to piece something together. Then, finally, she asked, “So… do you still play?”

I ran my fingers along the edge of my book, considering my response. “Yeah. Just not this season.”

Her eyes flickered with recognition. “Because of the ACL?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

She exhaled softly, like she understood exactly what that felt like. “That sucks.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying me again. “What position?”

“Point guard.”

She grinned slightly. “Figures.”

I raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi smirked. “You carry yourself like one.”

I chuckled, shaking my head a little. “And how exactly does a point guard carry themselves?”

She shrugged. “Like they’re always in control. Always seeing two steps ahead of everyone else.”

I hummed, amused. “Insightful.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, a knowing look in her eyes. “I have my moments.”

I let the moment stretch between us, then smirked. “You’re not wrong, though.”

She smiled, like she already knew that. “Figured.”

After this Azzi kept the conversation going, steering it effortlessly. She asked about my recovery, how long I’d been in D.C., and what I thought of UConn’s season so far. I answered when necessary, but mostly, I let her take the lead, watching how she engaged—curious, thoughtful, but never overbearing. It was easy, the kind of conversation that didn’t require effort.

At some point, the captain’s voice crackled through the speakers, announcing our descent into Hartford. The mood between us shifted—not awkward, just quieter, like we both knew whatever this was, this easy back-and-forth, would soon come to an end.

The plane touched down smoothly, and after taxiing for a few minutes, the seatbelt sign flicked off. Azzi and I stood almost at the same time, and for the first time, she actually noticed my height.

Her gaze flickered upward, just slightly. Not by much—maybe an inch and a half, two at most—but enough for her to register it. I saw the way she took in the difference, her eyes narrowing just a little before she smirked to herself.

I grabbed my carry-on from the overhead, and just as I was about to step aside, an older woman across the aisle struggled to pull down her own bag. Before I could think twice, I reached up, easily grabbing it for her and setting it down with a polite smile.

Azzi was already in front of me, but I caught the way she paused, how her eyes flicked toward my arm. It wasn’t much, but I knew what she saw—how the muscles, usually understated, tensed for just a second, giving away what I was in fact an athlete.

She didn’t say anything, but there was something in the way she blinked, like she was filing that detail away.

I smirked slightly. “See something interesting?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled. “Just confirming my suspicions.”

I let out a quiet chuckle, grabbing my bag as we started moving down the aisle. “And what suspicions are those?”

She looked forward again, shaking her head like she wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction of an answer. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I huffed a small laugh, following her off the plane. “You have no idea.”

As we filtered out into the terminal, the steady hum of airport chatter surrounded us. The moment was nearing its natural end, both of us instinctively moving in different directions. I adjusted my bag, glancing ahead when Azzi suddenly slowed, turning back toward me.

“Alright,” she said, her voice light but pointed. “Can I finally get your name?”

I exhaled through my nose, pretending to consider it for a moment before cracking a small smile. “Paige.”

Azzi repeated it softly, like she was testing how it sounded. Then, her smile grew. “Paige.”

I nodded.

Her eyes flickered with something—curiosity, maybe. “Where are you sitting Thursday, Paige?”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting my weight slightly. “You’ll see me, don’t worry.”

Azzi let out a laugh of her own, shaking her head. “Mysterious until the end, huh?”

I smirked.

She took a small step back, still holding my gaze. “Alright then. I hope I see you Thursday, Paige.”

“See you Thursday, Azzi.”

I turned first, heading toward baggage claim, but I could still feel her eyes on me for just a second longer before she finally walked away.

3rd Person POV - Wednesday

The low hum of conversation filled the diner, a cozy spot just off campus. The kind of place where students and locals alike came for a quick, unpretentious meal. Azzi sat alone in a corner booth, her food pushed slightly to the side as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone between bites of her sandwich. She had just finished practice, still dressed in a UConn hoodie and sweats, her legs stretched comfortably under the table as she enjoyed the serenity of being alone after a long day.

The bell above the door jingled as another customer walked in. Azzi didn’t look up at first, too focused on her own space, but a shift in the atmosphere made her glance toward the entrance.

Paige.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard for a second. Paige moved through the diner with the same confidence she had on the plane–unhurried, assured, like she was exactly where she was meant to be. When their eyes met, a small smirk tugged at Paige’s lips as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and changed direction, walking toward Azzi’s booth without hesitation.

Azzi leaned back slightly, watching as Paige came to a stop at the edge of the table.

“Didn’t take you for a diner person,” Paige said, tilting her head as she glanced down at Azzi.

Azzi quirked a brow. “And what exactly did you take me for then?”

Paige exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Not sure yet.”

Azzi let out a small laugh at that, shaking her head. She gestured toward the other side of the booth. “Since you seem curious, you might as well sit.”

Paige didn’t hesitate to take the invitation, sliding into the seat across from her. The air between them felt the same as it had on the plane—slightly charged, neither of them in a rush to give too much away.

For a moment, Azzi just observed her. The dim lighting of the diner softened Paige’s sharp features, but there was still something unreadable about her, a layer just beneath the surface that Azzi wanted to press into.

“So,” Azzi started, fingers tapping lightly against her cup, “what brings you here?”

Paige leaned back, resting an arm on the top of the booth. “Needed some food and this was near my hotel. Didn’t expect to run into you if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Didn’t expect, or you don’t mind?”

Paige smirked slightly, neither confirming nor denying. Instead, she nodded toward Azzi’s half-eaten sandwich. “That any good?”

Azzi shrugged. “It’s a sandwich.”

“Helpful.” Paige snorted, glancing toward the menu.

Azzi studied her for a second before speaking again. “So, you gonna tell me where you’re sitting tomorrow, or are you still trying to be mysterious?”

Paige grinned. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I told you.”

Azzi shook her head, amused. “You really don’t give anything away, do you?”

Paige’s smile softened, but there was something thoughtful in her expression. “Not much to give these days.”

Azzi caught that phrasing again—these days. She let it settle between them for a moment before leaning forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table.

“You’re interesting, you know that?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile. “That a compliment?”

Azzi mirrored her expression. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “You haven’t decided if you’re complimenting me?”

Azzi opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the server appeared at the table setting a water down. The girl gave Paige a once-over, her gaze lingering a lot longer than necessary. It wasn’t subtle, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Paige blinked, raising an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

The waiter, undeterred, flashed a grin and asked flirtatiously, “What can I get for you?”

Paige tilted her head slightly. “I’ll just have what she has.”

The waiter jotted it down, her eyes flicking back to Paige, clearly intrigued. “I’ve never seen you around here before,” she said, voice tinged with interest. “I would’ve remembered a face like that.”

Paige gave a tight, polite smile. “I’m not from here. Just visiting.”

The server hummed thoughtfully, clearly trying to piece something together, before she walked off with a final lingering glance.

Azzi watched the whole interaction with mild amusement, eyes flicking to Paige’s expression. Once the server was out of earshot, Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You certainly have a way of leaving an impression.”

Paige shrugged, leaning back in her seat again, her lips curling up into a faint smile. “Guess it’s a talent.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at that. “A talent, huh? I’m starting to see why you don’t need to talk much... you let people do it for you.”

Paige’s smile softened slightly as she shifted in her seat, taking a moment before responding. “It’s easier that way. Sometimes.”

Azzi leaned back, propping her chin up in one hand. “And what makes it easier?”

Paige’s eyes flicked to Azzi, as if weighing whether or not to answer. There was something about her, something quiet but intense that made Azzi lean in just a little closer, her curiosity growing.

Finally, Paige shrugged slightly. “Not everyone needs to know everything.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that your way of saying I won’t get the whole story?”

Paige chuckled softly, meeting her gaze. “I didn’t say that. May it’s just not the right time yet.”

Azzi didn’t push. Instead, she just smiled, amused by the game they were starting to play.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Azzi said, leaning back as she crossed her arms with a grin. “Maybe I'll try to get you to talk tomorrow.”

Paige shot her a look, her lips curling into something a little more playful. “Yeah maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Azzi let the words hang between them for a moment, her grin deepening. “I think I like my odds.”

Paige only hummed, picking up her water and taking a sip. “Do you?”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You don’t seem like the type to say things you don’t mean.”

Paige set her cup down, her expression unreadable. “And what type do I seem like?”

Azzi’s gaze flickered over her, deliberate but not too obvious. “Still figuring that out.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “That why you keep asking so many questions?”

Azzi smirked. “Something like that.”

Paige tapped her fingers against the table. “And here I thought you were just being friendly.”

Azzi leaned forward slightly, her voice light. “Maybe I am Paige.”

Paige arched a brow, but before she could respond, the waiter appeared, setting down her plate.

“Here you go,” the waiter said, her tone lingering as she looked at Paige with clear interest. “Can I get you anything else gorgeous?”

Paige offered a polite but tight smile. “No, thank you.”

The waiter hesitated just a second too long before finally nodding and stepping away.

Azzi, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, took a slow sip of her drink. “You make friends fast.”

Paige picked up her sandwich, glancing at Azzi with a smirk. “You jealous?”

Azzi exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “Not even a little.”

Paige chuckled, digging into her food. “Good. I’d hate for that to be another thing you had to figure out.”

Azzi’s gaze lingers on Paige for a moment before she speaks again, her tone smooth but laced with something playful. “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

Paige picks up her fork, raising an eyebrow. “A chance for what exactly?”

Azzi shrugs, pretending to be casual. “For me to get some answers out of you tomorrow.”

Paige pauses briefly, just enough for the words to settle, before taking a bite of her food. “Didn’t say that.”

Azzi watches her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “But you didn’t say there wasn’t.”

Paige smirks slightly but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a direct answer. Instead, she gestures toward Azzi’s plate. “You done with that?”

Azzi leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Trying to change the subject?”

Paige shrugs, blue eyes glinting a little. “Just figured you might be too busy trying to figure me out to actually eat.”

Azzi lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I can multitask.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, as if assessing her. “Good to know.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, a quiet challenge passing between them, before Paige finally breaks eye contact to take another bite. Azzi smirks to herself, leaning back against the booth.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Paige with something unreadable behind them. “You’re really hard to get a read on.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle, tearing off a small piece of her sandwich. “That’s funny. You seem to be doing just fine.”

Azzi smirked. “Am I?”

Paige shrugged, popping the bite into her mouth. “You tell me.”

Azzi watched her for a moment before shaking her head with an amused smile. “You like making people work for it, don’t you?”

Paige leaned back slightly. “Depends on the person.”

Azzi hummed at that, tapping her fingers against the table. “And what about me?”

Paige didn’t answer right away, just let the moment hang between them before finally saying, “Guess you’ll have to figure that out Azzi.”

Azzi exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t make anything easy, do you?”

Paige smirked. “Where’s the fun in easy?”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but then her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then let out a small sigh. “Alright, I gotta get going.”

That’s when she reached for her wallet, and Paige immediately waved her off. "I got it. Don’t worry about it."

“I can't let you do that."

Paige met her gaze, smirking. "Azzi, it’s a sandwich. Ten dollars won’t kill me."

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Fine, but I’m getting it next time."

Paige arched a brow. "Next time?"

Azzi pushed up from the booth, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Yeah, next time." She adjusted her jacket before glancing at Paige one last time. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Paige."

Paige watched her for a second before nodding. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Azzi."

Just as Azzi turned to leave, Paige called out, "Hey, Azzi."

Azzi stopped, looking back with a curious expression. "Hm?"

Paige hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words before saying, "I need you to be open-minded tomorrow, okay?"

Azzi’s brows furrowed slightly, intrigue flickering across her face. She studied Paige for a beat, noticing the subtle seriousness in her expression, then nodded slowly. "Okay."

A small smile crossed Paige’s lips. "Thanks."

Azzi returned the smile before stepping back. "Bye, Paige."

Paige watched her leave, tapping her fingers lightly against the table, a thoughtful look settling in her eyes before she went back to eating her sandwich.

[juniperskye]

You’re…intimidating.

Based on the following ask: For Hotch x reader, could I please request charming witty reader who Hotch has an obvioussss crush on and he's trying to flirt but he's out of practice and she's pretty extroverted, confident so she just doesn't register he's interested and he's getting grief from the team for being all puppy dog eyes at her? Pref non-BAU reader but maybe she works in a different FBI dept or she's a lawyer/consultant they work with often and Hotch is always the first to suggest working with her so he's not being subtle in wanting to spend time with her lol. Feel free to adapt!! Thanks!! ❤️Okay pookie!!! I’ve been thinking about this one and it might end up pretty self-indulgent and for that I am sorry – girlie works for cybercrimes (but transfers to the BAU – sorry it felt right) and she’s the best of the best like Penelope worships her…she’s a little alternative so Hotch admires her from afar because she’s not his usual type just PURE FLUFF

Aaron Hotchner x FBI! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 2674

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Aaron is 45), some explicit language, not an OC but reader is described to have some tattoos and piercings (nothing specific though), reader works for cybercrimes and is SUPER tech savvy, idiots in love, Hotch pining hard, tooth rotting fluff, canon typical violence, mentions of hacking and breaking laws, reader is an extroverted introvert, Reader is called “Agent Z” or “Z” because she is a gen z, let me know if I missed any

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Hotchner, this is the third time this month you’ve requested her. I’m beginning to think we should be offering her a spot in the BAU.” Director Cruz teased.

“If she’d be willing, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Hotch shrugged.

“I’ll put in the consultation request and maybe I’ll bring up the idea of a transfer to her.”

Hotch stood and returned to the sixth floor, promptly running into Penelope, as she was making her way back to the Batcave.

“So, I heard I might be getting some assistance on our next case! You know if you keep inviting Agent Z to join us, I’m going to get used to having her around.”

“Would that be so bad?” Hotch asked.

“No, it definitely wouldn’t…unless she stops coming around.” Penelope retorted.

The look on Hotch’s face gave him away, there was a brief flash of disappointment at the suggestion of you not coming around anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought…which made him even more nervous than you did. Speaking of…

“Hey Hotch!” You called effectively startling him.

“Hello! I uh – I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Ah well, Cruz emailed the request over and I got the notification, so I figured there was no time to waste.” You shrugged.

“Well, we might as well debrief the team then.” Aaron offered, gesturing toward the conference room.

--

Here’s the deal, Aaron had feelings for you, you had captivated him the first time he saw you. It was a Tuesday in July, the weather had been unforgiving…hot and humid, not ideal for the business attire of FBI agents.

As he made his way into the building, he’d taken note of how nearly everyone had their suit jackets or blazers slung over their arms, their sleeves rolled up as they hurried into the air-conditioned building.

But then there was you. You were wearing these chunky black loafers and black trousers, your top had been a simple black tank, it was hugging your skin in a way that made Aaron’s mouth go dry. You had a checkered cardigan tossed over your forearm that you had clearly removed. It allowed Aaron a view of the tattoos that adorned your arms.

He couldn’t explain the pull he felt…you had been so different from any woman he’d ever had any interest in before, but maybe that’s why things never worked out with them. Maybe the others were too stiff, too proper. Maybe he needed a little chaos in his life.

--

During the debriefing, Aaron had made sure you were sat next to him. He let Penelope present the case as usual and allowed time for theories. While Derek and Emily were talking back and forth about the possible age and gender of the unsub, Aaron’s eyes were trained on you. He could see your mind running a mile a minute.

“What is it?” Aaron asked, tapping your arm gently.

“Oh, no. I was just thinking. There’s something about the photo’s that were left at the crime scene…it feels familiar.” You shrugged.

“Have you seen another case like this?”

“I think so…” You pulled open your laptop and began searching through old case files and evidence you’d logged over the years. “Here! Hotch, look at this!”

Aaron leaned over, leaving hardly any space between the two of you. His gaze shifted from your profile to your computer screen, taking in the images before him. On your screen were photos that were nearly identical to those in the file the team had just reviewed.

It seemed as though this unsub took photos to document their work. Leaving some behind at the crime scenes, taunting law enforcement.

“We didn’t have very many leads back when this came across my desk, but I have new programs I can use to run these photos through now and with Penelope’s help, I think we could finally get this guy.” You explained.

“Alright, why don’t you travel with us so you can access the physicals of the photos.” Aaron suggested.

“Okay!”

“Alright then, wheels up in thirty.” Aaron commanded.

--

“Hey Agent Z! You joining us again?” Derek nudged you gently.

“Not this time, I was just asked to come and consult on a case.” You replied.

 “Oh, I see. Bossman calling in his favorite once again.”

“Stop! It’s not like that Derek.”

“Girl…you and I both know that it is.” Derek laughed and walked off.

You made your way to Aaron’s office, knocking on the door. When he calls out for you to enter, you go straight for the chair in front of his desk, plopping into it with a huff.

“You alright?” Aaron asks, concern lacing his tone. “We could do this later if you’re not up for it.”

“No! I’m happy to help! I’ve just got a decision to make, and I don’t know what to do.” You sighed. “Let’s talk about this case!”

Aaron and you went through the case that had been sent in from the NYPD. You were confused as to why he’d called you in to consult, the case had seemed pretty cut and dry…something Aaron would typically delegate to Derek or Dave. The tech aspect to this case was so minute, it was common sense…but you didn’t want to call him out on it.

--

“Thanks again for your help, hopefully the NYPD can close that case pretty quickly now.” Aaron walked you over toward the elevators.

“Any time. I like working with you and the BAU.” You smiled cheerfully.

“So um, what was that decision you have to make?” He inquired.

“Oh, uh…well, Cruz asked me if I wanted to transfer from Cybercrimes over to the BAU actually.”

“That’s great! I mean – I uh. Do you think you’ll do it?”

“I’m thinking about it for sure! It’s just, I’ve been with Cybercrimes for so long, I’d feel bad leaving them…ya know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You said your goodbyes and you headed back to your office on the eighth floor. Aaron stood there for a bit, looking after you as you made your exit. He stood there a beat longer before turning and heading back to his office. Only he didn’t get that far. Upon walking through the glass doors, he was met with the whole team standing there waiting for him.

“You’re down bad Hotch.” Emily said.

“Yeah, that was almost painful to watch.” JJ agreed.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Hotch shook his head and made his way back to his office.

--

Agreeing with the director to have you transferred was, quite possibly, the dumbest decision that Aaron could have ever made. He already struggled just being near you when you’d come and assist, but the thought of having you around all the time…what was he meant to do?

Subject: Agent Transfer – Effective immediately Good afternoon, This email is being sent to inform both the CCU and BAU of the immediate transfer of Agent Z. In discussing this transfer, she assured me that should the CCU need her assistance in a case, she’d happily help. She does, however, know that the agents on the team are more than capable of handling things. As for the BAU, given her expertise and background, she will travel with you as needed. I just want to remind you that Agent Z has a background in hacking, computer forensics, criminal justice, psychology, behavior analysis, amongst others. Utilize her skills – I believe she will make an incredible contribution to the BAU. Hotchner – her file was delivered to your office this morning. Also, she needs firearms training, please ensure she completes this before travelling with the team. Let me know if you have any questions. Mateo Cruz - Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit

Aaron read the email four times. You would be starting with the team today…he needs to get you scheduled for your firearms training and qualification exam. He figured he could do that while you get settled in the office adjacent to Penelope’s.

--

“Hey Hotch.” Your fingers rapped against the doorframe.

“Hi-Hello. Can I uh, show you to your office?” He asked.

“Penelope already beat you to it.” You teased. “But if you want to help me bring the last of my boxes down, that would be awesome.”

“Oh, I um-I…can-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to! You’re a busy man, and I can ask Spence or Derek!”

“No, I’d love to help.” Aaron recovered.

“Okay.” You smiled.

Aaron led the two of you over to the elevator, allowing you to enter first, then following suit and pressing the button for the eighth floor. It slowly lifted before signaling your arrival on the CCU floor.

You guided Aaron to your old office where the last two boxes remained. There was an IT guy loading your monitors onto a cart, getting ready to move them for you. You looked around at the now empty space…it felt empty now, like it no longer belonged to you, and you supposed it didn’t anymore. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the slight sadness that took over your features.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just odd, having had this office for the last four years, and now it’s empty…it’s not mine anymore.” Your gaze shifted downward. “It feels like the end of a chapter. While the feeling isn’t bad, because I’m really excited to be joining the BAU, it just feels kind of sad.”

“I know what you mean. I felt that same way when I left the law firm I worked at.” Aaron looked over at you.

You met his gaze, and he offered a small smile. You returned it, feeling this sense of comfort. He’d always brought up that feeling in you though. It was like this glowing warmth that spread its way through your entire being…but that flame only burned in you when he was around.

--

“And hold it just like that, good!” Aaron praised.

You fired three consecutive shots at the target, forming a neat cluster in the outlines chest. Pride bloomed in Aaron’s chest, and you squealed with excitement, throwing your arms around him!

“Thank you so much for helping me! There was no way I was going to pass this exam without you!”

“I’m not sure how you’ve been with the bureau this long and not had to get your firearm qualification.” Aaron shook his head with a laugh.

“Hey! I have been confined to the eighth floor for the last five-ish years, I haven’t needed to carry one.”

Aaron took note of the freckles that dusted your nose, and the way the light reflected in your eyes. He thought for a moment about how close you were, and how easy it would be to just lean in the last few inches and capture your lips in a kiss. But he had to shake the thought away.

--

“I PASSED!” You shouted, running your way through the BAU bullpen.

“Good lord, what are you yelling about?” Dave asked, coming out of his office.

“I PASSED! I PASSED!” You waved your firearms certificate in the air, making your way over to Aaron’s office.

He exited his office to see what the commotion was all about, seeing you shaking your hand, waving a piece of paper around like a mad woman. He was mesmerized by you. You were 100% yourself and he admired you for it, you weren’t worried about how others perceived you. You only worried about your own opinion; you wanted to be the best version of yourself always.

“HOTCHHH, I PASSED!” You ran over to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck.

Aaron held you tight, lifting you off the ground for just a moment before noticing the look on Dave’s face. He placed you down and quietly congratulated you. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at getting caught by Dave. He knew that he had done nothing wrong…but he also knew that Dave could read him better than anyone else.

--

“Okay, when are you going to ask that girl out?” Dave huffed, sitting in the chair across from Aaron.

“Dave.” Aaron scolded. “It’s inappropriate.”

“Aaron…you deserve it. Happiness I mean. So, are you going to let it pass you by or are you going to seize the moment?”

“Sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we have a case.” Penelope informed. “It’s a child abduction.”

“Let everyone know we’re leaving now – we will brief on the plane.” Aaron commanded.

“Is Z going with you?” Penelope asked.

“Yes!” Dave answered for Aaron.

--

Aaron always sat next to you on the plane. It had been purely accidental, you’d sat in his usual seat and though Aaron wouldn’t say anything, Spencer did. So, you moved over into the adjacent window seat and Aaron slid in next to you. Since then, you’d always sat there.

Like now for example, the BAU was headed home after a two-week long case. The unsub had been way too good at covering his tracks, he’d had the entire team stumped. Thankfully you’d found his slipup in a dark web chatroom. He’d posted video of him torturing his latest victim in a chatroom used by very sick people. It was flagged once you’d turned on notifications for keywords and certain video content. After receiving the notification, Penelope and you were able to track an IP address and narrow down the location.

It had been exhausting honestly, running around, back and forth, interviewing people, going through evidence, just going until you found this guy…and now that was finally catching up to you. Your head had been bobbing off to the side as you fought the throws of sleep. As you began dozing off once more, Aaron reached over and led your head to rest on his shoulder. You finally settled and snuggled a bit further into his side, and for once he leaned back and let himself rest on the flight home.

Emily pointed JJ and Derek’s attention over to the two of you and then giggled. Derek quickly snapped a picture and sent it in their group chat. Penelope was quick to reply with the happy tears emojis and saying “finally”.

--

Things had shifted slightly after that. And while the team still teased Aaron about his very obvious crush on you, he finally allowed himself to be more confident in his interactions with you. He realized that Dave was right…maybe he did deserve happiness.

He’d invited you to get lunch with him a few times during work and he’d brought you coffee. He thought he was making his affection for you more obvious…but you still didn’t budge. He was beginning to worry that you didn't feel the same.

But it all came to a head when he decided he needed to be direct. Not on his own…Emily and JJ had to confront him and then convince him that you did like him, you just didn’t think he liked you.

--

You walked into the elevator, just about to click the button to the sixth floor when an arm reached in to stop the door from closing.

“Oh! Good morning Hotch.” You greeted. “Sorry, if I had seen you coming I’d have held the door.”

“No worries.” He forgave. “Do you um – do you have any plans tonight?”

“No, I was thinking of ordering a pizza and watching an episode of The Great British Bake Off. What about you?”

You’re reply had been so innocent and sweet. Just a simple response to his question, not reading into what he was truly asking you.

“Sweetheart, though your plans sound wonderful…will you go to dinner with me tonight?” He asked.

Your jaw dropped, only for a moment as you worked to regain your composure. Had you really been that blind? The girls had told you time and time again that he was interested, and you’d brushed it off, not wanting to get your hopes up…but here he is now, asking you out.

“I would love to.” You smiled.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

[tooturtly]

Just so ppl know it does get better! I didn’t really have friends from ages 13-18, and even before then I always felt a little different (gay and neurodivergent). And yeah, it sucked. I thought I was doing everything right. I talked to people in class, I did extracurriculars, I was involved. But nobody was texting me unless it was about something school related. I wasn’t invited to anybody’s house. Twice the people I ate lunch with made homecoming plans but never invited me, I just showed up bc of how much they talked about it.

It finally took seeing the group of people I thought were my friends really overtly reject an openly neurodivergent guy from the friend group. Why? Because he talked too much, he was too sincere. It wasn’t any fault of his own. When I hung out with him in a smaller group, I had a blast. And I realized it wasn’t his fault or mine, but the people who I didn’t even like that much who were pushing me away. They were doing the same thing to both of us, and I should be pissed about it! (I still am, even know people change, it was still a shitty thing to do)

My senior year I finally put myself first and realized that having bad friends was worse than being alone. And I might as well be alone on my terms. I went to homecoming and prom by myself, I wore my own weird clothes and danced by myself just to have fun. I realized that going with those people had made me have less fun, because they hardly wanted to dance to the music if they didn’t know the song. I decided I was going to have fun and be my own person.

The only people I had who were friends were the older people at the game shop I went to. They were kind and patient with me when I didn’t know all the rules, and I’ve since lost touch with them but everyday I’m thankful that I had them in my life. Thank you for taking care of this weird teenager who was too loud and too pushy, and who you guided anyway! Thank you for humoring me!

And then I did find lasting friends. I graduated high school and found a group of amazing, nerdy, goofy people who I clicked with. We play D&D together, we eat together often, we share our stories, we talk and we laugh, we have inside jokes.

As I’ve gotten older I know I still have those moments. Even with my closest friends, I have doubts and anxieties about if they actually like me, if I’m a good and kind enough person to be able to sustain a friendship. Sometimes I think maybe I’m better off alone, because then any hurt I cause will only be me. I’ve never had friends before, I don’t know anything! Sometimes I think I’m too full of hurt to do anything but hurt. But I don’t trust those thoughts! My brain lies to me all the time! Those terrible twisted feelings never come from me, they come from a me that doesn’t know anything but pain and sorrow. I’m an entirely different person when the depression hits, and I’ve learned enough not to trust how I feel in those moments.

I know that I’m trying and my friends know it too. I’m not purposefully mean, I make amends when I make mistakes, which is all you can do because everyone makes mistakes. And I think about how much sadder my life would be without my support network. I would be miserable! Yeah I can do it alone, but I don’t want to! Doing it alone sucks! I love my friends! I don’t want to let them go, and they want me around. If my friends didn’t want me around, they’d tell me to pack it. Yet I’ve continued making friends, I find fun and weird people everywhere!

Fuck it, I’m gonna be me as much as I can! Life is terrible when you’re pretending to be someone else. And I’ve been lucky enough to find space irl where I can be me. If you can’t do that in person, go online, find community anywhere you can get it. I know I learned a lot from lurking online in high school.

My friends love me even though I have flaws, and I love them even though they have flaws. Including the anxiety and self doubt! Loving with flaws is human. Confidence is your armor against that self doubt. Even if it’s fake! Say fuck it and love your life, love yourself! The world is beautiful! Life is beautiful in those small moments laughing, in talking, in smiling.

Yes this is optimistic positivity! Because pessimism made me sad and being sad does not make you want to live! And I want to live. I made the choice once to live as much as I can. God’s tried to kill me twice and he has failed so far, so I will dance through life laughing.

I can still be depressed and I can still laugh! I can be lonely sometimes and still have friends! I can know that there’s always light at the end of the tunnel if I smile and greet the darkness as my friend.

On Isolation

[hellsitegenetics]

hi have you seen the very recent video by veritasium? i know you're most likely not the most qualified expert but i'd like to hear what you thought/ what interesting things you might add about it!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_fHJIYENdI

(easy link)

awesome video that shows off one of the best uses for AI computation.

i don't have much to add, except that the video makes it kind of easy to walk away thinking AlphaFold is a perfect program, which is not true. its usefulness is very limited by its accuracy (90% still leaves a lot of room for error!) and the way it topologically builds the protein structure. it's also worth noting that protein structure is not always rigidly defined! many proteins in your body need to be disordered to function:

if you're looking for a more silly application for science though (which i assume most people following this blog are), @hellsite-proteins is a gimmick blog that runs posts through AlphaFold, the exact program talked about in this video. give them a look!

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: Some motivation from your spirit guides

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will give you some motivation for your situation. I hope you all enjoy it!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon Masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

pick a card

Pile 1:

You are getting closer to that goal of yours every day. Believe me when I tell you that all is going to go your way eventually. That dream of yours is out there waiting for you, ready to be grasped and dragged along. You are a strong individual, you have come so far already, you have achieved so much more than you realise. You are worth a good life and you are worth that life you dream of so often, that life that you crave. There is nothing going to be in your way anymore soon; those few obstacles will remove themselves and you will be able to fly.

Extended reading

Pile 2:

You have it rough. We know you do, and you are allowed to feel that way. You are allowed to be upset, to cry and to scream it all out. You have been hurt, things have happened that shouldn’t have happened to you. You are going to get through it, and you will rise up higher than you have ever reached. You are a strong, beautiful individual, someone who deserves the whole world. Just not everyone sees that yet; but they will, they all will see how much you are worth. We have faith in you, and we know that you are going to be okay, that you are going to have a life you enjoy, a life which you deserve.

Extended reading

Pile 3:

You are special. You are creative, you are intelligent. You are a beautiful, kind, and complex individual. Truly you are. You will be surprised to realise how many people actually think those things about you, think positive about you. You are someone who deserves the world. You deserve absolutely everything that will come to you in the future and so much more. Any dream you have but are afraid to do anything with; think about it, dream about it, plan it out and actually experience all of it. Your wants and needs are meant to be experienced in this life; so strive towards being your best self, strive to become more than you ever dared to imagine.

Extended reading

[ceramicbeetle]

almost no one has written binx/hob content and certainly no one had written it in the way i am currently finding it intriguing, which is admittedly disappointing. so perhaps i will have to do it if no one else will.

[eggzeroni]

I love answering questions 1. You truly are a young prodigy. (I refuse to elaborate.) 2. Sherlock's 3. It's all going on in my head lmao- I kind of love it but I'm still waiting for my AO3 account to be made, I'm very excited. 4. Johnlock 5. John gaped at him. "You just solved a case, a murder, for God's sake, and you're bored?!" 6. Sherlock (not including names, my most used word is 'room'.) 7. Still exploring. STILL. 8. YP (Young Prodigy) 9. Slightly unclear, but the latest dates I have are 24th August 2024 - 2nd February 2025 10. Like... 4 weeks? I think? 11. My Enola Holmes Oneshots- 12. Younger sibling x sibling's best friend (by that I mean platonically and also I don't even know if that exists or if I just made it up lmao) 13. Sherlock (ofc :3)/ HL 14. I get inspiration from other writers cause there are so many amazing ones :3 15. STORMY! 16. My bed :') 17. I usually write a bit, edit a bit, repeat. Which I know is really bad but I can't help it. 18. I don't have the exact sentence but once I made a character speak when they were dead AND PUBLISHED IT- I had to make it so that the character was speaking in someone's mind because I was too lazy to go back and rewrite it- 19. If guns were a thing in the 1800s. Lead me down a rabbit hole. That era is actually really interesting. 20. 2024 :') I did write beforehand I just didn't know where I could publish. 21. isn't this question nine? 2024 though <3 22. I write for myself to look back on, so no, but then again I've never gotten a comment that wasn't from a loved one, so how can I be scared :') 23. Old, poetry, progressive 24. I just take breaks, look at other people's writing and get ideas. 25. I like drawing, reading, painting, digital art, poetry, history, philosophy and if I carried on it would be the length of an entire fic (lmao) 26. I can't concentrate with other people around, I have to kick them out my room. But I can write with music. Funny thing is I can't go back and edit it with music, so where's the sense there? 27. That climax point where your fingers just fly across the keyboard and even you can feel the adrenaline from the scene- 28. editing and planning. Currently the stage I'm at now with my ACTUAL book with my original characters. Bro I wanna write :') 29. Very easy. It takes me a few seconds. 30. here :3

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the last sentence you wrote

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how you feel about your current WIP

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first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

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share a fic you’re especially proud of

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?