#I think i'm going to make this into a one shot instead

[unikhroma]

the spamton puppet-ification thing

spamton. Spamton. once an addison, now a puppet. what the hell is wrong with him and how the fuck did this happen. i know i've mentioned my theory but i didn't put down the supporting details so here it is

when asking him about himself, spamton says:

he tells you that he's gone through a transformation, and the way it happened was through meeting someone/something. the thing with unintelligible laughter wasn't something that we could parse that well back in chapter 2.. but now with chapter 3 and 4, there's something that reoccurs, particularly in chapter 3, that has a distinct, distorted laugh:

i highlighted these particular appearances since it laughs in all of these

i've said it before but i don't think it's a coincidence that spamton resembles this thing. i feel that it's incredibly likely that FRIEND was who spamton had a "communion" with, and is the reason why he now looks like it.

it's stated that eventually he stopped going to his own room in queen's mansion and instead just the basement, which is where we first saw FRIEND.

the way that the swatchling mentions that he became obsessed with the NEO robot when things were getting bad suggests that he was there prior for something else.

in the spamton sweepstakes Q&A, he says that he looks different from the addisons because he started doing what gets censored as "the spamton method" every day.

the way those facts line up, it seems to imply that this method had something to do with FRIEND. now what exactly it did to him is a different story... i just don't think we have the pieces yet.

also. there is just . something about the way the pipis tenna owns makes these strange distorted noises if you keep it in the inventory and stay still for too long that sounds a little too similar to FRIEND's laugh for comfort. i'm telling you people there's other lore going on here

additional things that suggest that the glasses might not just be glasses and are permanently part of his face:

-jevil's reward items are the jevilstail, which is his actual tail, and the devilsknife, which is his weapon. spamton NEO's reward items are the puppet scarf, which is likely made out of the wires that held him up, and the dealmakers, the glasses he seems to have. since the jevilstail is jevil's actual tail, it's possible that the dealmakers are actually part of spamton.

-the spamton plushie's glasses are glued to his face while the ralsei plushies' are set like regular ones. the spamton nendoroid has nothing underneath his glasses which i find suspect as well.

-the paper mache spamton face in the susiezilla minigame has its eyes covered by a censor bar.. despite the actual sprites having eyes on them. idk it just makes me wonder if there's a meta reason for it and that's to put emphasis on his eyes

big shot side note: the transformation seems to have something to do with him becoming a big shot.

tenna mentions that spamton was going to tell him how he became a big shot, but this had to have happened pre-transformation because tenna doesn't recognize him in his current puppet form. it seems to suggest that, if spamton continuously meeting with FRIEND is what made him become a puppet, it also has something to do with the whole big shot thing.

[renasomewhere]

My karma analysis and by analysis I mean saying what I see with pictures to help (and some theories.)

Here mizi says

"stop pretending to be righteous. Neither you nor I deserve to be saved" Mizi probably see's this as her survivor guilt and blaming luka for hyuna's death

Then there is a scene of the arguement seen in the teaser, I am not going to add a picture for this as I believe that not much is needed to say (unless somebody says otherwise lmao) One interesting thing though is sua stops mizi from kissing her.

Mizi takes the laptop from issac which has the missile launch controls on here, she clicks execute. Now I believe that it was supposed to be timed and mizi took the timer off to kill not only the segyien but herself and the rebellion. she holds the laptop close and they run to get it off of her as mizi just sits holding. Ready to die.

It then cuts to this which my first thought when watching it for the first time, and now for that matter is its relation to the true face comic, More specifically this "page"

"A bunch of idiots circling you at all times"

Everybody wants to see mizi happy, which is why the people in karma Immediately go up to her. They want her happy and that is it.

The episode then cuts to IvanTill HyunaLuka with hyunwoo and Mizisua but those are quite big so I probably will make analysis' for each of those!

"Hyuna I have something to confess. She was secretly rehearsing her death every night and I knew but pretended not to. Maybe I just wasn't as desperate for her. I know my love was different from yours. But it was love, too."

She thinks because she didn't step in and instead chose to pretend that her love for sua is invalid, Which isn't the case but mizi is presumably having a breakdown like saw in wiege (and this to, but wiege is older)

Sua rehearsed her death not only because that was something she was ready to do to keep her alive but also because her "mother" would most likely be disappointed if sues death wasn't grand.

"If you would have saw the look on her face too, you wouldn't be able to judge her"

More my god my universe stuff. Saying that if anybody would have saw Sua In mizi's eyes then they would fall for her the same way that she did.

The left screenshot is from karma, we see many things on mizi AND on sua, with the latter having a screen of sorts on her collarbone. My first thought went to robot sua from the artwork on the left but I am most likely wrong

The rocket is falling which will cause destruction across the stage. they then show all the characters EXCEPT luka for some reason or another, Perhaps because luka is the only one of them to not have a "provider" as he was grew in a lab (lab baby lukaa)

And then it has the best scene in all of alien stage that we have been waiting for since round one:

MIZISUA KISS, TAKE THAT MIZITILL SHIPPERS. THIS IS HER ONE LOVE AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE TILL LIKE THIS.

Sorry, I got carried away. Continue, shall we?

I'm gonna combine all of these into one because they are all related. Mizi is beaten up, Either by the rebellion trying to get the laptop back or luka in self defence. She holds onto till and a ghost of sua rests on her girlfriend trying to comfort her despite the kinda big situation.

In a zoomed in shot Till's earpiece glows red, He is alive.

She reaches and calls out for issac. she needs to save him, She thinks she has killed so many people and she can't let till be one of those. She grabs onto his shirt and begs him to save till.

It then flashes back to the scene where sua is watching and rehearsing her death. Mizi runs into her room and holds onto her, grappling her and never letting go. Keeping her god in arms reach.

Issac: "For humans... and for these beasts too innocence was a luxury they couldn't afford. In this endless suffering, to love and be loved. To hold onto hope for a day that may never come. Is that survival instincts, or selfishness. At the center of it all was a woman. A woman now called a witch, who was always searching for love. Can we really blame her for that? Where did this original sin begin? And in a trial with no clear answer, can these lives ever overcome it?"

I don't have much to say about this speech except that It is obviously about mizi. It cuts to mizi when it says "a woman now called a witch". Mizi is this so called witch for wanting a basic function of love? she wants to love and she wants to crush and as issac says can we really blame her?

Actually using the picture above it shows that luka is back as an idol and that the attack on the stage that happened seven years earlier by mizi was known as a tragedy. The korean on the middle image translates roughly to ALNST disaster seventh aniversary... where is the culprit. The segyien know that mizi is the culprit for this and that she is gone, with the rebellion or on her own we do not know however I hope it is the former and she is in a place where she can actually get better from the trauma she has induced time and time again

It cuts to a shot of a museum we see a headline for in the previous image. A museum of everything from that season of alien stage, from the collars to the microphones and even the dresses.

In this shot the middle shows two of tills guitars and lukas violin used in The final round. on the sides we see the main event so to speak: Dna mixes of the cast. On the left we see a Mix of mizi and ivan and on the right we see a mix of luka hyuna and sua as well as till mixed with somebody I don't know.

Till who we assume is now working for the rebellion has broken into the museum to save these children from there life in captivity, the only life they knew and the life he at one point knew. Till knows how these children must feel and doesn't want them to feel that way anymore, He wants them to be free and live a life that they can call theirs.

Tags: @whosamity143 @crustyfloor @espritradieux and @localfandom

[lexdelioncourt]

I have 2 fears regarding Devil's Minion

- that they would focus less on past DM and more on present DM (there have been a lot of hints with Eric and Assad, but almost nothing w Assad and Luke)

- that they would focus more on the toxic aspect (re Rolin's comments that it will be majorly fucked up) rather than the domestic part

But I love love love your hopeposting, its so refreshing

Hey! I'm so glad you enjoy my hopeposting! Don't get me wrong, I have my fears too (these two own my ass) but I'm always trying to remember things that we know, while trying to tap into as much media analysis as possible in order to keep the hope alive. So let's inject some hope, shall we?

Personally I believe there are too many things that have been teased in S1/2 that don't really make sense to me if past-DM didn't happen. The main and most obvious one to me being the weirdly soft moments Armand has with Daniel (stopping Louis from messing with him, comforting Daniel when Louis brings up the Alice thing, apologising on behalf of Louis after he did that, the soft conversation at the beginning of Episode 2.3, the long companionable silences that are emphasised by repeated shots of Daniel's audio recording program). This is not the way someone would behave towards a total stranger they met once 50 years ago, tortured for a week, and then never saw again until now. SOMETHING has changed in this relationship between 1973 and 2022. Before and after having fallen in love?? Hopefully!

I also think that these softer moments hint to us that we will hopefully see their relationship as equal parts messy and soft (like we've seen with Loustat), because the writers are doing a great job of giving us some well-rounded characters and complex ships and I hope that they will continue to do so. Rolin's comment about something "majorly fucked up" between them could go any way I think. I mean it's majorly fucked up if Armand did wipe all of Daniel's memories! Chasing him around the world is also pretty fucked up! A lot of stuff they do is fucked up! But they have those soft moments too, soft moments I think show Armand is still having in those scenes I mentioned above. Also, it's always key to remember that showrunners talk shit all the time to keep from spoiling their shows. He's going to be trolling and redirecting and trying to keep a lid on things as much as possible so I don't think we should worry too much on that front.

On the Alice thing, I'm not gonna beat a dead horse, we all know the theories but I think the key takeaways are

The "she felt freer to hold her hand" line (because there has been throughout the entire show a repeating refrain of "European sensibilities", "they care less about what you look like or who you're looking at").

2. The very intentional editing of that scene ("what did she *flashback of Armand* say when you asked her to marry you *shot of Armand*". I think this is a VERY intentional editing choice. This isn't subtext, this is just THE TEXT.

Also the fact that the show has kept the past timeline the same as the book timeline (OG interview in 1973) and mentioned the failed proposal as happening in 1985 (the year Daniel is turned in the books) also gives me hope that essentially the show is going to do a book canon divergence thing where, instead of young Daniel's turning, we get the breakup/mindwipe thing and we see an alternate universe where Daniel lives his full life.

Finally, purely from a storytelling point of view, I think objectively the only completely satisfying way to show Daniel and Armand's relationship is if past-DM happened. I make it no secret that I am a romance girlie (in fact I am writing my PhD dissertation on a niche subgenre of popular romance), and I have posted before about how the Devil's Minion chapter meets all the genre requirements for a romance. The second chance romance trope (for those who don't know) is a super fun trope in which a pair of exes finally get their second shot at a happily ever after. This trope often involves older protagonists purely because of the whole second chance thing. The show version of Devil's Minion TO ME has all the hallmarks of a second-chance romance and I will shout about it unapologetically!! Also speaking of tropes, never forget that the amnesia plotline is an EXTREMELY popular telenovela trope.

I'm not gonna get to into all the reasons why I think past-DM happened (because there's plenty of posts and analyses out there and you didn't even ask for that lol). But I do think the main reason we've seen a lot of Eric/Assad and not really a whole lot of Luke/Assad is because Luke is a walking, living, breathing spoiler. While we are all choosing to believe past-DM happened it still isn't show confirmed and if they start parading Luke around too much, then that's basically confirmation that they're doing past-DM because why the fuck else would they pay to drag him back if they weren't?

I also think they'd be crazy to not keep utilising him, because he is so incredible (also, the more I think about it the more I think that the very idea of setting this as a second interview and showing young Daniel at all leads me to believe in past-DM, simply because showing the young/old Daniel dichotomy probably wasn't even 100% necessary to the broader storyline if past-DM didn't happen).

I'm so sorry, this reply totally got away from me haha. But I hope it made sense and injected some hope!

[lexus-k4]

Dp x DC idea/prompt

So we get these prompts, fics and one-shots etc: where Danny is an Enigma or dos shit that don't make sense or makes the JL extremely worried.

(TW: for those light of heart, be warned. Mentioned death and pourpousfully misswritten words as 'dye' instead of using an I. Just incase. :) )

Well what if Danny was Bff's with Death.

Like. After Danny got his powers death kept appearing to him and death is just like. Confused. Cus, this 14 year old kid is meant to be dead, but isn't. This 14 year old kids name keeps coming up for would that have passed away but then disappear moments later. And Death just doesn't understand what's happening.

(I'mma say there are multiple deaths because having one would be to much for the poor fellow. But I'mma make it so that death is the original, but as humans multiplied he took in students and taught them- and they go by names not 'death')

And Danny is just baffled as to why this weird dude wearing a spooky cliche death robe. But, oh well. He's not causing problems so Danny doesn't hate them.

And it continues like this back and forth with no communication till one day death walks up to him and is like.

"I don't get it. Are you meant to be dead, or alive? I can't figure it out and I'm just getting tired at this point..."

"I uhh.... I don't-"

"Like, I'm death. I have my usual list, and so do all my students, but your name as shown up like a gazillion times and has disappeared just as much. It don't make sense."

"... Huh? "

This leads to death and Danny just chatting and Danny mentions his half a status, and death finally understands. And he accidentally drops a bomb to Danny saying that hell be immortal so he needs to remove Danny name from the death list permanently otherwise some of his students might try to get to him.

Danny of course has an after life crisis about the info but deals with it. And death comes over to chat with Danny every once in a while.

Weeks pass. Then months. Then years. And now death and Danny are the most stereotypical best friends you can find. They'll be sat on top of Fenton works just chatting and stargazing when for no reason at all one will push the other off the roof and laugh maniacly.

Through the friendship Danny has also found out that Vlad isn't an actual half a and Danny doesn't found as she's more of a neverborn. He also fousn put that he's the 3rd ever half a to exist. However the first drove themselves to insanity then eternal rest (ghost death) and the second though they were invincible and ate blood blossoms as a challenge. You'd think they'd be smarter considering they already dies once.

Another thing Danny found out, is that death has a special list specific for would that he's meant to collect but he can't because they are somehow alive, still have a beating heart and have a soul attacked to their body. And death isn't allowed to kill. Only take the souls after they've left the physical attachment and the heart has stopped permanently. And death had given Danny access to this list.

Now with the flick of his wrist he can make a magical list of names appear out of nowhere.

Phantom at the Watchtower: y'know. Death said that they've seen almost every hero's name on their list at least 2 already. And yet you hero's somehow evaid meeting him. Like, they said they respect it, but that it's also quite annoying because it waists their time.

Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, the flash, kid flash, red hood and constantine close enough to hear all that clearly: ....

Other hero's in the cafeteria where they are only hearing bits and pieces and mentions of death: huh?

----

Phantom at the end of a mission: hey flash. Death says they want you to stop doing stupid shit and dye-ing all the time. They're getting fed up with either having to come to you to just find your alive again or that they send you to afterlife but you make your way back.

The flash: ... Im sorry what now? WHO now? HUH?!

----

Phantom in the Watchtower discussing a mission with JLD where there is a cult trying to summon death: oh come on. It's nothing like death has time for this shit. And when they're on their break their either taking a well deserved rest or chatting with their bestie. Besides that summoning spell is all wrong.

Constantine: YOU'VE MET DEATH?!?!

Superman didn't hear a single tell take stutter or indicator of a lie: ....

Batman filing thi information for later...

----

Phantom to some of the hero: hey guys, I wanted to ask if I could visit some of your cities for a short stay. I wanted to get death a cool b-day gift and I think I got sommet that'll make him laugh.

Green Arrow: o-oh? What's that?

Phantom: oh just thought I'd take death on a trip with me as I visit as I make some of your villains lives a living hell. Quite a few of your villains are on their 'meant to be dead but aren't and can't kill list' so, I know they don't want me to kill them but I can make them suffer like how they've caused my bestie constant aneurysms.

The hero's:....

Stunned Constantine: ... Besties.... He said besties... They're fuckin besties. Unbelievable... I need a drink... Pronto... Goodbye

Wonder woman: I mean. As long as you can swear there will be no unnecessary deaths.

Batman thinking of a certain someone everyone in gotham hates with a passion: might I ask, is there someone in gotham like that? And if yes, you can come whenever. I'll even helpxim sure my kids will too.

----

Phantom: Hey guys! I wanted you to meet my bestie. Death meet some of the JL members, that's-

Death: don't worry phantom, I know who they are. Its lovely to meet you. I'm currently on a Holliday today, I'm having June take over my shift because it was a last minute holiday. Oh Diana, it is a pleasure to meet you, I must say your my favourite distant relative.

Wonder woman: w-what do you mean?

Death: oh sorry, i forget people don't know. It's just I'm sorta related to every first being it every religion, because like... I'm a original being. Just one that is know in every belief.

----

Phantom popping out of invisibility: HI! We've be trying to contact you about your life's extended warranty.

Joker: *heavily jumpscares and feeling like he might die* AHHH!!!!

----

Phantom popping half his body through a wall: Hi! Did you know death evasion is just like tax evasion. The longer you wait the more the negative effects it'll cause. I mean, why prolong it. It'll happen eventually.

Ra's al Ghul: HOW DID YOU GET I HERE?!?!

----

I feel like I'd want death to be gender neutral like CW, ik it's cliche but like hear me out. Imagine death has the ever subtely changing face that makes it look like dead ppl you know, and if you don't know any then currently dying people.

I also feel like each student would've chosen their own name, and I feel like the first few would've named them selves after like the months, maybe seasons, zodiacs or just stuff like that, and the more younger ones and more unique and individual but still sometimes relates to something.

I also feel like Red hood would try be buddies with death. Or that that he'd help get death a present for b day.

And I imagine death would only celebrate their b day once every 10 or something 100 years, because every year is just too much and tedious

[spicywriter]

Title: Fingering Character: John Price > when John fingers his wife at a public bar.

We walked in silence as we headed to the bar. Once we arrived, John opened the door and held it for me. Thanking him, I entered before he walked in after me. The scent of grilled food and stale beer wrapped around us, and I looked up at John, waiting for him to decide where we'd sit.

"Over there." he said. His hand was on my lower back back, guiding me through the crowd and toward an empty booth in the corner. I slid in, with him following close behind.

As our waitress came and took our orders, we waited patiently as we chatted about random things. Within a couple of minutes, our food had arrived. John immediately reached for his burger, taking a bite as I started with my fries. As much there was going on around us, I was more focused on how his jaw tensed and relaxed as he chewed.

"Stop staring love and eat," he murmured, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. "That damn kid keeps staring at us."

I scoffed. "What, your wife can't stare at you? and you think that kid figured out I gave you a blowjob an hour ago in your truck?" I shot back, wanting to tease him.

"Y/N." His voice was low, harsh. He was being serious and warning me. "Don't provoke me."

I grinned. That was hot. I remained silent and decided not to push.

The bar had grown busier while we finished eating. The crowd thickened, conversations growing louder, but it was like we were in our own little world. At least, that's what it felt like to me.

I looked at him again, licking my lips and studying his face for a moment before asking, "Let's pay and leave. Head back home." I said, taking his calloused hand and interlacing it with mine.

He eyed me closely as his hand gently squeezed mine. I couldn't quite read him. He was thinking hard as if what I had asked was the toughest question ever. Even after a moment, his answer still hadn't come. He kept watching me, and his hand moved to my thigh instead.

"Can you be quiet?" he asked me, surprising me.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes or no."

"Uh, it depends. Yes." I said, my voice a faint breath. Only when he wrapped his hand around my left leg and lifted it over his lap did I understand his plan.

"Are you sure, love?" He shot me an amused glance. "I'm not the one needing to keep quiet while getting fingered in a bar full of people. You need to be sure."

If he kept talking like that, I would get naked right there, putting myself on the table for him to take me in front of everyone. I don't give a single fuck, but I had to hold myself back, knowing damn well I won't actually do that to embarrass myself.

"I am sure." I told him, sighing as he ran his fingers along my inner thigh.

"Good. Unbutton your pants."

I didn't argue, nor did I hesitate. My jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped in seconds, and I parted my legs more to give him better access. He glanced down, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I can smell your arousal. Fuck, love, you're not making this easy for me."

"It doesn't have to be hard," I told him with a raised brow. "We can still go home."

"No." His hand cupped my pussy, with his fingers pressing against it over my jean's fabric. "This is way more fucking exciting."

I was glad he changed his mind. I liked his daring side and wanted to see more of it in the future. I bit my bottom lips and looked down before leaning back in the booth, breathing deeply. I was ready for him to do whatever he wanted to do.

JOHN

My cock was throbbing against the hard fabric of my jeans as I pushed my fingers into her panties, feeling her wetness immediately. "Goddamn." I muttered, my jaw clenching. I teased her entrance with my fingertips. circling it slowly and feeling her pussy clench at my touch. Her body was tense, but she was good at not showing her emotions on her face.

"Relax." I murmured seconds before I dipped two fingers into her.

She gripped my wrist, her nails digging into my skin. "Fuck." she choked.

"Shh. We don't want to attract an audience now."

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, her hips pressing forward as I pulled out of her slightly.

"Don't move." I ordered.

She stilled. and I slid my fingers back in, deeper this time. I thrust my fingers in and out of her in a slow and steady rhythm. My eyes wandered around the bar occasionally, making sure nobody was paying attention to us. I continued, feeling her inner walls pulse around my fingers. Her breath caught as I curled them inside her, finding that spot that made her squirm. I pressed my thumb against her clit, circling it slowly, building the pressure gradually.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting slightly. I could tell she was fighting to keep quiet, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each shallow breath. I leaned in closer, my lips brushing her ear. "That's it, love. So, fucking sexy." I whispered, my voice low and husky.

I increased the pace of my fingers, thrusting them deeper, harder. Her hips bucked slightly, and I pressed my free hand against her lower back, holding her still. I felt her start to tremble, her thighs quivering against my hand. Her fingers dug into my forearm, her nails leaving marks on my skin. I could sense her climax building, her pussy clenching in a steady rhythm around my fingers.

It turned me the fuck on, watching her try her hardest not to be too loud. Her face was filled with emotions.

I curled my fingers inside her, pressing firmly against the right spot while my thumb kept on working her clit in circles. Her breathing grew ragged, coming in short, sharp gasps. I felt her whole body tense. She shuddered violently, her pussy clenching down on my fingers tightly. A strangled whimper escaped her lips, barely audible over the music. I held her right there, watching as she rode out her orgasm. Her body was shaking with wave after wave of pleasure and the pulsating of her walls around me.

I continued to stroke her gently, drawing out her climax for as long as possible. Her hips rocked subtly against my hand, chasing every last tremor of ecstasy.

As her quivering lessened, I slowly withdraw my fingers from inside her. Her eyes fluttered open, pupils dilated with lingering desire. I held her gaze as I brought my fingers to my lips, inhaling her sweet scent before sliding them into my mouth.

She was watching me intently, her chest rising and falling. Her cheeks were flushed, a rosy glow spreading down her neck.

"Delicious." I murmured as I pulled out my fingers. "But don't think this is it. Once we head back home, I will take my sweet time with my head between your legs later."

This time, she stopped breathing, her eyes widening.

I made her speeches. Good.

Returning back to my food, I continued eating my fries before taking a sip of my beer before speaking. "Button your pants. We're leaving."

©spicywriter, 2025

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

Hiii! Omg I just found out about your blogs, and I'm so inlove with them ><!!!

I was wondering if I could request a very wholesome fic for a girl dad!kaminari denki where in he found out the reader put their daughter on a 20 minutes timeout because of something silly she does and then denki telling his daughter she'd talk to the reader to negotiate only for denki to comeback on her daughter with a 2-hour timeout 🤣🤣. Them both facing the wall. I'll just think his daughter with totally get her silly personality with her dad and would constantly cause chaos when their together. THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH! 💞💞

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH 😭😍 this was actually so fun to write, daddy Denki is such a heartwarming thought 😭

Denkis favourite part of his day was when hed get home and become bombarded as soon as his girls heard the front door unlock. As soon as the click echoed through the house, both you and your daughter would run towards the opening door, almost fully tackling him as he entered, wide eyed with his cheek splitting grin. Both of you would engulfed him, you the upper half of him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and smothered his face in kisses, and your daughter clawing at his legs, squeezing every ounce of blood out of his knees she possibly could. It was heaven on earth every single day, until it wasnt.

Today, he put his keys in the door and swung it open, arms outstretched as usual, bracing himself for the impending impact only to be met with nothing. He glanced around and heard silence, closely followed by a small tiny huff coming from the most devastating and terrifying corner of the house. The time out wall. He creeped inside to see a bundle of frizzy yellow hair, tied together in pigtails as they lay pressed against the wall. No, not his perfect little princess…how had the wall claimed her as a victim again for the second time this week?! He fell to his knees, dramatically crying out to her as he outstretched his hand,

“Baby girl no, what happened? How did you get tricked into falling for the walls plot again?! Why must it hold you there against your will?”

Her emerald green eyes perked up as the pout on her face swiftly changed into a cheesy grin.

“Mummys mean. Heard her fighting at bedtime and makin daddy cry. No one makes hero daddy sad so I zappy zappy’d her butt. Now I get time out.”

It took all of his might not to break out into impossible laughter. She’d heard you two having adult time and unfortunately heard the way that youd made him beg for you. She was only three but apparently very protective of her father’s emotional well being. He quickly scooped her up, tickling her and kissing her forehead before popping her back down,

“I got you lightning bolt, I’ll talk to mummy and see if we can all go for ice cream instead. I got this dont you worry!” He winked and did his hero pose at her, pointing his finger gun at her as she copied him and laughed,

“Gid her daddy! Zappy zappy her butt too!”

“I will princess don’t worry, I definitely will zappy zappy her butt.”

He walked into the kitchen to see you applying an ice pack to your lower hip, frustration and annoyance slapping your face as your eyes transfixed on him. He tried his best to flash an apologetic smile your way, tried to slowly walk towards you as you shot him daggers from across the room.

“Your daughter is an A-hole.”

“Hey! My pretty princess is not….that. Shes just, protective. After all, you made her daddy cry last night at bedtime apparently so, if anything it is kinda your own fault fuzzy beautiful….”

“Thats the last time I use that toy on you again then.”

“NO PLEASE…I mean, maybe it’s not ENTIRELY your own fault, but….the time out wall? I thought we were heros spark plug, not disgusting deprived villains….not the wall, cmon…”

Your eyes stared into him as the ice pack started to warm, why did both your quirks have to mix to make an electric whip. Why. God why. You raised an eyebrow at him as he held his hands up in surrender as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“If Shes going to whip me with her quirk then I have to tell her off. Shes gotta know you can’t just whip people because they annoy you.”

“Can’t you? Isn’t that how we got together…..”

You deadpanned your face to show your annoyance, as if it wasnt already extremely obvious.

“Dont.”

“Im just saying….”

“One more word snd youll be joining her chargebolt.”

“Full government hero name, ouch.” He pretended to be shot in the heart with your hurtful remark, only annoying you further. “What if I whip you instead? I did say id zappy zappy your butt after all, you gonna let me in there tonight or?”

Her tiny little eyes had been following the little money spider dancing along the wall when all of a sudden a giant shadow was cast over her. She turned her head to see Denki with his head low, arms behind his back as he then pressed his head to the wall infront of him. Her eyes glanced up to him as he stood over her, eyes closed and huffing.

“Daddy time out too?”

“Yeah….how long did you get?”

“Mummy said 20 mins”

“Only 20?! I got 2 hours!”

“No ice cream?” She looked down defeated as her dreams of strawberry ice cream flittered away. He pulled out two ice lollies from his back pocket and winked down at her,

“If daddy says ice cream, then you’ll always get ice cream. Just don’t tell mummy okay?”

[legalandnotease]

Talking about casual ableism - I saw this post on Instagram about Sebastian talking about how he didn't get why the dishwasher scene in Thunderbolts was funny, and 99% of the comments were like '🙄 It is funny though - don't know why he was confused'. Then this one person went 'Yeah he's right it isn't funny it's disrespectful to him' and then they got several replies going 'Wow you need to learn how to take a joke! You're a lame snowflake with no sense of humour!' It really made me sick to my stomach.

With the arm removal scene in tfatws - one of the most common argument I saw was that Ayo was feeling hurt and betrayed and that's why she did. So apparently the hurt feelings of an abled bodied person are more important than a disabled man's bodily autonomy. That and they gave him the arm so he shouldn't have gone against them. I even remember this one post that tried to say the wakandans not telling Bucky about the 'fail-safe' was them being kind to him because they could've told him they didn't trust him but instead they let him think they did. The way people will bend over backwards to defend their fave is insane.

Also it feels gross to me that I've seen a lot of people labelling Bucky as 'violent' even though other mcu characters aren't seen as that. A lot of people confuse mcu Bucky and comics Bucky - who did the dirty work for Steve but that doesn't apply to the mcu. Another thing is the scene where Bucky tries to escape from the cops invading his apartment in civil war. This scene is used to describe how 'brutal and violent' he is . . . while using self defense against people trying to kill him. Not sure what else he was supposed to do in that situation. And I bet had it been Natasha and Clint cornered, they would've shot most of those cops and no one would've batted an eye. Maybe I'm reaching but it just feels weird to me that Bucky is the one labelled 'violent' out of everyone.

Also I did not know about Tony blasting his arm off was meant to be punishment. I knew about them putting him in cryofreeze was punishment cause they didn't want him running around with Steve or whatever. Who knew getting dismembered was the reward for killing someone while drugged and mind controlled. Wow.

Hi and thanks for the ask!

From what I've read I think Sebastian's main problem with that scene wasn't ableism per se but that he felt Bucky could be doing more and better utilized. He felt like it was a waste to have another arm gag- which is legit. I agree with him.

As to the comments- that is sadly typical. Far too many people think that because the MCU is "just fiction" its acceptable to make fun of and mock people in ways that would never be acceptable in real life.

They don't understand art imitates life: ableism can exist in the MCU because it exists in real life. And just like IRL people don't understand these "jokes" are incredibly demeaning and othering for people from certain groups.

With the arm removal scene in tfatws - one of the most common argument I saw was that Ayo was feeling hurt and betrayed and that's why she did. So apparently the hurt feelings of an abled bodied person are more important than a disabled man's bodily autonomy.

Yep, I've seen that many times. Its a messed up of looking at it. I tend to respond by asking them to imagine if someone took away Matt Murdock's sight stick or Dr X wheelchair because they were pissed with them. Would they consider that acceptable too?

That and they gave him the arm so he shouldn't have gone against them

That's the most troubling argument from my point of view. Its not just suggesting that disabled people don't own their prosthetics, its the context in which the arm was given to Bucky and the context in which it was removed. It was given in a fight and taken away in a fight. Like I get why T'Challa gave it to him when Thanos was coming and the world was at stake, I do. I am not blaming him.

Yet the fact still stands that the arm is really a means of weaponizing a part of Bucky's body. Which is exactly what HYDRA did thim. The idea that he had to use it in a certain way only renforces that: those people are saying his arm is a weapon and must only be used in a manner that the people how own him determine.

How is that any different to what HYDRA did to him? I definately prefer to think the Wakandans were happy to allow Bucky to keep the arm and use it for peaceful purposes, not making him use it for fighting all the time.

The last one is just plain silly.

Also it feels gross to me that I've seen a lot of people labelling Bucky as 'violent' even though other mcu characters aren't seen as that.

Yeah that one is just annoying. The Winter Soldier is violent, Bucky isn't. There's a lot of problems with people confusing Comic Bucky with MCU Bucky as well. They're basically two totally different characters.

Another thing is the scene where Bucky tries to escape from the cops invading his apartment in civil war. This scene is used to describe how 'brutal and violent' he is . . . while using self defense against people trying to kill him. Not sure what else he was supposed to do in that situation.

Ugh THIS. I saw a series of stills from that scene and one of those cops was gonna shoot Bucky in the head at point-blank range with a semi-automatic weapon. Its a terrible example to use because... who is gonna let someone put bullets in their skullh? That's right. Nobody.Actually, I don't think there's a single instance of Bucky fighting in anything other than self-defense for that entire movie.

The problem is that they're cops and we're conditioned to believe cops are "good guys". Also its not made clear at that point if Bucky actually did the bombing or not. There's this idea that maybe he deserves it (he doesn't).

You're right though: Bucky was making a conceted effort to not kill anyone, whereas other characters have no such qualms when they are threatened.

And I bet had it been Natasha and Clint cornered, they would've shot most of those cops and no one would've batted an eye

Look I love Natasha to an insane degree, but you are correct. There's a scene in Iron Man 2 where she breaks into Justin Hammer's warehouse and fights gauards. Let's just say she kills a couple of them in a *very* brutal way. She garotes him and leaves his body hanging from the ceiling.

There's also a line in Black Widow which suggests she and Clint had a shoot-out with Hungarian cops when he helped her escape the Red Room. Nobody bats an eyelid at either.

Yet if Bucky did those things.... yeah he'd be condemned.

Also I did not know about Tony blasting his arm off was meant to be punishment. I knew about them putting him in cryofreeze was punishment cause they didn't want him running around with Steve or whatever. Who knew getting dismembered was the reward for killing someone while drugged and mind controlled. Wow.

IKR? The thing that will never stop aggravating me is that no other mind-control victim in the MCU is treated in the way Bucky is. Clint kills like a ton of SHIELD Agents under mind control and they're like "don't you dare blame yourself" and never bring it up again.

Yelena and the other widows who were given a mind-control serum which overrode their free will? Nobody blames them and its never bought up again. Yelena gets "I look at you and don't see your mistakes". Clint gets "I don't judge you by your worse mistake".

Bucky? He has to be "punished" and "make amends" and nobody *ever* tells him to not blame himself or its not his fault. Quite the contrary in fact.

its almost as if some of the MCU writers just really hate Bucky.

[swissprimerib]

Here's a little theory I've been cooking up in the old brain hole... I call it

PILES OF DECEMBER'S DUST: BIG SHOT KNIGHT THEORY

(that's a working title)

The Knight is not a normal lightner, that much is obvious. It can turn into a baseball, it can fly, it has way too many swords. Maybe it's a darkner of December's funeral object, her dust scattered over something, but that wouldn't make sense, because only lightners have the Determination to open fountains.

Unless... the DT came from an outside source. Spamton believes that if he can acquire Kris' soul (us), he can become "real". A "Big shot". Maybe even real enough to manifest in the light world and tug Undyne through town.

But where could this darkner of Dess get a human soul from? It's not like there are many humans in town, besides... One. One who is close with the Holidays and Dess. One who is, as of the present day, still missing a soul.

I don't want to go too deep into speculation, so I'm not going to try and think of a specific explanation for how it happened, but... Let's go over that one more time.

Issue: The Knight does not match the known characteristics of a lightner. Explanation: The Knight is a darkner.

Issue: Darkners don't have Determination, and can't go into the light world. Explanation: According to Spamton, a darkner with a human soul can do both. (AND it would be yet another parallel to Asriel, being similar to Flowey)

Issue: Where would the soul come from? Explanation: Kris is missing a soul, and where it went was already a question, so this is an answer for that too. And the line "You were used up" in the sword route definitely means something here.

Oh, and some bonus stuff:

"Humans don't have more Determination than monsters in Deltarune!" Wrong. Only human souls can seal fountains, which would logically be a feat of Determination, AND Kris is confirmed to be able to save and load, as they already have a save file upon entering the dark world for the first time (which I suspect could actually be The Knight's save file under Kris' name, because it would have to have been made with their original soul)

"If Dess died, wouldn't her funeral object be the guitar?" Yeah probably. I actually don't have a great answer to this. Maybe she got scattered over something random like in the "piles of Asriel's dust" theory, or maybe she's just a wifflebat instead.

Also, how does Kris open a dark fountain without a soul? How does that work. Isn't that where the DT is stored? Like maybe they do have a soul after all, but like, where the heck is it? I don't count this as counter evidence, because Kris not having a soul besides us is pretty accepted I think. If my theory is wrong because of this it's not my fault

[exploring-in-space]

I've finally written for the first time in months! I feel inspired and hopeful that I can share a story after so many months of feeling uninspired and burnt out. I want to share what I've written so far and welcome any feedback!

It's a little lengthy so I'll put it under a cut ☺

Aaron calls on an inconspicuous Wednesday afternoon. 

Robert had missed the call because he’d been in meetings all afternoon with clients. When he’s back in his hotel room and sees the missed call, his heart momentarily stops. Anxiety and consternation fills his veins at the sight - a feeling he hasn’t felt in years, when he still depended on the bottle to get him through the days. Why was Aaron calling him?

He rubs the screen of his phone absentmindedly as he runs through the possible reasons Aaron could be calling after all these years. But as he’s contemplating the why’s, the phone abruptly starts to ring. It’s Aaron again. The reality of seeing the phone ring with a very old picture of Aaron on his screen startles Robert enough to drop his phone instead of answering.

By the time he picks the phone back up, he’s missed Aaron’s second call, and Robert is not above admitting the relief he feels. But the relief is short lived when a text comes in seconds later. 

Robert, its Aaron. Pls call. Its important.

It’s important. What could be important between them after years of silence? The curiosity of it starts to outweigh the trepidation, and so Robert presses the call button, and brings a shaky hand up to his ear. The phone only rings twice before Aaron’s voice abruptly ends the ringing, “Robert.”

“Hiya, sorry about earlier, I was-”

“Mum and Paddy are dead,” Aaron interrupts the flimsy lie that was on Robert’s lips. Aaron’s announcement stuns Robert into silence. Of all the things Aaron could have called about, this never crossed Robert’s mind. He thinks of the last time he saw Chas - in a hospital bed as she glowered down at him. 

You’ll ruin him just like you’ve ruined yourself

“Robert?” comes Aaron’s voice, noticeably watery now that Robert can contextualize Aaron’s voice.

“Sorry…I mean, Aaron. I’m so sorry. What happened?” Robert winces at the words. They don’t feel nearly enough.

“Car accident. They were driving from Leeds back home. It was rainy and dark, and-” Aaron cuts off, but Robert can guess what happened next. The thought of Chas and Paddy dying so anticlimactically disturbs Robert. He always thought they were so boring and they’d live well into their old age with a brood of grandchildren.

“What about Eve?” The thought of hypothetical grandchildren reminds Robert of their own very real daughter.

“She’s here. I’m at the pub. I was babysitting when I got the call.”

“Aaron, I’m so sorry.” Robert feels like a broken record, but what else could he say?

“I-I just needed to tell ya. I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but Vic talks about you all the time. And I just…wanted you to know.”

Aaron’s words, for the first time since they’ve spoken, brings the telltale prickle to Robert’s eyes. The last time they weathered a hardship together, they’d been engaged and in love. Now it’s been three years since they last had spoken, and Aaron is the bigger person to call Robert. He’s always been too good for Robert. 

“I’m in London,” Robert says, but before Aaron can respond to the non sequitur, he continues, “but only for a work trip. I can come to Emmerdale…if you want me to be there for you. And Eve, of course.”

You’ll ruin him just like you’ve ruined yourself

There’s a pregnant pause, before Aaron says something. “I’d really like that,” he whispers, and the pesky tears in Robert’s eyes fall down his cheeks. 

“I can be there by tomorrow morning,” Robert promises, mentally juggling all the meetings he will have to reschedule. 

“Okay.”

“Aaron?” Robert holds his breath, knowing the conversation is over, but desperate to continue to hear Aaron’s voice. “Despite the terrible circumstances, it’s good to hear your voice.”

There is a long pause that makes Robert want to snatch the words back and to apologize for the crassness of his statement. But just when Robert is going to say something, Aaron quietly says, “Me too.”

Any sort of trepidation that Robert had been feeling slowly evaporates and they say their quiet good-byes shortly afterwards. Robert pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the photo of Aaron trying to cover his face because he was tired of Robert taking photos. It was the day they had gotten engaged, and despite Aaron trying to shield his face, there was a smile on his face. 

That photo was taken only three months before Robert walked away from Aaron for good. He idly wonders if Aaron has smiled like that since. 

Robert slumps in the chair he’s sitting, and for the first time in years, he wants a drink.

[asvidema]

i really want to make something like that reference sheet i made for hans, but for henry

[primus-why]

.

[thisismycorneroftheinternet]

I find it wild that people are trying to dismiss or minimize this whole dead CEO thing because it was a right wing dude who did it, when regardless of political position, millions of people objectively benefited from his actions. Sure, we can argue legalism and the moralism of killing someone and all, and the ramifications of that given the group he's part of, but it is disconcerting how people have this pernicious political purity to it all. I've seen it on other situations and it's the reason why people dismiss political victories against reactionaries who want to take the world back to fascist conservatorism, it's why every single charity or whatnot gets weirdos questioning intentions despite how transparent they are, heck, it's even the reason why there's so much in-fighting on the left. A bunch of ideologues who would rather the world go to hell if people don't agree fully with them than do any objective good.

[allylikethecat]

Get excited! I actually finished another oneshot for tomorrow...

[lunar-fey]

oh it cut off the last three tags on that post, which ironically were just me mentioning something and then saying i'll make a separate post about it anyway, so -

i got a call from my pcp (the one who ordered the xrays and then mri of my spine [and set me up w a physical therapist between, because my insurance required it to get the mri...]) today and she opened by saying the same thing she said about carries heart monitor results: "i don't like this!"

so uh, she's sending me to a neurosurgeon ^_^

i (possibly) have an "atypical hemangioma" IN my spine. which to my best understanding is basically a blood vessel growth/mass. non cancerous, and normally non harmful. except. my fucking birth mark? the thing i had on my arm as a baby that is normally totally fine but in my case specifically was enough of a risk (was cutting off circulation in my arm muscle and they were worried it would atrophy/not grow right) that it had to be surgically removed as a 5(?) year old? was also. that.

so. seems possibly my body just really likes growing extra blood vessels in bad places?? regardless she is sending me along to a neurosurgeon next bc she was like yeah so its not as if there's a bunch of "free space" in your spine to begin with and this could very much cause constant compression on uhhh ALL THOSE NERVES IN THERE. 👍

[demarogue]

Gettin' Through the Holidays Mental Health Tricks

If y'all are anything like me, this time of year is triggering AF. Here are some small, very easy grounding exercises that I was taught by my therapist, basically in order of how much I like them for this rage-inducing season. You make like them in a different order, depending on your rage-to-despair ratio.

Push a wall: literally go up to a wall and try to push it over. Really try. I promise you won't push it over, but give it your best shot. Try to hold it as long as you can, and then take a breather and assess whether you need to repeat. Why it works: This is a quick, physical expulsion of the fight-or-flight feeling. It's a bit like punching a wall, but without the potential to hurt yourself/look scary/damage things. You can even do it in front of people and say you're stretching, they'll never know (unless the wall actually falls down, but this will not happen, I assure you).

Shake like a dog: Animals shake to release stress, and you are also an animal. Setting aside time to just shake it out, as vigorously as you can, arms and legs, face, stick your tongue out, pretend you're shaking like a wet dog. You can dance instead, if that feels better, and you can do this to music, but basically the more unhinged you can be, the better. If you are in a place you can scream, scream too! Why it works: like the above, this is a release of pent-up stress and anxiety. Especially if your rage-to-woe ratio is high, some kind of physical exertion is often the best way to burn through the cortisol and adrenaline you're building up.

Bilateral Tapping: Cross your arms over your chest so that your fingertips are at your shoulders, and slowly tap, one hand at a time, back and forth, for about a minute. Breathe slowly. Why it works: This is weird as hell, but because this engages both sides of your brain, it helps override the activity of the amygdala, which is the part of your brain that Makes The Fear. If you're being literally triggered in a situation, i.e. you're having a trauma response, or reliving some family trauma, this is a good one.

Box Breathing: From a comfortable position (can really be seated, laying down or standing), inhale slowly for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, exhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, then repeat. You can do it for shorter counts or longer counts, but if you vary the counts make sure the exhale is longer than the inhale. You can close your eyes or leave them open. Why it works: This exercise helps you move from a sympathetic (activated) nervous system response to a parasympathetic (balanced) response. I do this one every day, and it's a good gateway to meditation. Especially helpful in anxious or tense situations, but I find if I'm very triggered I need one of the other ones first, or it can make anxiety worse. Breathwork is amazing but not usually as a first exercise if you're very activated, or have been activated a long time.

Ice: Lots of ways to do this one – hands in cold water for 30 seconds, ice pack on the back of your neck, dip your entire face into a bowl of ice water (this one's the most effective). Why it works: I kinda think this is hilarious, but this activates your mammalian dive reflex. It immediately slows your heart-rate, so if you are feeling your blood pressure and heart rate rising, this one is very good. The only reason this one's at the bottom of my list is because I hate being cold.

I wish you all a very get-through-the-holidays-without-hurting-yourself. Take time alone if you need it.

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face. 

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting. 

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece. 

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you. 

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you. 

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence. 

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm. 

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person. 

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough. 

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile. 

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. 

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw. 

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin. 

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again. 

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” 

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

PART TWO