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mahgyu · 2 months ago

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𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 ──── 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Gojo’s aftercare is a chaotic mix of overwhelming affection and genuine tenderness. He’ll kiss every inch of your body like he’s blessing it, whispering filthy praise between laughter and teasing. He insists on carrying you to the shower—even if you can walk—and stays glued to your side afterward, feeding you snacks in bed and stroking your hair like he just saved your life with his dick. And honestly? He kind of did.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

Gojo’s obsessed with your thighs. He grabs, squeezes, bites—treats them like his personal stress relief. He loves burying his face between them, overstimulating you until your legs tremble. On himself, he’s cocky about his hands. He knows exactly how to use them—whether it’s choking you lightly, holding you down, or fingering you with obscene precision.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He cums a lot. Like, a lot. It’s thick, hot, and he loves making a mess with it. Seeing you dripping with his cum, struggling to catch your breath, is the highest form of satisfaction for him. He’ll paint your stomach, your boobs, your back—or fill you up and make you stay like that. He gets off hard on the idea of you walking around with him still inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s definitely jerked off to your voice memos or texts when you’re away—sometimes in risky places, like the Jujutsu High rooftop or a meeting room. He also has a video of you sucking him off, saved in a hidden folder on his phone. He watches it way more often than he admits.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Oh, he knows what he’s doing. Gojo has confidence for a reason—he’s had his share of partners, but no one’s ever driven him crazy like you. He reads your body like a damn book, adapts on the fly, and always, always makes you come first. He’s a god in bed, and he knows it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s a sucker for doggy style, watching your ass bounce as he pounds into you makes him feral. But he also loves reverse cowgirl, just to lean back and enjoy the view while his hands roam all over your body.

G=Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s playful as hell. Sex with Gojo always has moments of teasing, smug grins, and cocky comments. He’ll crack a joke mid-thrust just to make you roll your eyes—then fuck you hard enough to make you forget how to speak.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Despite his chaotic energy, Gojo is deeply affectionate. His kisses are desperate, his touches linger, and he holds you like you’re the only thing grounding him. He might joke around, but you feel how serious he is in the way he worships your body like a temple.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off often, especially if you're not around. He’ll use your panties, your pics, or even replay voice notes of you moaning. He doesn’t hide it—he gets off on being shameless. If you catch him, he’ll smirk and invite you to join in.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Gojo’s kinks are wild: he’s into teasing, power play, public risk, praise mixed with degradation, and especially overstimulation. He loves watching you cry from too much pleasure, telling you how good you look ruined on his cock.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Everywhere. Literally. A classroom late at night? Done. His office desk? Absolutely. The back of a car? Why not. But his favorite? Against the mirror, so he can see your face and whisper in your ear how wrecked you look.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your voice, your scent, the way you look at him with need—everything turns him on. But what really pushes him over the edge is your confidence when you take control. Climb on top, talk dirty, show him how much you want him—and you’ll see Gojo beg.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He’s adventurous, but he draws the line at anything degrading or cruel in a way that feels disrespectful. He’ll call you names in bed, sure—but if you ever looked genuinely hurt or uncomfortable, he’d shut everything down immediately.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? He adores it. He’ll eat you out for hours, smirking while you shake. Receiving? He’ll make a show of it—head thrown back, groaning loud, praising your mouth like you’re divine. He’s loud, filthy, and always holds your hair gently.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gojo’s pace depends on the mood. He can be slow and sensual, drawing it out just to watch you beg, or fast and brutal, fucking you like he’s starved. Either way, he always keeps you on edge, never letting you fully know what’s coming next.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s obsessed with quickies. Before a mission, during breaks, even in hallways—he gets off on the adrenaline. He’s fast, rough, and cocky, whispering "this’ll hold you over" before disappearing again, leaving you trembling.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He lives for the thrill. Gojo will absolutely finger you under the table or pull you into a hidden hallway to fuck you. Public teasing? Constant. He wants to get caught, just to see you bite your lip trying to stay quiet.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Insane. He can go for hours, back to back. Three, four rounds minimum. He doesn’t stop until you’re crying from overstimulation, legs shaking, brain fogged—and even then, he’ll ask, “One more?”

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns a small collection—vibrators, plugs, even a remote-controlled toy he loves using on you in public. He’ll watch you squirm, completely innocent on the outside, while you beg for mercy in his ear.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s the king of teasing. Gojo will edge you until you’re sobbing, fingers deep but refusing to let you cum until you beg properly. He whispers the filthiest things, licks you until you're right there—then stops, smirking. Pure evil.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud. Moaning, groaning, breathy curses—Gojo lets it all out. He wants you to hear how good you’re making him feel. And he’ll talk through it, too: filthy praise, cocky comments, and shameless begging for more.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s into recording your sex tapes. Nothing fancy, just his phone propped up somewhere. He loves rewatching them when he’s alone, especially the ones where you’re on top, riding him like you own him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Off the charts. Gojo is needy. He craves sex often, but it’s not just physical—he needs to feel you, to connect through touch, skin, heat. When he wants you, it consumes him. He’ll drop everything for you. Every time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s clingy afterward. He won’t sleep unless you’re curled up on his chest or spooning you tightly. He hums soft little sounds, kisses your shoulder, and whispers dumb shit until he finally passes out with a stupid smile on his face.

Did someone ask for another one?! 🤭 Give me suggestions for who should be next. Here’s Nanami’s version

©mahgyu | I do not allow adaptations, translations, or copies of my work.

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cameronsbabydoll · 4 months ago

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NSFW ALPHABET — BLUE COLLAR RAFE CAMERON

A — Aftercare ⟢ Rafe isn’t the most openly affectionate guy, but after sex, he’s all about making sure you’re okay—even if it’s in his own gruff way. He’ll pull you against his chest, rub a rough hand down your back, maybe even murmur a low, “You good, baby?” If he really wore you out, he’ll force himself to get up and grab you water, even if he groans about it. He likes seeing you fucked-out and satisfied, though, so don’t expect him to leave you alone too long—he’ll be running his hands over your body again in no time.

B — Body part ⟢ On himself? His arms. He knows he’s strong, and he loves how easily he can manhandle you with them. On you? Your thighs. Whether they’re wrapped around his waist, shaking beneath his touch, or pressed tight together while you try to act all innocent—he’s obsessed. Loves to squeeze them, grab them, spread them apart. If you’re wearing shorts? Good luck.

C — Cum ⟢ He’s messy, and he likes it that way. Loves to see you covered in it, whether it’s dripping between your legs or smeared on your stomach after he’s pulled out. If he finishes in your mouth, he’s watching, making sure you swallow—or else. But his favorite? Pumping you full and keeping you there, too big and heavy for you to squirm away.

D — Dirty secret ⟢ He’s thought about bending you over at the construction site more times than he’d ever admit. Even in broad daylight, even with his crew around. The idea of fucking you somewhere risky, where he could get caught with his pants down (literally), is a fantasy that plagues him. And yeah, he’s stolen a pair of your panties before. Just once. Maybe twice.

E — Experience ⟢ He’s been around, no doubt about it. He’s had his fair share of flings, girls drawn in by his rough hands and cocky smirk, but none of them mattered until you. He knows what he’s doing—he knows exactly how to touch you, exactly how to pull sounds from you that no one else ever has. And if there’s anything he doesn’t know? He’ll learn. Fast.

F — Favorite position ⟢ Anything that gives him control. He loves bending you over, watching his cock disappear inside you as he grips your hips. But if he really wants to ruin you? Missionary, so he can see your face, watch every little reaction as he stretches you out. And he definitely loves having you ride him—nothing gets him off faster than watching you struggle to take him.

G — Goofy ⟢ He’s not goofy, but he is cocky. Smirks when you whimper, teases you when you get all shy. If you accidentally moan too loud? “Damn, baby. Didn’t know you liked it that much.” But the second you try to turn it back on him, acting all sweet and playful? He’s flipping you over and showing you who’s really in charge.

H — Hair ⟢ He’s not meticulously groomed, but he keeps it in check. A little bit of hair, nothing crazy. As for you? He doesn’t care, as long as he’s got full access to you. And if he notices you cleaned up for him? That cocky smirk comes out in full force. “Went all pretty for me, huh?”

I — Intimacy ⟢ He’s more intense than romantic. He shows his affection through possession—gripping your jaw, pressing his forehead against yours, growling low praises when you take him so well. It’s rough, needy, overwhelming. But there are moments, quiet moments, when he softens. Like when he kisses your temple after, or holds you just a little tighter than necessary.

J — Jack off ⟢ He tries not to. He really does. But sometimes he’s stuck on a long job, or you’re teasing him without even knowing it, and he has to take care of it. Usually in the shower, thinking about you—about your body, your moans, the way you whimper his name when you’re close. If he’s desperate? He’ll use your panties.

K — Kink ⟢ Possession. Rafe is territorial as hell. Loves marking you—hickeys, bruises, his cum dripping from between your thighs. Also has a major thing for power imbalance. He’s older, stronger, more experienced—and he loves reminding you of it. Loves when you get all flustered, playing the innocent little thing while he ruins you.

L — Location ⟢ Anywhere he can get away with it. The truck is a favorite—he’ll pull you into the backseat without a second thought.

M — Motivation ⟢ You, obviously. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing—looking too good in your work clothes, biting your lip without realizing, laughing in a way that makes his stomach tighten. The second you get a little shy, a little flustered? It’s over for you.

N — No ⟢ He’s not into anything that makes you uncomfortable. Won’t share, won’t degrade you in a way that actually hurts. He likes you a little embarrassed, a little helpless under him, but he’s never truly cruel.

O — Oral ⟢ Loves giving. Could spend hours between your thighs, lapping you up until you’re too sensitive to handle it. But he’s greedy, too—loves watching you on your knees, pretty lips wrapped around him. And if you look up at him? He’s gone.

P — Pace ⟢ Usually fast and rough, but he knows when to take his time. If he really wants to make you beg? Slow, deep, agonizing.

Q — Quickie ⟢ Loves them. He’ll pull you into a supply closet, the back of his truck, his own construction site, anywhere he can take the edge off.

R — Risk ⟢ High. He gets off on knowing someone could catch you. Even if he’d kill anyone who tried.

S — Stamina ⟢ Insane. Blue-collar work keeps him strong, and he can go for multiple rounds without breaking a sweat.

T — Toys ⟢ Doesn’t need them. He’s enough. But if you want to try something? He’ll allow it. As long as he’s in control.

U — Unfair ⟢ Loves teasing. Runs his hands over you, pulls away when you try to grind against him. “Patience, baby.”

V — Volume ⟢ Low, deep grunts. Filthy praises. A little growl when he’s close. If you’re loud? He loves it.

W — Wild card ⟢ He has, at some point, stolen your underwear just to keep in his truck. For reasons.

X — X-ray ⟢ Big. Thick, a little curved, and he knows how to use it.

Y — Yearning ⟢ Insatiable. He wants you constantly. If he had his way, he’d keep you in bed all day.

Z — Zzz ⟢ Falls asleep eventually. But only after making sure you’re completely spent, totally satisfied, and pressed up against his chest.

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queers-gambit · 2 years ago

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Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

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