#and like it's the same question and answer every time

[gukcnt]

TEDDY & SECRETS ⭒ JJK

in which you discover your shy coworker jungkook, has been leaving teddy bears and plushies with questionable notes on your doorstep to confess his secret crush for you

pairing — secret admirer!jungkook x coworker!femreader

genre — workplace au, friends to lovers, mystery elements, slice of life, romantic comedy, lots of fluff

warnings/tags — shy!jungkook, cozy vibes, teddy bear obession, slowburn, confrontation, adorable gestures, romantic notes, nervous confession, stalker vibes turned sweet, happy ending, no warnings because it's literally the cutest shit bfr

wc — 1.1k

a/n — I decided to write this short oneshot quickly because I was craving some fluff, and I haven’t had the urge to write in weeks TT but I hope y'all love this one! <3

m. list

────🧸────

You’ve always adored teddy bears ever since you were a kid.

Their soft squishy forms always brought you comfort in a way that you couldn’t deny.

They were like your silent friends.

A safe place.

Your apartment was the proof of this obsession—lined with bears and plushies of every size, from a mini one to a massive teddy that takes up half your couch.

At work, you’ve mentioned it during a random talk, gushing about a new bear arrival that you’ve seen at the market.

Apparently someone was listening.

For the past two weeks a new teddy bear has appeared at your doorstep every morning.

Each one unique.

Fluffy pastel ones, simple brown ones, and now you had bears of all unique colors and designs.

The one that stuck out the most

Was the pink polka dotted teddy with a bow tie.

And for some reason it was exactly the one you’ve been eyeing in the market, which confirms that it was someone from your work.

Each teddy came with a note tucked into their paws.

The handwriting was shaky and uneven, almost like the writer's hands trembled while writing.

“You light up my dark” — the first one said.

“I’m closer than you think” — another one.

The one you received yesterday felt like a soft plea.

Like the person sending these was facing a desperation, a need.

“Please notice me”

At first you thought it was a silly prank, maybe a friend teasing you for your love for plushies.

But all your friends denied it and your neighbors—an old couple—obviously weren’t the type to do such things.

The mystery was charming.

A little creepy, yes.

But each bear was tugging at your heart at the same time.

Endearing in some way but making you curious.

Tonight, you're done wondering.

You set an alarm for 3 am, determined to catch the culprit.

You stand by the window, coffee in hand as your eyes scan the quiet street.

The moonlight was the only source of light, your heart racing with anticipation.

After a few minutes or so you see a hooded figure approaching your door with careful steps, and they hold a small teddy bear.

A brown choco colored one with a tiny red bow.

He kneels to place it on your doorstep.

You don’t hesitate and rush to your door, flinging it open.

“Hey!” you shout.

The figure stumbles, and before you could react, he starts running away but you’re quicker, not caring about your bare feet.

You grab hold of his sleeve.

“Who are you? why are you doing this?”

The hood falls, revealing a familiar face—jeon jungkook, your quiet coworker with a shy smile and doe eyes that always seem to find you.

His cheeks are flushed, breaths shaky and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Almost like he got caught stealing

“jungkook?” you gasp.

“You’re the teddy bear guy?”

He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… yeah, I—I’m sorry,” he stutters.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

You release his sleeve, stepping back as you cross your arms over your chest.

“What’s with these bears?”

jungkook fidgets, staring at his sneakers like they hold his answers.

“You mentioned it at work. A lot, actually and I thought you’d like them, so I wanted to do something special—“

“But I couldn’t just… approach you.”

Your mind flashes to those coffee break chats and your rants about teddies.

You imagine he’d listened sitting somewhere far.

Nodding quietly, his shy grin hiding how much your words had taken to his heart, valuing your wishes like they were the most precious thing.

“Why didn’t you just… talk to me?” you ask

“I tried talking, I mean. But every time I got near you… I—I don’t know.”

“You’re so…”

He trails off, then mumbles quietly.

“You’re you. And I’m just me.”

Your heart flutters strangely.

jungkook’s always been sweet at work—bringing you coffee when you’re too busy to look after yourself.

Laughing at your dumb jokes.

You never thought much of it, but now looking at his nervous gaze

It clicks.

The notes are starting to make sense.

“The notes,” you say, softly.

“They were about me?”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Doe eyes glassy.

“I’ve liked you—uhm—for a long while actually, and I thought the bears might be… romantic? but then I realized it was probably weird, I didn’t know how to stop without explaining and—“

He rambles and cuts himself off.

He exhales sharply, heart pounding out of his chest.

“I’m an idiot for doing this stupidity.”

You glance at your doorstep, where the brown bear sits, a note in its paw like always.

You pick it up, unfolding the paper.

“I’m scared, but I love you”

Your breath catches, lips parting as jungkook watches you now like he’s waiting for rejection.

You clutch the bear to your chest, heart skipping a beat.

The softness of the bear grounding you just like previous ones given by him.

“jungkook, this isn’t stupid.” you whisper.

A smile on your lips.

“It’s… adorable. Scary at first yes, but adorable.”

“You picked bears because of me?”

He nods.

“I thought they’d make you smile and you always light up when you talk about them.”

“You’re not mad?”

He asked, restless.

His eyes still wide with uncertainty, the fear of rejection still there.

You can't help it—you laugh, shaking your head.

“Oh god, you’re just ridiculous you know that? but I love them, every single one.”

You pause, meeting his gaze.

“And I think maybe… the guy leaving them, too.”

“Really?”

Hope in his voice, along with a slight tremble.

“Really.” you grin.

“Next time, maybe just ask me out instead of leaving stuffed animals in the dark like a little stalker.”

He laughs, a nervous yet joyful sound.

The sound warming you despite standing outside in the cold night air.

“So coffee tomorrow?”

You hum, looking at him while pretending to consider, enjoying teasing him and watching him squirm.

“Is that a yes…?”

His smile fades slightly.

“Depends. Only if you promise to keep leaving me bears.”

jungkook chuckles, the tension calming.

“Sure, but if I bring a bear for every date, you’ll need more space. Think you can handle my teddy bear game?”

His tone now cheeky, his smile bright.

“Bring it on, teddy guy.”

You both share a giggle, and you wonder why you didn’t notice him sooner.

As you invite him inside to escape the cold, you glance at the bear in your arms that you are hugging to yourself even tighter.

And the fluff in your arms feels like the start of something.

A promise

For the future.

────

💌 permanent taglist: @chaelvrx @wintaemoonjen @slutology00 @furioustrashlover @kelsyx33 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @minewlove @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lachesismoonmist @angelfuzzy2 @levisnumber1 @angelsdecalcomania @magicalnachocreator @hynjamkook @koodollylvr @withmuchluv-tannie @istarag @elmarimochi9513 @wtfanu @kooklv @endlesslysassy @nanisblogg @tatamicc @mokaliciouss @armybomb-infires @jiniminisworld @seokjinthescientist @gyeomibearr @xmiaacxio @n0chuprettykook @gizaspicebag @aaclariww @dollytingz @pokalunolino @bunnies-only @cuntygguk

[inseobts]

When the Sea Gives You Tangerines

shanks x fem!reader

after years spent loving each other you have many stories to tell to the strawhats.

words count: 2.2k

a/n: I got inspired by the kdrama When Life Gives You Tangerines, I just hope it didn't come out too cringy honestly...

tags: childhood friends, storytelling, bickering, comfort, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The fire’s warm. The moon hangs heavy above the ship.

Luffy leans back, arms behind his head, grinning “So, how’d you two end up together anyway?”

You blink “Us?”

Shanks smirks, sitting beside you on a crate “You wanna tell it, or should I?”

“Like hell I’m letting you tell it.” you mutter.

Nami leans in, curious. Sanji pours wine for Robin. Zoro pretends he’s not listening. Even Usopp’s wide-eyed. They’ve heard of Shanks the Yonko, but they never thought they’d hear him laughing like this.

You sigh “It started when we were kids.”

“She hated me.” Shanks says.

You shoot him a look “I ignored you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“She’d walk past me every day like I was just a chair.”

“You sat like one. On the dock. All day.”

“I was watching the sea! I was thoughtful.”

“You were stupid.”

Shanks grins at the crew “See? True love.”

They laugh. You roll your eyes.

You look down at your hands “We were kids in the same village. I liked books. He liked trouble.”

“She liked pretending she didn’t care.” he adds.

“I didn’t.”

“You still don’t.” he teases.

Your voice softens “He followed me everywhere.”

Shanks turns to the crew “Everywhere.”

You smack his arm “Stop making it weird.”

He grins “I’m just saying. If she climbed a tree, I climbed it. If she stole an apple, I stole two.”

“And got caught.”

“I let them catch me so that they wouldn't catch you.”

You scoff “You cried.”

“I was seven!”

Everyone laughs again, but this time it fades slower.

You rest your chin on your hand “We grew up. He left first. Said the sea was calling. I said ‘Good. Don’t come back’.”

“But I did.” he says. Quiet now.

“You always did.” you say.

There’s a pause. The kind that only happens when people are listening too hard.

Nami’s voice breaks the silence “But when did you fall in love?”

You look at Shanks. He’s already looking at you.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe when he stopped being an idiot.”

“So never.” Luffy says.

Shanks chuckles “I knew before she did. I was always waiting.”

You swallow. Your voice is barely a whisper “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Luffy asks.

“Because he was everything I didn’t want to need.”

Shanks leans back, watching the fire “And I was just waiting for her to look at me the way I looked at her.”

Zoro snorts “That’s depressing.”

Robin smiles “It’s real.”

You toss a tangerine at Shanks. He catches it, grinning.

“You’re still annoying.” you say.

“And you still love me.” he says.

You don’t answer but you don’t deny it, either.

You throw another tangerine at Luffy. He dodges it, laughing with his mouth wide open.

“Why are you asking so many questions, huh?” you say, pointing at him “You’ve heard this story a million times.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning “Because I love it!”

You squint at him “You didn’t even listen the first hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I remember all of it now,” he says “When I was a kid, I used to look up at Shanks like he was the sun. Strong. Loud. Impossible.”

Shanks rubs the back of his neck “Don’t make me sound too cool.”

“But when he was with you,” Luffy continues, softer now, “or talking about you… he changed.”

You blink. The fire crackles again.

“It was like you were his captain.” Luffy says.

Everyone goes quiet. Zoro pauses mid-drink. Nami watches you closely. Robin’s smile grows just a little.

Shanks doesn’t look at you. Not yet.

Luffy’s voice drops “And that always made me feel like… maybe the Shanks everyone fears... wasn’t that scary after all.”

Shanks finally glances at you. There’s no teasing in his eyes now.

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s true. All those years he was off sailing, getting stronger, louder, more famous... he’d write to you like nothing had changed. Like he was still that barefoot boy chasing after you in the mud.

You hated those letters. You kept every single one.

“He never stops talking about you.” Luffy adds.

Shanks groans “Luffy—”

“No, really! He’d be telling us about a fight or a treasure, and then... bam ‘That reminds me of her’ or, ‘She would’ve laughed at that’ or—”

“Luffy!” Shanks throws a cork at his head.

You hide a smile behind your hand.

“So,” Sanji says, leaning forward, “who confessed first?”

You and Shanks speak at the same time:

“He did.”

“She did.”

The crew erupts.

“What?!”

“Liar!”

You point at him “You kissed me first. And you were obvious since you were 6.”

“Yeah, but you said it first.” he counters.

“Only because you were dying.”

“I wasn’t dying!”

“You had a spear in your shoulder!”

“A tiny spear.”

“You fainted.”

“I was tired!”

Nami shakes her head “You two are a mess.”

Robin sips her wine “A beautiful mess.”

Luffy lies back on the deck, hands behind his head again “I just knew you two would end up like this.”

“You weren't even there... But yeah,” you say quietly as you look at Shanks, and he’s already watching you “I think deep down… I always knew too.”

“So you didn’t join Shanks on the sea from the start?” Usopp asks, still wide-eyed like he’s listening to a bedtime story.

You snort “No. I didn’t want to.”

“She followed me anyway.” Shanks says, puffing his chest like a proud idiot.

You roll your eyes “I studied. For years. Maps. Languages. History. Ship mechanics. All of it. I worked harder than anyone.”

Robin tilts her head “So you could sail?”

You pause “So I could stand next to him without being a burden.”

Shanks turns to you, slower now, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment “You never told me that.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve “Yeah, well. You never shut up long enough to hear it.”

The crew laughs, but it’s gentler now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, turning back to Luffy “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was your mom and Shanks used to make fun of me.”

“What?” Luffy blinks.“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did,” you say “You followed me around, asked if I had snacks, and called me ‘Miss Cool Pirate Lady’ for three days.”

Shanks throws his head back, laughing “I remember that!”

“You sat in the corner and drew me with a sword,” you add “And then said I was cooler than Shanks. And you called me mom by mistakes multiple times.”

“I WAS FIVE!” Luffy yells, red in the face now.

You smirk “Still true though.”

Shanks puts a hand over his heart “He used to blush like crazy everytime he realised he called you mom.”

There’s a quiet moment as the waves lap softly against the ship.

“Going back to that question... I didn’t plan to go to sea at first,” you admit “I wanted a small, quiet life.”

Shanks smiles, listening.

“But then he left,” you say, eyes on the stars “And I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d die without me.”

“That’s romantic,” Sanji says, dreamily.

“No,” you shake your head “That’s just the truth.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Shanks says softly.

“No,” you nod “You didn’t have to.”

You turn back to the Straw Hats “I joined the crew two years after he left. I showed up with a packed bag and told Benn, ‘Don’t make a big deal’.”

“And I immediately made a big deal.” Shanks grins.

“You tripped running down the dock.”

“I was moved, okay?”

“You fell into a crate of bananas.”

“It was an emotional day!”

Everyone’s laughing again. The air is full of warmth now, wine and fire and stories wrapped around the mast like wind.

Luffy lies on the floor of the Sunny, staring up at the sails “You two were the first people I ever saw who felt like family.”

You go still.

He says it so easily, like it’s always been true.

“I didn’t understand it then,” Luffy goes on, “but… when you were together, it felt safe. Not boring. Just… safe. Like home.”

You glance at Shanks. He’s not smiling now, not in the big, cocky way. This one’s smaller. Quieter. Like he can barely hold it.

“I guess I raised two idiots” you mutter, wiping your nose.

“You did,” Shanks says “And somehow, we both turned out okay.”

“Debatable.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours “Speak for yourself. I’m perfect.”

“You’re loud.”

“You love it.”

You don’t answer.

You just lean into him, just enough.

Luffy’s snoring now. Flat on his back, mouth open, arms spread like he owns the whole ship.

You nudge him with your toe. Nothing. Just louder snoring.

“I guess storytime’s over.” you say, standing and brushing off your pants.

Shanks stretches, groaning a little too dramatically “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, already turning to leave “Let’s let the kids sleep.”

“Wait—WAIT.” Nami’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You freeze “What?”

“You’re not leaving yet,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips “You haven’t told us the best part.”

You sigh “Oh no.”

“How did he propose?” she grins.

“Oh no...” you repeat.

Usopp leans forward “Did he cry?”

Sanji fans himself “Was it romantic?”

Chopper is bouncing now “Did you say yes right away?!”

Franky still crying over your romantic stories.

Robin smiles “You must share. We’re invested now.”

You turn slowly toward Shanks.

He looks like a man standing in front of a cannon.

“We were supposed to not to tell anyone” you whisper.

He grins sheepishly “I didn’t!… Yet.”

You groan into your hands “You’re a menace.”

“But a charming menace.” he adds, winking.

“Don’t wink at me. I’m still mad.”

You face the crew with a deep sigh.

“Fine,” you say “But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Yes it was!” Shanks says.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I tried to make it romantic.”

“You proposed during a storm.”

“It was dramatic!”

“We were sinking.”

“That’s memorable!”

Robin’s eyes sparkle “Please continue.”

You sit back down, crossing your arms “Okay. So. We’re in the middle of this horrible storm, waves taller than the ship. I’m tying down barrels, he’s yelling commands, the usual chaos.”

“And she looks amazing.” Shanks adds.

“Drenched.” You glare at him “Hair stuck to my face, one boot missing, and I’m yelling at the crew.”

“Very commanding... and sexy...” he says dreamily.

“And then,” you continue, ignoring him, “this idiot climbs the main mast with a ring in his mouth.”

Gasps around the fire.

“You didn’t...” Nami whispers.

“I did.” Shanks says proudly.

“And he screams... screams ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?!’ while lightning is literally striking the ocean behind him.”

“You said yes.” he grins.

“I said, ‘GET DOWN BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU LUNATIC!’”

Robin is laughing quietly now. Chopper is wide-eyed. Usopp is trying not to cry while Franky is bawling.

Sanji puts a hand on his heart “That’s the most pirate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro raises a brow “So when did you actually say yes?”

You sigh “Two days later. Calm seas. Clear skies. I was brushing my hair.”

“She just looks at me and goes, ‘I guess I’m stuck with you now’.”

“And then I threw the ring at him.” you say.

“You missed.”

“I aimed for your face.”

Everyone laughs again. The fire’s burning lower now, but no one wants to move.

Shanks wraps an arm around your shoulders, casual. Warm.

“And you still married me.” he says.

You glance up at him.

“You forgot the ring at the wedding.”

“It was in my other coat!”

“You don’t have another coat.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you’re smiling now. Soft. Quiet. Real.

“He’s a disaster.” you say.

“She’s the reason I survive it.”

The fire’s nothing but glowing coals now.

Luffy’s curled up like a kid. Most of the Straw Hats are asleep, heads resting on arms, backs against barrels, dreams thick in the night air.

You and Shanks sit side by side, knees almost touching.

He’s quiet now. Not laughing. Just watching the waves.

You look out too.

Then he says, softly, “You never really wanted this life.”

You don’t look at him “I didn’t.”

“You wanted quiet.”

You nod “I wanted peace. Soft mornings.”

“And you got storms. Blood. Chaos.”

You smile, just a little “And you.”

He swallows “Sorry.”

You shake your head “Don’t be. I said yes.”

Shanks looks at you “Even after everything?”

You finally meet his eyes “Especially after everything.”

The ship rocks gently.

“You know,” you whisper, “when we were young, I thought you were the kind of boy who would burn the world just to see what was under it.”

“I was.” he says.

“And I thought I’d spend my life trying to stop you.”

He smiles faintly “Did you?”

“No,” you say “I ended up helping you light the match.”

You both laugh, soft and low.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a candy.

Shanks raises an eyebrow “You still carry those?”

“I always do, they're my favourite.” you say. You hand it to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into you, warm and steady.

And in the quiet, in the dark, with the sea all around you and stars blinking like old friends overhead, you think:

No, I didn’t get the life I planned. But I got the one I chose.

And more importantly, I got him.

[paxaz535]

keep talking - pazzi

slow-burn, intimate, voice kink, emotional tension, and then soft smut.

—

paige had been restless all night.

it wasn’t the kind of restless that came from too much caffeine or leftover adrenaline from practice — this was something heavier. needier. a kind of tightness in her chest that made the sheets feel too cold and her apartment too big.

she’d tried everything — music, reading, stretching. nothing helped.

so she did what she always did when her body wouldn’t settle: she reached for azzi.

it started with a simple text.

you up?

the reply came almost instantly.

yeah. you okay?

that part made paige pause. azzi always asked that. even when it was late. even when it was clear the answer was “no.” she didn’t pry — she just asked.

call me?

the phone lit up before she could even put it down.

“hey,” azzi said, her voice low and soft like it had just crawled out from under a blanket. “what’s goin on?”

“i dunno,” paige admitted, curling onto her side. “couldn’t sleep.”

“me neither.” azzi’s voice had a little smile tucked in it. “maybe we’re just wired from practice.”

maybe. or maybe it was the way azzi said her r’s with that little rasp. or the way she always sounded so calm even when she wasn’t.

paige didn’t know when her voice had started doing this to her — making her feel warm and tight in places that had nothing to do with emotion. she just knew it was happening. again.

they talked for a while. about nothing and everything.

azzi told her a story about some teammate drama from last year that paige had never heard — a hilarious retelling of a fight over a stolen pair of socks and an awkward group dinner that followed.

paige laughed, genuinely, and loved how azzi did all the voices, even adding dramatic pauses for effect.

“—and then, bro,” azzi said, “she threw the breadstick at her. like deadass. flung it across the table.”

paige giggled, but her hand was already sneaking lower, slipping under the hem of the oversized t-shirt she’d thrown on after her shower. azzi’s voice had settled deep into her body now — not just something to listen to, but something she felt.

her thighs pressed together. a light squeeze. a shift of her hips.

“you’re not even laughing anymore,” azzi said after a beat. “did i lose you?”

“no, i’m—” paige cleared her throat. “i’m here. just… tired.”

azzi softened. “you wanna hang up and sleep?”

“no!” paige said quickly. “just… stay. talk more.”

azzi chuckled lightly. “you like my voice that much?”

god, yes.

but she just hummed, drawing a slow breath in through her nose.

“what should i talk about then?”

“doesn’t matter,” paige whispered. “just keep talking.”

azzi didn’t question it. didn’t push.

she launched into another story — this one about her mom calling her and listing every single thing she saw at the farmer’s market even though azzi wasn’t even in the same state.

paige listened, only half-hearing it. her eyes were closed now. her fingers moved slow under the waistband of her shorts, feather-light, just enough to chase that pressure that’d been building.

“—and then she goes, ‘azzi, they have homemade mustard, can you believe that?’ and i’m like, ‘yeah, mom, i’m literally in the middle of a workout right now.’”

paige let out a shaky breath.

it was so quiet she didn’t think azzi would hear it.

but she did.

“you good?”

“mhm,” paige said quickly, a little too breathy. “yeah. keep going.”

azzi hesitated this time. her voice dropped an inch.

“…you sure?”

paige swallowed. her hand stilled. she didn’t want her to stop talking. god, that would be worse than getting caught.

“m’fine,” she said, a little raspier now. “just tired. swear.”

azzi accepted it. or maybe she didn’t — but she let it go.

“okay,” she said gently. “then close your eyes and just listen, alright?”

and god. that tone.

that tone broke her.

paige whimpered — quiet, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

azzi stopped again.

“…paige?”

paige’s breath caught in her throat.

azzi was quiet for a few seconds. and then — her voice changed completely. lower. firmer.

“…wait.”

“are you—?”

paige didn’t answer.

that was the answer.

“you called me just to hear my voice while you…” azzi trailed off, a tiny laugh in the back of her throat. “jesus, p.”

paige bit her lip. she should’ve felt embarrassed, but her whole body was lit up — her skin was hot, her core pulsing. she wanted azzi to stay on the phone more than she wanted to breathe.

“i wasn’t gonna,” she said softly. “it just… happened. you sound too good.”

azzi exhaled into the phone. “fuck.”

there was a long pause.

“you still touching yourself?”

paige nodded even though she didn’t answer out loud.

“…good.”

the command in azzi’s voice made her whole body tense.

“put me on speaker.”

she did.

“spread your legs for me, baby.”

paige obeyed.

“now go slow. i wanna hear it this time.”

paige’s hand was already back between her legs before azzi even finished the sentence.

she was soaked now. breath coming out in soft, quick puffs. the sheets twisted beneath her as she adjusted, putting the phone on speaker and resting it beside her ear.

“good girl,” azzi said, and her voice was different now — thicker, rougher. still calm, still her, but drenched in something heavier.

“you’re such a mess, aren’t you?”

“you couldn’t even make it through a stupid story without getting needy.”

paige whimpered. her fingers rubbed slow circles, and she could already feel the edge close. embarrassingly close.

“is it my voice that does that to you?” azzi asked. “gets you all worked up like this?”

“yes,” paige whispered, barely able to speak. “god, yes…”

azzi hummed, pleased. “then let me give you something worth coming to.”

paige let out a shaky breath.

“slide your hand under,” azzi instructed. “middle finger. slow circles. soft. i want you to feel everything.”

paige obeyed, her hips arching into her own touch. the friction made her gasp.

“mhm. like that,” azzi encouraged. “don’t rush. we’re not doing that fast, messy shit right now. you’re gonna listen.”

paige swallowed, trying to hold it together.

“i wish i was there,” azzi went on, voice like velvet. “i’d pin your legs open and talk you through it. make you look me in the eye the whole time. no hiding. no squirming. just you — dripping wet, begging me to keep talking.”

paige’s moan was soft but desperate. she was close. too close.

“not yet,” azzi said, like she could hear it in her breath. “slow down.”

“z…” paige begged. “please—”

“i said slow.”

paige whined. her body was tense. her stomach fluttered. she was straddling the edge and aching for release.

“now,” azzi said softly, “tell me what it feels like.”

paige blinked hard, eyes fluttering closed. “warm. tight. so—so much…”

“you wanna come?”

“so bad,” paige whimpered. “please, z, i can’t—”

“then listen to my voice,” azzi said, dipping into a growl. “and don’t stop until i say so.”

paige’s whole body trembled.

“rub faster now. just a little. yeah, right there. you’re so close for me, aren’t you?”

���yes—fuck, yes—”

“god, i can’t wait to see you like this in person. hear the real thing.”

“you’re gonna come so hard for me, baby.”

and that was it.

paige’s body tensed, her breath catching, and she came with a sharp cry, biting her lip to keep from being too loud — the sound of azzi’s voice still pouring through the speaker like a command in her bloodstream.

after, the room was quiet — the kind of quiet that felt safe. still. warm.

paige was panting softly, fingers still resting against herself, her chest rising and falling in slow, grateful waves.

“you good?” azzi asked, voice lighter now, but still tender. “need water?”

paige laughed weakly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re the one who called me to get off to my voice.”

“…you’re not mad?”

“mad?” azzi scoffed. “paige, that was the hottest shit i’ve ever heard.”

paige smiled, flushed and content. “can we fall asleep on the phone now?”

azzi chuckled. “yeah, baby. i got you.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Talia walked over to Jason, who was playing with toddler Damian. Damian was happily stacking blocks into a perfectly symmetrical tower while Jason built with Legos nearby.

Talia (worried): You told him?

Jason (frustrated, but keeping his voice steady): For the hundredth time this year, I haven’t told him!

Talia: Alright good, and you haven't told any of his “sons” either?

She added quotes around sons, as she saw Damian as his only true heir. Jason rolled his eyes. Damian continued stacking blocks silently.

Jason (annoyed): No. Don’t put quotes around “sons.” He actually likes those idiots.

Talia: So you say, but when he finds out about our son, that’s when he’ll rid himself of those stupid, insignificant Robins. Every last one of them was weak, pathetic—

Jason coughed, glaring at the woman to remind Talia that he was also a Robin. She rolled her eyes, shifting her hip to the side.

Talia: You obviously aren’t included when I criticize them. Anyway, I’m glad you’re being smart and keeping his little brother a secret. I’m working on how to tell B. Damian is still a baby, which gives us plenty of time.

Jason (disbelieving): Talia... He’s three.

Talia: No, he’s at least one.

Jason glanced at the obviously growing toddler and picked him up by his hips to lift him closer for Talia to see.

Jason (bouncing Damian for emphasis): He’s three. We met him three years ago when he was a baby. His birthday was three months ago!

Damian (repeating): Three!

Jason: He’s been learning new words.

Talia: Oh... I thought he was just an intelligent baby. Well, he is, since he shares my genes. Took him a while to speak, is that normal?

Jason: I’m not sure, but thankfully he hasn’t been fully corrupted by you and your father. He’s cute and bouncy too.

Jason held Damian up and gently bounced him, making the toddler rattle to play along.

Jason: One more time, are you sure he’s—

Talia (interrupting): For the thousandth time, he’s my baby that I gave birth to! I pay you to babysit, not question the DNA of my star.

Jason: Are you going to kill me if I don’t stop?

Talia (glaring at Jason): ...You know the answer.

Jason: You won't, that's what I thought. Anyway, I’m going to spend time with my baby brother. I don’t need your negative influence around him.

Talia: Himar ghabi. You’re lucky he likes you, and I tolerate you. Just don’t fill his head with lies about me.

Talia left, closing the door to the playroom behind her. Jason set Damian down on the floor, sighing exhaustedly.

Jason: How am I the positive influence on this kid?

Damian (patting his brother’s leg eagerly): Ah, ah!

Jason: What is— Oh, you made this tower?

Damian nodded proudly, showing off a neatly built house made from the same colored blocks. The little toddler grinned at his handiwork.

Damian: Nice?

Jason: Nice job, kid. Here’s a Starburst.

He pulled a couple of fruit chew candies from his pocket, unwrapped an orange one, and handed it to Damian. The toddler happily chewed the candy. While Damian enjoyed the candy, Jason jotted some notes in his journal.

Jason (internally): Three years old and Bruce has no idea he exists. I’m getting paid to take care of him, and he’s a cute little brat. Talia continues to frustrate me, but this kid makes it all worth it. She’ll probably tell Bruce when Damian starts elementary school, and if she doesn’t, I will — I don’t trust either of them to be good teachers.

Damian (holding a Dr. Seuss book): Read, please.

Jason (smiling as he took the book): “The Cat in the Hat”, good choice. Take a seat.

Damian plopped down on the ground, although he couldn't grasp the book’s absurdity, he enjoyed listening to Jason read them.

Arabic words used:

Himar ghabi - Stupid donkey.

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress | Part 2

Note: Work of fiction.

This is part two. Part one. I lowkey want to turn this into a whole series but thats just a commitment that I'm afraid my job wont give me time to do. So I'll stick to oneshots for now. __

“I get first shot,” Azzi said, flashing a grin full of challenge and charm as she strutted toward her spot near midcourt.

Paige didn’t argue. She just stepped aside, lips twitching with amusement as she watched Azzi settle in at the edge of the sideline logo. Azzi set her feet like she was lining up for a real game. Her shooting form was textbook perfection, even in a casual round of horse. The ball arced through the air with beautiful rotation and dropped through the basket - all net, no hesitation.

“Alright, your turn,” she said, casually stepping back with a smug glint in her eye.

Paige retrieved the ball, dribbled it twice and walked to the exact same spot. Her gaze locked in on Azzi the entire way. She didn’t break eye contact as she pulled up, raised the ball above her head and let it fly.

Azzi’s eyebrow lifted, “shot got better,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice, “guess rehab gave you time to fix that weird hitch in your release.”

Paige jogged after the ball and passed it back with a smirk, “jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, Az.”

Azzi caught it, already turning toward the wing, “I was hoping you’d miss,” she rolled her shoulders, “got some hard hitting questions I’ve been saving for years.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige followed, hands on her hips, “like what?”

“Well,” Azzi said with a shrug as she lined up a corner three, “you’d have to miss to find out.”

The ball left her hand in a high arc and dropped through the net again.

“I never miss,” Paige shot back, eyes narrowed playfully as she chased the ball down for her turn, “you, on the other hand, are looking real nervous.”

The game picked up intensity. Corner threes. No look bank shots. Over the backboard tosses. Behind the back layups. Both of them trying to outdo the other, digging deep into their bags like it was a championship skills challenge instead of a friendly shootaround. They were trash talking and laughing through the effort, but their focus was razor sharp. Neither was willing to give the other an inch.

The scoreboard of their silent game was stitch at zero.

Until Azzi paused near half court. She spun the ball in her hands, glanced once at Paige and squared up.

“Alright, lets see what you really got,” she said, and launched the ball.

It soared through the air in a perfect arc, Paige followed its path with wide eyes, heart thudding as it hit the glass then dropped through the net.

“Seriously?” She groaned.

Azzi just grinned.

Paige walked to the half court line, cradling the ball in her hands. She took a long breath, then dribbled once, bending her knees as she stared down the rim. The shot arced high, hanging in the air like it was deciding whether or not to give her grace. It clipped the front of the rim with a heavy bounce and veered sharply to the left. . 

Clang.

Azzi’s voice rang out, sickeningly sweet, “H.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s hear it. What is this hard hitting question you’ve been dying to ask?”

Azzi’s grin softened into something else entirely, something more careful. Paige recognized it, it was actually a look that she personally hated seeing on her. It meant Azzi was thinking too much, but then it changed again, her smile turned more honest. It had Paige feeling flustered, a slow heat crawling up her neck and to her cheeks. She looked away too fast, suddenly aware of how loud her heart felt in her chest.

Azzi stepped forward, closing the space between them like she had every right to. Her voice was quieter now, “Paige,” she said, treating the older girl’s name like a well kept secret, “how come you never asked me to come to UConn?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, “answer or you get O.”

“Look, it’s not like I didn’t want to. But you were so set on UCLA, you talked about it like it was the only place that made sense. I didn’t want to get in the way of your dream,” Paige paused, swallowing down the hesitation tightening her throat, “I wanted you here. I did. I still do.”

“You really didn’t think I’d drop everything just to spend the next four years playing next to you?”

“You shouldn’t have to,” came the reply and without thinking, her hand reached out and found the other’s, “that’s what I’m trying to say. Why would I ask you to be a shadow when you could be great on your own?”

Azzi laughed softly, gaze flicking down to their intertwined hands before drifting back up, “you’re thinking too highly of yourself again, Bueckers,” there was that smirk, “what if I came here to steal your spotlight?”

A breath caught in her throat.

“God,” she murmured, lips twitching into a slow grin, “that’d be so hot.”

That response earned her a shove, a gentle one but it was playful. Azzi scoffed and pushed away, retreating a few steps before snatching the ball back up, “come on,” she called over her shoulder, “it’s getting late and I still gotta beat your ass.”

“Confidence looks real good on you, Fudd,” came the reply, “kinda into it.”

“Kinda?” Azzi repeated, raising a brow as she walked back toward her next shot.

A shrug, then a jog forward. That dumb, happy smile was back. The same one that hadn’t left since the first shot of the night, “fine,” the blonde relented, “very into it.”

The game resumed, and with it, the air between them shifted back into one that was competitive, playful but still laced with something that hadn’t quite settled just yet. 

After that first question, the rest stayed easy. Safer. Azzi kept her tone casual, her questions framed in the comfort of familiarity. She asked for updates, the kind that sounded routine but between the two of them, it carried more weight than either of them let on.

O - “How’s your mom?”

“Still thinks I don’t eat enough.”

R - “The knee?”

“Better. Stronger. Rehab was rough but sitting on the sideline was harder. I just wanted to play, the court was so close yet it felt so far.”

They moved through those topics like old friends slipping back into rhythm, passing the ball between them as naturally as the conversation. But, then came one that landed a bit different. A little too pointed to be casual.

S - “Did you ever date anyone?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard, “what?”

Azzi turned like she hadn’t just dropped a question that reached back through years of distance and silence, “you know, in those two years we weren’t talking, anyone serious?”

There wasn’t a clear depiction of jealousy in her voice. No. But there was a trace of pure curiosity, it was vulnerable almost. Like Azzi didn’t actually want the answer, but needed it anyway. As if knowing wouldn’t hurt as much as a continuous wonder.

“No,” she said after a moment. Simple.

“Why?”

Paige looked up, a slow smirk forming on her lips as she cradled the ball in one hand, “that’s another question, Az,” she said, dribbling once, “you’re gonna have to wait your turn.”

She stepped back to the top of the key and rose into her shot, the kind she’d taken a million times in every gym from Minnesota to Storrs. Her form was clean. Shoulder square. Release smooth. But the ball hit the rim, rolled indecisively for a moment, then dropped off the side.

Miss.

It bounced twice on the hardwood before Azzi jogged over and scooped it up, still grinning.

“I’m gonna start thinking you’re missing on purpose,” she teased, making her way to the same spot Paige had just vacated. She took the shot as if it was second nature and the ball sailed through the net without even grazing the rim.

She turned, victorious, “there, another try.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, catching the rebound as it bounced back in her direction. She walked to the top of the key again, shoulder rolling back with ease as she prepped for the shot. Only, she didn’t take it. Instead, Paige let the ball roll off her fingertips.

“Ask me,” she said.

Azzi blinked, surprised but she stepped forward, eyes locked on Paige’s and asked again, gently this time:

“Why not?”

“I’d never wanted anyone else more than I wanted this girl who lived thousands of miles away,” she said, “someone I only ever saw once a year, but she lived in my head like she’d moved in, rearranged the furniture and left her sneakers at the door,” Azzi’s breath caught slightly as Paige stepped closer, hands finding their way to her hips with familiarity, “when we agreed to focus on our stuff, I thought I was doing the right thing. Choosing the grind, the game. The future. But the longer we stayed apart, the louder it got. The voice telling me there was something I wanted just as much, maybe more than basketball.”

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely audible now, “and what was that?”

Paige smiled, slow and shy, “yeah,” she murmured, brushing a thumb just above Azzi’s hipbone, “I wonder that too, Az.”

[douceurrrr]

“don’t touch me — unless you mean it.”

cw: swearing, sexual tension, explicit kissing, dry humping, emotional betrayal, black!reader, heavy making out, explicit touching, praise, emotional vulnerability

you didn’t cry when he walked back in with someone else.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t move. didn’t even blink.

instead, you sat on the daybed, legs crossed, fingers laced over your bare stomach like you didn’t just feel your world shatter in public. your edges were still laid. your lip gloss still shining. and even though your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, your face stayed solid. cold. unreadable.

nic looked unsure. that stupid cocky grin half-faded when his eyes met yours. like he didn’t expect you to be the one not folded. like he didn’t expect the same girl he cuddled every night to be sitting there, looking through him like he was furniture.

“you good?” he asked later, after the recoupling, when he pulled you for a chat. like that wasn’t the dumbest question on earth.

you laughed. no humor in it.

“you really gonna ask me that right now?” you tilted your head, one brow raised, medium long black acrylic tapping against your wine glass.

he sighed. ran a hand through his hair. “look, i didn’t know where your head was at. we weren’t closed off.”

you leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms under your chest, your villa robe sliding just enough to expose one perfect, glowing thigh. “nah. we weren’t. but you didn’t waste a damn second to start cuddling someone else like i never existed.”

he stepped forward like he wanted to touch you, but your glare froze him in place.

“don’t touch me — unless you mean it.”

you said it so soft, so deadly, it made his throat tighten.

—

later that night, everyone went to bed. but you couldn’t sleep.

you were laying on your back, bonnet on, facing the ceiling in the dark room filled with light snoring and muffled giggles from other beds. nic was in his own bed. you knew he was awake — you could feel his eyes.

you turned over, face to the wall.

he got up anyway.

slow steps. careful. like he knew he shouldn’t. like the whole villa might explode if he touched you again.

he knelt beside your bed. “can we talk?” he whispered.

you didn’t answer.

he sat beside you anyway. pulled the cover back. climbed in behind you without permission. bold.

you were about to snap until you felt his hand. slow on your waist. fingers tracing the curve of your hip like it was the first time again. his mouth was at your ear. low, broken.

“i fucked up.”

you closed your eyes. “no shit.”

he kissed your neck. soft. like he was apologizing with his mouth. your body tensed, but you didn’t move away.

“i kept thinking about you,” he whispered. “every night. i couldn’t sleep. even when she was there, it didn’t feel right. none of it did. i was waiting on you to walk through the door.”

you turned around slowly, eyes finally meeting his in the dark. his voice cracked.

“i missed your laugh. your lips. your skin. how you smell. fuck, baby—i missed you everywhere.”

his hand was now under your villa robe. slow. grazing your thigh. then your hip. then the back of your knee. your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop him.

“you really think you can just kiss me and fix it?” you asked, voice low.

he looked down at your mouth. his voice dropped even lower. “no. but i’m gonna kiss you anyway.”

and he did.

hard. like he was starving. like he didn’t care who saw. his hand gripped your thigh as he pressed his body into yours, pushing your back against the mattress. your leg wrapped around his waist on instinct.

you shouldn’t have let him. but god, the way he kissed you—like he was trying to put the broken pieces back together with his mouth.

your hips moved against him first. slow. grinding. testing.

he gasped into your mouth. “don’t stop.”

his lips moved to your neck. “you feel so fucking good.”

his hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your stomach, sliding up to your chest. you arched under him.

his other hand stayed planted firmly on your thigh, guiding your hips into his. you felt him—hard and thick against your core. only thin fabric between you.

you grabbed his curls. tugged.

he groaned low. “fuck, mama… i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you were biting your lip, eyes shut. “then show me.”

he rolled his hips. hard. again. again.

your nails clawed down his back, and he hissed.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

“you’re all i think about. all i want.”

you moaned into his mouth as his pace picked up, grinding into you like he needed to feel you through every layer of clothing. the room was quiet except for the soft creak of the bed and the muffled gasps you both shared.

his hands cupped your face, kisses messy and hot. “i want you. all of you. not her. not anyone else. just you.”

you whimpered as your hips met his over and over again, chasing the feeling neither of you wanted to admit had been building since day one.

and when you finally stopped, breathless and tangled in sheets, his hand smoothed down your bonnet and he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll spend the rest of this villa making it up to you,” he said.

and for the first time that night—you didn’t doubt him.

[tajmutthall]

" it’s a long, difficult process, and you can’t do it alone, and you might need medication and therapy".

I have been through this. (More than once.) Nothing more irritating than people telling me to just do [whatever]. And frustrating. Because, if I could do it, I would**. Anything. I had finally made it to the doctor's office because of excruciating nerve pain. The only thing to read was a brochure on the table. It was a checklist of symptoms. I realized that almost all of them applied to me, and the conclusion was: you might be depressed. Talk to your doctor immediately. Since I was there to see a doctor anyway, I mentioned it to them. They gave me a referral.

Even though I was the one who initiated it, I resented every minute of the first few sessions with the counselor. Like, I'm smart, I'm more than competent, I'm intelligent, and I don't want to answer your questions and I don't want to do the things you suggest.

surprisingly, when I finally got through that hurdle, I started to improve slowly, to the point where they were able to give me a prescription, which helped immensely. which led me to gradually awakening to the fact that I hadn't felt truly happy in years. That my energy had been flagging for a long time. In retrospect, I was so lucky to have those resources.

** but, yes, as I said having been through it more than once, it is true that doing anything is an achievement. Did you get out of bed today but you couldn't yesterday? Make yourself a checklist of "to do today "with one item: get out of bed. Check it off the list. You are awesome! Tomorrow, use the same checklist. Maybe in a day or so, add one more thing to the list. One thing that you can check off. Put on clothing. Feed the dog and put away the dog bowl afterwards. Step outside. Good luck to you all.

doing anything is hard when you’re depressed but sitting around in apathy ain’t gonna help. get the fuck up. seriously. do one thing. open the curtains. dust your monitor. throw away those leftovers in the fridge from last week. clean the bathroom sink. its an ocean of bullshit and you need to swim. break the cycle of misery and guilt and apathy so you can get better. its hard. do it anyway. recovery starts with breaking the cycle. baby steps, but steps.

[unluckilyimnot]

Question – sae x reader

Note: ok I had that in my draft for a while so here it is, small small os

m.list | rules

Sae was really talkative for once, not that he rarely talks around you – you literally live together – but it was still something that doesn't happen as often as you rather say. He just got on some new exercises and he felt the need to talk about it to his partner. Sweet.

Little did he know, you were focusing on something else at the moment, which happened to be another thing he doesn't do much : cooking without a shirt on. Like, you get that it's the middle of the summer, that it's really hot in Japan during this period and that cooking makes you even hotter. On another day, you could easily pass through it and listen to him mindlessly. Today wasn't one of them.

You were a little too busy scanning the way his muscles tense at each move, noticing new ones every once in a while and you kinda were fascinated by it. His waist was absent, lost –deserved a wanted poster – and it was such a shame, but you'd rather die than complain about your boyfriend's looks and body. He looked like he was carved in marble like the Greek did, like the lines of his face were drawn by some European painter. Your eyes lingered longer and longer, focusing either on his back muscles, the small details on the side of his face – the line his eyes followed rather than answering back. Your eyes got back to his back, noticing the small white mark on his lower back. You've never noticed that before.

He's not an idiot. Well, he kinda is, but not when you're the subject. If there is one thing he's as confident as in football, it's you – he knows you by heart can answer in a heartbeat to any of your needs. He knows you're the talkative one, so once he noticed your lack of answer he stole a glance behind him, finding you mesmerized by his back.

"Are you even listening to me ?" he asked unimpressed, not even turning around.

"I am." Your voice is low, dreamy, which is enough to prove that you weren't really listening.

"Quote me what I just said ?" Turning around with an eyebrow lift, he leaned his hands on the counter.

You don't look up immediately to answer, your eyes lingered on his forearm for a second.

"More importantly, did you always have that scar on your lower back ? I've never seen it before..." You finally looked him in the eyes, yours shining with curiosity.

You catch his piercing blue eyes staring at you the same way you just did, staring like he's about to eat you alive and he's still deciding where to start. His arms crossed over his chest, and your eyes followed the movement closely. He narrowed his eyes slightly, before cutting through your thoughts before they could have a form.

"I do. I got it from a fight with Rin. Another question ? Or can you answer mine ?"

You're left speechless, your mouth hanging open. His voice so smooth, matching his unbothered yet frustrated face and his eyes. Oh his eyes. You wish you could drown in it. Sometimes you forget how handsome he is, but you're always reminded real fast – he just has to look your way for your heart to skip a beat. Not even that, honestly, being in the same room as him is enough for you to fall in love all over again.

By the time you took to answer, he shook his head. He can't be mad at you when you stare at him with so much love and adoration, can he ? Taking a few steps to meet you, both his hands laid on the counter you were sitting on.

"Next time, ask your question then listen to me. Alright ?" His tone is commanding yet soft, and you couldn't help but get turned on.

You could feel a hot feeling on your cheeks but you couldn't tear your eyes away from his, or even mutter a proper sentence at the moment. Turning your face away to compose yourself, you nodded, sure he would brush it away and you'll get away with it. Yet, you felt slander fingers grabbing your chin gently right away and turning your face right to face him again. His eyes stared deep into your soul, enough to make it shake and your spine shiver.

"Understand ?" He asked once again, gentle this time, the grip on your cheeks loosening slightly.

"Yes," you whispered, not talking louder, in fear he'll go away like a scared cat.

"Good," he answered before pecking your lips.

He moved back to his cooking, his talk long forgotten, while you were still processing the feather like kiss ghosting on your lips.

Let me know if you liked it !!

[wonubby]

he tried.

he really did.

bakugo katsuki, the man who was known for being aggressive, had actually tried to keep someone in his life. but he failed.

how did he fail?

how the fuck did he fucking fail?

he asked himself that question every day. when he'd lie in bed, room dark and miserable, he'd ask himself the very same question. he’d ask it in the shower, staring at the soap like it knew something he didn’t.

he'd stare at his hands, as if the blood, your blood, was still there. embedded on his skin. where did it all go wrong? one minute you were there, in his arms, laughing into his skin at the crack of dawn. those where the times were he truly felt okay. felt like the earth was finally on his side.

so why weren't you by his side anymore?

why were you with another man? laying in his bed, laughing at his jokes, for God's sake, loving him.

he didn't mean for shit to go south. katsuki had tried his best; he tried so fucking hard. yet you were gone. all because of a stupid villain attack.

if he had anticipated it, kept you from being harmed, maybe then you'd be in bed with him.

for you, it was different.

you couldn't breathe around katsuki. all you could remember was that day, the day he failed to save you. the day you lay under rubble, battered and bruised all over. it was miraculous. bakugou katsuki, pro-hero dynamight, couldn't even save his girlfriend until hours after an attack.

all you could think about that day was why didn't he come faster? was he busy doing something else? doing someone else?

maybe it wasn't his fault; maybe you overreacted. but what sealed it all was when he refused to answer you. like he was actually hiding his true intentions.

once upon a time, you truly did trust katsuki. however, that trust was long gone. in its place was fear and anger. a part of you wanted to believe that it wasn't his fault. that he was innocent in all this and truly wanted to keep you, but you couldn't bring yourself to believe it.

it felt too much like a fantasy.

so, bakugo katuski, was the man who could save everyone and anyone.

yet he failed to save the one he loved so much, and maybe he deserved losing you.

[beyondbluess]

with you

dallas winston x fem! reader

summary: dallas decides to join you on the front porch one chilly night. warning: fluff fluff fluff. not sure why i keep putting out fluff when i really love angst. not proofread; wrote this at two in the morning and didn't finish much later. author's note: so sorry for the lack of fics! definitely would've something out sooner but writer's block has been terrible. i'm trying to work on requests so bare with me.

Laughter was bouncing off every corner of the Curtis residence, a contrast to the chill nipping at your skin on the front porch. You couldn’t remember why you were out there or how long—you just needed to get away from the noise, at least for a while.

The front door opens and shuts from behind in a matter of seconds, but you didn’t bother to check to see who it was. 

“Y’alright?” 

You finally turned around to see Dallas, a hint of concern in his eyes. When you didn’t respond, he muttered something inaudible before sitting beside you on the cold concrete—his eyes never leaving your form. 

“Just.. needed to get away from the noise,” you replied, hugging yourself to keep warm. Dallas noticed this, taking off his leather jacket and placing it over your shoulders. An action that surprised you. 

Both of you sat in silence, the only thing that could be heard was the sounds of the crickets chirping. Something about the combination gave Dallas a sense of unease. 

“Doll, c’mon,” he bursts out, turning his whole body to look at you, brows creasing in further concern. “What’s eatin’ at you?”

You shrugged, lifting your knee to rest your arm on it. Dallas groaned in annoyance, lifting his hip to grab a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket to offer you one, but ended up respectfully declining. He soon pulled out his own to light it before easing into another moment of silence with you.

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

Dallas didn’t respond to this at first, as if he didn’t even know how to answer the question himself. He debated on putting out the cigarette, but stopped in his tracks. “Dunno, sometimes.”

“It’s just,” you started, finally turning your body to look at him. It’s probably the first time you’ve really looked at him all night—you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked over the moonlight. “I’ve grown up here, gotten used to seeing the same people, same places. I want to see what life is like outside of Tulsa, Dal.” 

Dallas listened to you ramble on, a smirk appearing on his face. He always liked how you were always so comfortable with him, never straying away from speaking your mind. 

“You’ve been to New York, right?” you ask, not even realizing that you’ve scooted closer to him, your hand just centimeters away from his. “What’s it like?” 

“Mainly got arrested there, sweetheart,” he replies, taking a drag out of his cigarette. His gaze followed the car that passed by, his lips forming a thin line. “Wasn’t there for fun, it’s that’s what ya askin.” 

You hummed at this, shifting your attention towards the ground in front of you. Dallas’ hand moved closer to yours, fingers now lightly touching. Neither of you felt like moving. 

Eventually, the excitement inside fizzled out, leaving the occasional chatter and the sound of footsteps throughout the house. Dallas knew that the conversation from earlier still lingered on your mind—what life is like outside of Tulsa. He wanted you to have that experience; he wanted to be with you for it. 

“Hey, doll?”

You turned to face him, raising your eyebrow in curiosity. There were a few seconds where he didn’t say anything, simply just looked at you with those eyes. Before you could speak, he leaned in, cutting you off with a kiss. You didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. 

“Y’know, we can always go,” he murmured, a small but hopeful smile gracing his lips. He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, his touch so uncharacteristically soft. 

“What are you—”

The front door opened, revealing Darry, shoulders tense from working two jobs that paid little. By now, he’s usually cleaning up and getting ready for bed, so you were surprised when he allowed everyone to stay over this late. 

“You two alright out here?” he asks, his eyes shifting between you and Dallas. He muttered out a curse at how chilly it was, pulling the door back slightly so the air wouldn’t come in completely. You wearing Dallas’ jacket doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just… talking,” You answered softly, eyes lingering on Dallas a moment longer before looking up at Darry. “Everything okay?” 

“Jus’ realized that y’all haven’t eaten yet,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, a soft groan escaping from exhaustion. “Figured ya wanted somethin’.”

You were about to answer, but your stomach did it for you—grumbling. A small chuckle escaped Dallas’ lips, making you swat his shoulder playfully. You got up from the porch, dusting off your jeans, looking down at him.

“You coming, Dally?”

“Uh, yeah, jus’ give me a minute,” he muttered, taking another cigarette out of the pack to light, but instead just held it between his fingers, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer, something about your presence giving him a sense of ease. 

You were about to take off his jacket to give it back, but he shook his head—something about how it looked better on you than it did him. Darry moved aside so you could come inside, the warmth welcoming and inviting. He looked down at Dallas, giving him a knowing look.

“So you and—“

“Shut up.”

requests are open !

[firingstars]

no one asked for this, but this is a dissection of my own fic bc i love this characterization of bucky x reader and tbh i might just do this to other fics that i adore. <3

Bucky hated his phone, but he still texted you often. Texted you good morning and good night every single day.

guys bucky wrote reader a LOVE LETTER in the first fic and told her during their first date that he hated his phone and everything about it. however?? bro still texts reader like its his job. like its the only thing he knows.

You were pretty certain that he wasn’t joking when he said that he assassinated JFK, too. Except, you were drunk when he confessed that to you during a drinking game that you two were doing when you first started dating. You don’t know if you dreamt it. Bucky refuses to comment, like a true politician.

bucky tells reader everything. he told reader everything about his past. and obviously, she took it like a champ. this was part of his non-negotiables that he quietly hinted at during match made that he was kinda scared to actually say out loud. someone to accept him and his faults. the reason why he fully accepted reader to begin with was because during the first date she said:

“Well, you can’t run from me,” you smiled at him, “I already know your past. There’s nothing that you need to hide from me that I’ll be scared of.” (this is from match made not locked in lols)

AND SHE DIDNT EVEN KNOW THE EXTENT OF IT she js knew what was put online as the backlash bc of the mfs that were like ?? congressman assassin???!?!? extra: bucky once asked her what she thought abt that and she said she still thinks he's better than the other politicians by a loooooonnnnggg shot so she rly doesnt care extra extra: she's worked with clients that are way worse than him and never elaborated. bucky is confused on what that could possibly mean

You finish your own skincare routine faster than he does, as per usual.  “I don’t understand why the hell I have to do this, doll,” he grumbled as you left the bathroom. “I’m over a century old.”

bucky complains, but does he ever mean it??? no. bro is whipped. always whipped. do not forget man is the same man that did not understand reader when she said people generally have one love language. he has all five.

- “Just a present. Saw it, thought it would look nice on you.” - His card is slid into your palm, and his lips are pressed against your knuckles. “I’ll pay for you and Mel,” he said, giving you one more smile. - “I bought [these shoes] for you,” he said, tilting his head as he examined the design a little closer. ... he always wanted to be the kind of man that was able to spoil his girl rotten– to bring his woman to the best places and sign the check without batting an eye.

and the influx of flowers after reader confirms that she loves flowers teehee. he's always getting her flowers. there's always fresh flowers somewhere. always. if he sees the flowers he last got her wilting?? oh lord. someone's dying

- He learned over time that you just wanted silence, the same way that he did. - Bucky answered any questions that you possibly could’ve had for him, already knowing what you would’ve thrown his way. - ... you still had to do work when you came home ... Bucky seemed to plan for that, which is why he had a room specifically made for a home office for the two of you.  - “Do you know how many times you have ranted to me about the fact you hate restaurant proposals? You hate planning them, and you hate watching them. Why would I ever propose to you in a restaurant?”

the wording was very deliberate- bucky learned over time. do you know how many times. there was trial and error in the beginning of their relationship bc bucky still wasn't up to speed with modern dating (and obviously still isnt with how nervous he was about asking to move in) but reader was very patient with him throughout all the speed bumps bc she understands his struggles and his past, which is exactly what he was looking for from the very beginning of this whole matchmaking shenanigans

idk this entire fic was just a love letter to reader because i didn't feel like writing an actual

dear y/n, blah blah blah love, bucky

kinda thing.

someone did ask me what the love letter did entail and i rly did entertain the idea of writing the love letter... but i felt too lazy. so this fic if what came out of it. which honestly. feels like the opposite of laziness.

locked in

— a sequel to match made

congressman!bucky x matchmaker!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have been together for a strong nineteen months and counting. problem is, you’re starting to notice he’s hiding things from you.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, semi-public (?) stuffs, oral (f+m receiving), hair pulling, face grabbing, fingers in mouth, unprotected sex, backshots, fingering, window… sex…, soft dom bucky, slight sub reader, language, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, bucky is the best boyfriend ever and loves you very much

word count: 15.2k

a/n: due to popular demand, here’s a second part! this is also my formal apology for whatever happened in love, persevering <3 please accept. // also if anyone saw this get prematurely posted with NOTHING attached you didn’t fucking see it. i wasn’t made aware until EIGHT HOURS LATER and the fic wasn’t even done yet!!! 😔 i always make my fic intro template things before my fics are done for motivation

masterlist

You almost lost your fucking job. 

You expected it, honestly. With the amount of lines you crossed, boundaries broken, and toes you stepped on… Yeah. There was only so much that your boss could take from you— star employee or not. 

Thankfully, your boss kept the whole thing quiet from the rest of your coworkers to spare you the embarrassment since you had the decency to come to her and tell her the truth. 

It still meant you had to refund Sam Wilson the entire Ador Luxury Matchmaking Package, which your boss was not happy about.

Sam, on the other hand, was over the moon. 

When he received the refund transaction, he called you almost immediately. You had to go into a private conference room to answer the call, away from your coworkers.

“Mr. Wilson,” you answered the phone, trying to keep your tone light.

“Hey, Ms. Matchmaker,” he said, suspicion in his voice. “Did Buck cancel his membership?”

“That is correct,” you said, clearing your throat. 

“I thought we had an agreement. I paid you guys extra to not allow him to bully you guys into ending the program,” Sam said. You can hear the frustration in his voice. You don’t blame him. “What happened?”

“I can assure you– the refund is not due to Congressman Barnes just cancelling the service,” you said. “In fact, he is no longer in need of my services.”

“What? Then he’s been on a date?” Sam asked. “If that’s the case, then why the refund? If the date was successful, then doesn’t Bucky get the benefits or whatever?”

There was no response from your end for a good handful of moments. You were stuck, unable to respond. You couldn’t figure out how to say the words in the most professional way possible. You needed to find the right concoction, just in case there was someone walking down the hall at that exact moment,  and overheard your conversation. 

In the end, all you could think was that Bucky was a dead man walking.

You were going to kill Bucky. You weren’t sure how you were going to do that, seeing as he was the one with the years of experience of fighting between the two of you, but you would do it. You were hoping that he would’ve told his one and only friend that he had a girlfriend. 

Then again, Bucky refused to answer any of Sam’s calls. You texted Sam back most of the time when you got ahold of Bucky’s phone, pretending to be Bucky. Bucky didn’t care that you were doing that– though you wondered if Sam would be heartbroken if he ever found out. 

“Hello?” Sam asked, calling out your name. “Are you there?”

“Congressman Barnes terminated his membership with Ador as he and I have mutually decided to pursue a more personal relationship with each other,” you quickly answered him, cringing at your own words. You took a quick breath in before continuing, “The refund is due to my own oversight, and is serving as an apology to you for wasting your time on our service. I truly hope that you will forgive me for being unable to maintain a more professional connection with the client.”

It was Sam’s turn to fall silent. You had to check your phone to make sure that the call was still active. There was a slight rustle on the other end, letting you know that he was still there– that he was on the other end, dissecting your words, gears processing through his mind.

“The matchmaker I hired is dating my friend?!” he cackled. 

“Mr. Wilson, I truly apologize for the inconvenience–” 

“There is no inconvenience!” he cut you off, still laughing. “Holy shit, let me tell you– after that first meeting with you? I asked Bucky what he thought about you as his matchmaker and his only words? He thought you were pretty. Would not say anything else. Fuck, listen, let me call you back– or let’s all go to dinner. You, me, Buck, and my girl. I gotta head down to the office and harass Bucky right now.”

You went on an unpaid suspension for eight weeks after the refund transaction went through. The HQ of Ador had to undergo a full on investigation to figure out if you were worth keeping around as an employee or not, seeing as you ended up breaking client-employee conduct. 

Your boss wasn’t awful, though. In fact, she was only pissed off about the refund because she knew that headquarters back in London would have been alerted. Either way, it was still the right thing to process the transaction. She promised you that she would be your biggest advocate during the investigation, and she would try to argue for you to get the time to be paid seeing as you were the best employee in the New York branch.

The second you told Bucky– who told Sam– you found money wired into your account the next business day. It was the same exact amount that you had refunded back to Sam. It was still more money than you would’ve made if you were working those eight weeks. 

Neither man told you how they got ahold of your bank information. Neither man would look you in the eye when you questioned them. 

So, you had eight weeks of basically overpaid, free vacation to do whatever the hell you wanted, and a new boyfriend. Which meant you spent damn near every single day in his office, cosplaying as some government worker– an intern or secretary. And you were helping him. You actually were. 

“You really don’t have to do any of this, baby,” Bucky told you. You had been coming for an entire week straight at this point.

“If I stay stationary for two months, I think I might die of brain failure,” you told him, stealing a stack of his files from him. “Besides. You look like you need some help. You should really hire a secretary. Or someone to help you out. A personal assistant, maybe?”

“I can handle it on my own,” he sighed, shaking his head. Despite his words, he looked grateful as you took the files to the lounge area of his office and spread them out on the coffee table.

“Tell that to me when you sleep more than two hours a night, handsome,” you said, tucking your legs under you.

With less sensitive information that he was allowed to hand over to you, you organized and kept tabs on. You summarized documents for him perfectly that made his life easier. You helped train other onboarding interns that didn’t know what the hell they were doing. You managed his calendar when he looked like he was about to combust into flames. You got to spend time with him during his breaks, have lunch with him, eat dinner with him, and he would drive you home, and spend the night with you most nights.

Not that anyone knew that, though. They thought you were an actual employee of this official government building in New York. With the way that you walked side by side with Bucky every single day, holding files and looking down at his work phone– they really thought that you were working for him.

“Where’s your secretary today?”

You don’t know who asked the question, and you don’t really care. There’s about three other officials in this room that barged in out of nowhere, when you were on Bucky’s lap. 

Both of you had panicked, and he had shoved you into the hiding space beneath his desk before any of them could see the scandalous position he had you in. 

Unluckily for him, he had chosen the wrong place to put you. 

“At a training session with other interns,” Bucky said, tone clipped and short. He was irritated at being interrupted out of nowhere, but also at the fact that you were ignoring his warnings. 

You grinned, pressing an innocent kiss to the hand that gripped over your wrist. Tight, but not enough to hurt you. You continued to palm over his hardening length with your free hand. 

You weren’t paying attention to any of the fancy words that were being thrown around over your head, but you were certain that Bucky wasn’t either. You rested the side of your head against his thigh, feeling the muscle tense and hardened at your touch as you continued to lazily play with him over the fabric of his dress pants. 

Bucky’s metal hand slipped from your wrist to your hair, carding through it and stopping at the base of your skull– another cautionary message being sent to you as Bucky tried to focus on the sudden meeting thrown his way. Thankfully, these men loved the sound of their own voices. They couldn’t hear you slowly unzip him, and free Bucky from the confines of his slacks. 

“Your thoughts, Congressman Barnes?”

Your boyfriend cleared his throat above you as your lips kissed the tip of his cock, wrapping your hand around the base of him to keep him in place as his dick twitched in response. You fought back the small hum that threatened to come forth as you licked up the small bead of precum that leaked out.

“It’s a very… worrying matter,” Bucky said slowly, clenching his jaw as he took in a slow breath. You licked a thin strip up from the base of his cock– focusing on the thick vein that you knew was sensitive. “That is very worrisome. And we’ll get to the bottom of this uh– worrying... issue.”

You paused at his words, unable to believe what you were hearing from him for a moment. You pulled away from him for a moment, hand still wrapped around his dick as you pressed your face to his thigh, trying to hide your laugh into his flesh. 

Bucky’s hand tugged back on your hair roughly, pulling your head back and away from his thigh. Immediately, his metal hand shifted from your hair to clasp around your face, covering your mouth. His fingertips dug into the soft skin of your cheeks, daring you to make another noise. Surprise and excitement shot through your body in response.  

You could test him. You could press it. 

You decided against it, and licked his palm instead, closing your eyes. You could feel his hand twitch against your face— he told you once that his arm was calibrated to feel sensations. That he felt nerves like his other arm did. You smiled just a little, then kissed right where your tongue had just been. 

All the while, your hand was still pumping at his dick in lazy strokes. Nothing too much, nothing that would alert anyone of your presence, nothing that would make him let out noises that were only yours to hear. 

“Right,” one of the officials said slowly. “Well– we have lunch with some of the other representatives in ten minutes. You are welcome to join us, Congressman. If your secretary comes back from her training, she is more than welcome to join us as well. Lord knows we need a little more eye candy around here.”

A chorus of laughter rang around the room, but not from Bucky. In fact, he just stared at them until their laughter became uncomfortable, and they awkwardly excused themselves. 

The second the door to his office shut, Bucky’s chair was rolled back instantly, and your hands weren’t touching him anymore. 

You were still on your knees, looking up at him as Bucky stared down at you, hand still on your face to shut you up before you had been caught laughing at his inability to form proper words with your mouth on his cock.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby,” he murmured, hand shifting to cradle your face.

A metal thumb brushed against your lip slowly, a shiver running down your spine involuntarily. His touch was gentle. Reverent. He touched you like you were made of glass. Unlike the blown out, hungry look in his eyes, the gruff, low tone of his voice as he whispered to you. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw his other hand tuck himself back into his pants. When your eyebrows furrowed in response, he let out a soft chuckle.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. Then, he stood up tall. He rolled his shoulders back, but you couldn’t focus. Your eyes were on him, and the aching bulge above his zipper. 

“I have to go to lunch, sweetheart. When I get back, you’re going to get exactly what you wanted from me, okay?” 

Your boyfriend left you there. Left you partially under his desk, still on your knees. What was supposed to be you teasing him, quickly shifted into you being extremely hot and bothered. You didn’t know how long lunch would take, either. 

You busied yourself with literally anything else. Not that it worked. Every footstep that came down the corridor, you were jumping in attention like some rabbit in heat.

Except, Bucky moved like a ghost. You wouldn’t hear his footsteps. 

When he finally returned, you didn’t even hear him until the sound of the office door locking caught your attention. You barely had the time to turn around before he was all over you. Lips were on yours as he hoisted you upwards, wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you to his choice of christening. 

An arm swiped his desk clear of any debris so no pens or other office supplies would be digging into your skin. He bunched your skirt up to your hips, and pulled your panties to the side. Bucky bent you over his desk with fingers shoved into your mouth to keep you quiet as he did what you wanted from the beginning. He curtained you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispered sweet nothings to contrast the punishing thrust of his hips— letting you know that he still very much adored you, but was also extremely annoyed by your little game earlier.

Afterwards, Bucky cleaned you up gently. Kissed you softly, held you tightly in his arms. Then presented you with food that he brought back for you– he ordered you lunch while he was out eating since he knew you wouldn’t have left the office while he was gone. 

You almost jumped his bones again right then and there for how considerate he was of you.

So yes, you almost lost your job, but you weren’t necessarily upset about it. Not when you got to spend an entire month with Bucky, helping him out at work, cuddling with him at night, and waking up at whatever time you wanted the next morning. On the rare days that you weren’t at the office with him, it was because you were somewhere else– still with him. 

Eventually, you were called back into work.

You convinced Bucky to hire an assistant to take care of his little things— stuff that you did for him to make his life easier so he could focus on more pressing things. It managed to ease his workload just a little bit, but not by a lot. Bucky still managed to bite more than he could chew, and you knew he was stressed from how slow the process was for passing bills and getting change to happen. 

Despite it all, the two of you were content. Happy. Overjoyed, really. He was perfect, and he swore to the heavens that you were, too.

A cacophony of voices, poppers, music, and sparkles were blasted into your face as you pushed open the door to the office. Streamers were shot directly into your face, colors cascading directly before your eyes, showering you with colors of the pastel rainbow. 

Your coworkers, all dressed to the nines, were cheering. A few of them held flutes of champagne. Two of them held balloons– together making the number twelve together. One of them held a cake that read congratulations.

There was a catering table set for the party that was clearly waiting for you. You saw the table set, ready for everyone to dig into. You knew your boss didn’t hold back when it came to celebrating any kind of achievements, especially not your own. You were the best at what you did here.

Your grin wasn’t smug, even though you had every single right to be. You shrugged your blazer off as you sauntered into the room, allowing the applause and cheers to wash over you. You dropped your purse and other materials off at your desk as your boss approached you with a grin, hands going to your shoulders.

“My star employee– our number one matchmaker!” she cooed at you, everyone shouting around you in response to our praise. “Tell me, with this wedding upcoming this weekend, how many will you be responsible for?”

You paused, only for dramatic effect. The ceiling looked suddenly oh so interesting as you smiled. Then, you guessed, “Twelve?”

“Twelve!” your boss roared, the girls around you jumping up and down with excitement and cheer. 

“Do a speech, a speech!” your deskmate urged, and you only let out a small, playful sigh as everyone died down around you.

You were handed your own glass of champagne, led to the front of the room, and turned to look at all the girls. Girls that you worked with for the past six, almost seven years. Your boss had been doing this job for well over a decade now. There were a few new faces that had just started a few months ago. 

With your glass lifted into the air, you smiled, “Love is all around. It’s easy to find the perfect match for someone.”

They squealed, toasting to you. The cake was brought to you, letting you blow out the candles as if it was your birthday or something– just a tradition your company had for good luck. Something to bring more successful matches and weddings to your clients.

Your two clients, Luke and Jessica, were tying the knot after twelve months of dating, and another four months engaged. One year and four months— which was a relatively short time, but who were you to judge? They both told you they knew the other party was the one after the first date. Who were you to stand in the way of them? 

Just because you were fucking bitter, and jealous that you couldn’t spend time with your own boyfriend despite the fact that Luke and Jessica got together three months after you two did didn’t mean a thing. Not a single thing. 

You masked your growing irritation well with your clients. After all, your performance margins had been going through the roof within the last six months. Your productivity has never been better, your clients have never been happier with your performance, and you have been churning out perfect match after match like you might as well have been Cupid himself. 

Yet, you couldn’t find a single time for your own boyfriend. 

When you had a free night, he didn’t. There was a dinner that he had to get to, one that required secrecy amongst government officials. You understood that. You didn’t hold that against him– especially not when he looked pained to tell you that you couldn’t join him when you offered to come with him the first time he said he had the work dinner. Because you didn’t mind joining him for work related activity. You just wanted to spend time with him, by his side.

But you were a fucking matchmaker. You didn’t have any business being in a government setting, and you knew that. He knew that. The entire government knew that. 

Sometimes it wasn’t even dinner. Sometimes, he wasn’t even in the city. Or the state. Or even the fucking country. Bucky always let you know in advance when he had to travel for work, but there was usually never any chance for the two of you to meet for even a brief look at each other across the road. Just to see each other in person before he had to hop on the plane and head hours away from you.

On the rare occasions Bucky had a free night, you most certainly did not. You had a proposal to plan for. Not a policy or business proposal like he worked on. A marriage proposal. One that had you sneaking around parks in bushes, setting up trails of rose petals, hiring and arguing with musicians– things that you didn’t need your boyfriend around to trail you like a lost puppy asking you if there was something that you needed help with. 

If it wasn’t a proposal, you had another work event. A client on the verge of a breakdown because their date cancelled on them, or some bullshit like that. You would be so close to finally being in your boyfriend’s arms, but you would have to cancel on your own lover to play therapist even though you were severely undereducated and underpaid for the position. 

Bucky was understanding. Too understanding. So understanding that it made you want to bash your head into the wall. 

The two of you had working hours that were strenuous, strange, and demanding. 

Bucky hated his phone, but he still texted you often. Texted you good morning and good night every single day. He reminded you to eat at least twice a day knowing you were only running on the fuel of your own brain to make it through your work hours.

Absence definitely did not make the heart grow fonder. If anything, your heart was growing irritated. Angry. These happy couples around you were pissing you off. 

Each and every single one of your clients that reported to you that they were falling in love with the person that you set them up with, was like another person setting you up for failure. You were a ticking time bomb just ready to explode, and the only one who would ever be able to defuse you is currently locked away in his office with his pretty fucking secretary that you know he doesn’t care about, but spends more time with than you do. 

You’re not jealous of her perse. 

You’ve seen them work together. It’s strictly professional. You don’t know if she has a boyfriend, and you don’t really care if she does or doesn’t– you trust Bucky, bottom line. He hasn’t given you a single reason to not trust him. You know he has eyes for you and you only. What you’re envious of is the time that she gets to have with him. She sees him every single day. She handles his schedule, hands him coffee, speaks to him face to face, sits with him during meetings, and discusses his fucking policies with him. 

You’re jealous of the time that you don’t get to have with your own boyfriend. You haven’t seen him in over a week and a half by this point. Last time you saw him, it was for a brief lunch that lasted forty-two minutes before you both had to run into meetings. Before that, two weeks. 

You scratch angrily into your notebook, then rip the page out. You crumple it up, throwing the wasted piece of paper into the bin with a frustrated groan before scrubbing a hand down your face. 

The time on the clock reads 1:44am.

Bucky should be getting home by this time, you think. Your phone hasn’t rang otherwise. There’s no good night text yet. 

This was easier before. Easier before you got so attached to him. Easier before your world got shifted on its axis, and started to rotate around him, just a little bit. Easier when you didn’t love the man so fucking much. 

You couldn’t dwell on this though. Not when you had to go to sleep. You had somewhere to be tomorrow, and you couldn’t look like death itself. You sent off your own text to him, then let your sorrows and loneliness cuddle you to bed. 

As much as you wanted to wait for him to text you back, you couldn’t. You had a battlefield to get to. A networking event. A bride to maybe convince that she wanted to marry her groom. 

By the end of the wedding, your purse was full of business cards, and your lips were full of promises to call women on Monday to get them on your books as clients. Your face muscles hurt, your feet ached, and your heart was breaking.

Your phone was full of notifications, and not a single one of them was from your loving boyfriend. Did he get JFK’d somewhere? He couldn’t have. It would have been all over the news already if he did. Sam would have called you, too. Besides that, the serum in his veins would have him feeling the murderous intent from a thousand miles away.

You were pretty certain that he wasn’t joking when he said that he assassinated JFK, too. Except, you were drunk when he confessed that to you during a drinking game that you two were doing when you first started dating. You don’t know if you dreamt it. Bucky refuses to comment, like a true politician.

You make it through the rest of the wedding, get invited to the afterparty, decline, and step out into the street to wait for your Uber to arrive. A car pulls up to the curb that you know is not a silver hatchback like the app indicates, so you ignore it–

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone on a Friday night?”

Your head snaps up at the voice. Bucky’s stepping out of the driver’s side, holding a colorful arrangement of fresh summer flowers for you, wrapped in kraft paper, tied off with a bow. He’s dressed in a formal suit– bowtie and everything. You vaguely remember him telling you that there was a gala event that was happening tonight the last time that you two had a chance to speak on the phone. He must have had a chance to slip away from there. 

“Need a ride?” he asked, feet stopping just right before you.

You let out a laugh, looking up at him. You take a moment to admire him. Bucky’s smiling at you. There’s so much love in his eyes for you. There always is. In fact, it seemed as if there was more love there than there was than the last time he saw you. You were certain that there would be double the amount the next time you would meet.

“I have one,” you sighed, deciding to play coy with him. “Coming in about five more minutes.”

Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Five minutes? That’s too long. Shouldn’t make you wait out here for even a second.”

You couldn’t fight back the grin that makes its way onto your face. You close the remaining distance between the two of you, your hand resting on his chest as you lean upwards towards him to meet his lips. Bucky’s hand wraps around your back, holding you to him to stabilize you, a small sigh escaping through his nose. 

“Hi, handsome,” you hummed, parting from him. 

Your smile only widened a little more when Bucky chased after your lips instinctively, wanting more. Wanting another kiss. You gave him just a couple more pecks before you settled the heels of your shoes back onto the cement of the sidewalk. A laugh rumbled through you at the disappointed look on his face.

“How’d you know where my wedding was, Congressman?” you asked, looking back at your phone to cancel the ride. 

“Oh you know. A birdie told me,” Bucky said, shrugging as he moved to open the passenger door for you.

“You had Redwing spy on me?’ you raised an eyebrow at him, stepping into the car..

“More like I had Sam send a trail on you tonight. Don’t know if he used Redwing,” he corrected, holding the flowers out for you to take. 

You rolled your eyes at him as you took the bouquet. He was messing with you, and you knew it. You shared your location with him on your phone a long time ago, and he only just figured out how to use the function of it a few months back. He was even shocked to find out that there was such a feature so easily accessible on regular technology. Bucky even asked you if you had his location. You didn’t, and you told him that you didn’t want it. You figured he would be weirded out by that kind of stuff as a former spy, and you were right. He was more at ease after your reassurance. 

However, he did enjoy the fact that he didn’t have to go through several satellite feeds and camera playbacks to find where you were.

In the car, the music is soft. Low. Something from the forties that you don’t really listen to unless you’re with Bucky. He’s tapping his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song, and you find yourself relaxing into the comfortable leather of the seat. 

Neither of you are speaking, nor do you find the need to. 

Bucky knows you. You’re exhausted after an event like this. He used to ask you how the job went, like a mission debrief. To you, it is a mission. This was your battlefield, and you just fought against enemies and kept your cool against a thousand different obstacles that could’ve made the mission go sideways.

He learned over time that you just wanted silence, the same way that he did. Bucky used to think that you wanted to talk after these events, which wasn’t totally wrong. You talked if the event went horribly wrong and you needed to vent your frustration out to someone that wouldn’t get you fired. You talked his ear off because you couldn’t say what you wanted to in front of your own clients.

Bucky misunderstood and thought you wanted to talk after every single event. Eventually, he realized that most of the time, you enjoyed the peace and quiet of a job well done. That you wanted to sit without having to force a smile anymore, to close your eyes, and feel the weight of his hand on your thigh comfortingly as he drove. 

The sound of a text message coming through cut off the music momentarily. Your eyes cracked open, and on the center screen of Bucky’s dashboard, you saw there was a message from Bucky’s one and only friend.

Don’t Respond [12:08am]: Did she find out what you’re doing yet?

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked, shifting to reach for Bucky’s phone that was in the cupholder. 

Bucky was faster. His hand left your thigh, grabbing the device before you could. He looked at the small screen momentarily, taking his eyes off the road for just a second. Then, you watched as he long pressed the side of his phone, turning it off completely before putting it back in the cupholder.

“Nothing, sweetheart. I’ll text him back later,” Bucky said, giving you a smile before looking back at the road. His hand returned back to its rightful place on your thigh. 

You stared at the side of his face, blinking at him. There was no more music in the car, since his phone was turned off. You were left in silence, just the low thrum of the engine and your thoughts being your only source of entertainment as Bucky turned into your apartment’s parking garage.

Bucky will text him back later? Bucky will text him back later?

No the fuck he won’t. 

As much as Bucky loves new technology like a nerd loves Star Wars, he hates it all at the same time. He thinks it’s disgusting for any sane person to spend the amount of time they do glued to their phones willingly outside of educational and work purposes. He’s a man that had zero choice in life, and he prefers to see the world. If he has free time, there is no way in hell that he will waste it typing away on a tiny screen to text back anyone. 

Except you, of course. He’ll only text and call you.

His reaction was even more strange. Bucky didn’t swat your hand away or anything like that. He didn’t scramble to get to his phone before you did– but he did react. He didn’t answer you. He deflected. He’s always answered your questions to the fullest.

Besides that, this wasn’t anything new between the two of you. You always texted Sam back through Bucky’s phone. When Sam texted, you would read it out loud, Bucky would answer, and you would type what Bucky said, but in a nicer… less aggressive way. In fact, 99% of the conversations Bucky had with Sam through text was done by you. Sam still did not know of that fact, and you were not going to be the one to tell him. 

You’re still reeling in your own thoughts by the time you get to your apartment. 

You shove your downward spiral for just a moment to accept Bucky’s extremely tempting offer to shower together– which is never anything sexual. 

Bucky enjoys the intimacy of being able to hold you, bare, and help you get cleaned from your day. It’s one of his favorite things to do. You revel in the way he takes his time, hands scrubbing at your scalp slowly to lather up the shampoo. He’ll ensure that not a single part of your body goes untouched.

You do the same for him. You take great care in every part of his body. You remember the first time you touched his scars– paid close attention to them. It looked self-inflicted. Nothing like a surgery or done by doctors or scientists, like how he said the arm was attached to him. When you saw his face, you knew you were right.

Every once in a while, you can still see the dark shadow casting over his eyes when your hands run over his shoulders. You simply move to kiss against the scars to quietly remind him that you aren’t afraid of him, and you watch as the shadows fall mercy to the light.

You finish your own skincare routine faster than he does, as per usual. 

“I don’t understand why the hell I have to do this, doll,” he grumbled as you left the bathroom. “I’m over a century old.”

“And I’m trying to make sure that you don’t look like it,” you replied over your shoulder. 

Bucky huffed, but continued with the routine that you strictly put him on. He complained, but he never went against your words. You knew that he was still following it even when he wasn’t spending the night at your place, too. He’s always been a handsome man, but you would say that he’s been leveled up even more since you came around.

While he’s distracted, you move towards his bag. 

You don’t distrust him, but you’re not stupid either. Turning off his phone, saying things out of character– yeah. Something is different. What’s even weirder is that he doesn’t have any of his usual things with him. There’s only his laptop. He doesn’t have any of his regular written notebooks or calendars that he usually carries around with him. The man loves his written, visual items. He likes to flip through pages and see things with his own eyes, to be able to edit with a pen instead of a tap of his fingers.

You hear the last cap of the bottle close, and shut his bag. You’re only left with more questions as you move his bag towards the hanger where your own purses hang.

“Ah– sorry,” Bucky apologized, seeing you move his stuff. 

“It’s alright,” you hummed, thankful you were able to play off your snooping.

The two of you move towards your bed, sliding under the sheets. You settled into his arms naturally, assuming the position that the two of you had found most comfortable in the almost two years of dating. Your head rested on his bicep like it was a pillow, his metal arm coming around you to wrap around your waist to keep you cool against his furnace of a body. 

“You ever respond to Sam?” you whispered into his chest, closing your eyes to snuggle closer into him.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, moving to grab his phone from the nightstand behind him. You immediately shifted, just slightly– to try and see the screen.

But so did he.

With one hand, he angled his phone so that it was distorted. The brightness was down low enough that you weren’t able to properly see the messages between both men. However, you saw him silence the chat. You saw the swipe of his thumb, and the icon that signified a silenced message.

Then, Bucky put his phone face down on the nightstand before returning to you.

“Good night, doll,” he murmured to you, hand moving to tilt your head up to him. He kissed you once, twice, a third time before settling back against the pillow. “I love you.”

“Night,” you whispered back, though your mind was everything but asleep. Suspicion was creeping up on you. You could feel it– the sign of something coming. You pushed your gut feeling down. “I love you, too.”

Bucky ❤︎ [2:48pm]: What days do you think are your most free days right now?

You paused, staring at the text on your screen. This is different. This isn’t a text that you normally received from Bucky. Especially not in the middle of the work day, either. Momentarily, you want to entertain the idea that someone stole his phone, but you were certain that someone would be injured or dying if they even got close to ever trying to rob Bucky.

Me [2:50pm]: Are you asking me on a date, Congressman?

Bucky ❤︎ [2:53pm]: I’m trying to plan one instead of our random spontaneous ones, yes. Can you let me know what days work best for you so I can look at my calendar?

Last time he ‘planned’ a date, the two of you went to Romania for your first year anniversary for a week. You didn’t even realize that’s what he meant by planning a date until you were at the fucking airport with no luggage. Except he packed for you, had your passport, and everything else you could possibly need. You were just completely oblivious to the entire thing. 

Me [2:54pm]: Is this a trip kinda date?

Bucky ❤︎ [2:55pm]: No, but I do need two days of your time.

Me [2:56pm]: You’re asking for a lot, handsome.

Bucky ❤︎ [3:01pm]: I promise I’ll be worth it.

You smile at your phone at his words. Of course he’ll be worth it. You take a moment to go through your calendar, flipping back and forth between all your different events. You cross check between client meetings, event plannings, meetings with your coworkers and boss, and then text him back with your response. 

Me [3:12pm]: Weekends are really bad right now. Mondays, too. Wednesdays are also surprisingly bad… Tuesdays and Thursdays are the best. Fridays are a hit and miss.

Bucky ❤︎ [3:25pm]: Tuesdays are bad for me. Rep. dinners on Tuesday nights and Wednesday morning debriefs. Can you block out Thursday and Friday for me two months from now? The 17th and 18th. I’ll give you more details about our date when it comes closer.

Two months? That’s more than enough time to block out. You’ll even take the weekend off for good measure, just in case. Still, two months is a long time to prepare for just a date. You can’t help but tease him a little bit.

Me [3:27pm]: You don’t plan on seeing me for two months? :( 

Bucky ❤︎ [3:30pm]: You’re funny. We’ll still have our random and spontaneous dates. Like tonight. I’m picking you up for dinner. Don’t call a ride after work.

Excitement flutters in your chest. You saw him four days ago, but you’re still happy. 

Time is thankfully on your side today, and he’s waiting for you outside your company’s building. You’re starved for food, for his affection, attention, and everything in between. 

Except all of that dies once his phone rings in the middle of dinner. Bucky silences it, and you see the screen. It has a name that you don’t recognize, then his phone goes faced down onto the table. A few moments later, it buzzes, indicating there was a voicemail left. Bucky swipes the device, pocketing it safely away. 

You’re really trying to not let this bother you. But change doesn’t just happen overnight, and this is Bucky’s personal phone. This isn’t even his work phone. He leaves his work phone in his bag, permanently silenced when he’s not working. This is his phone that he carries with him that he purposely ignores, that is only supposed to have two contacts in it– yours and Sams.

Bucky drove back to your apartment, even though his apartment is closer to the restaurant that he chose for the two of you to eat at tonight. 

You’re lying awake in his arms that night, listening to the sounds of Bucky’s soft snores as he sleeps beside you. It took him a long time to be able to sleep first between the two of you. You used to see how long you could stay up, to see if you could fall asleep after him. The first time he fell asleep on your lap, you almost cried.

Now, you’re staring at his sleeping face wondering if he thinks you’re a fucking idiot. 

The signs are right there. All the blaring signs are screaming in your face, loud and angry. The hidden phone screen, calls, and texts. Hiding his calendar, and all his written notes from you. The sudden trip planning, even though there was nothing special about two months from now. Two months was your twenty third month together. Not even the second year anniversary. 

Yeah, Bucky thought you were stupid.

The biggest sign? You’re currently sleeping in your own bed, and not in his. He’s hiding something in his apartment that he doesn’t want you to find—

An engagement ring. 

You go through Bucky’s drawers like those are your own clothes to wear because they are, and he loves to see you in his shirts. You once spent an entire weekend properly organizing his apartment in a way that made sense because his junk drawer consisted of bullets and lego pieces from when Sam’s nephews came over.

You once found guns and daggers in his apartment just by dropping pens and searching for them. There’s absolutely no way that Bucky can hide a velvet box anywhere in his apartment from you that you won’t accidentally stumble across. Hell– you found a loaded nine millimeter in your own apartment, and asked what the hell it was doing there. 

“Safety,” is all he answered with.

This was your job. This is what you did for a living. You helped other boyfriends hide proposals from girlfriends like this. This is exactly what you did– this is how you told them to do it, though you were a little more slick with it. You definitely made sure your clients weren’t hiding their phones from their potential fiance’s, that’s for sure. 

You made sure that your clients did not know that they were being proposed to. It was your mission, honestly. You saw enough of those TikTok’s where women truly had that gut feeling where they knew it was happening. You refused. It needed to be a surprise. You scouted out every single person in your client’s lives to ensure that every single moment would come to be a surprise. From ensuring that their nails would be done to the ring itself- everything would be perfect. 

Your boyfriend of almost two years was planning on proposing to you in two months, and he thought you wouldn’t find out? Jesus Christ– what were you going to do with him?

Marry him, you supposed.

If you were anyone else, if you were any less stable in your emotions, you would’ve thought he was cheating on you. Hiding his phone definitely made your eyebrow twitch for half a second, if you were being honest. Thankfully, you were able to maintain a rational and sane mind.

Sane was an overstatement. You were now planning an entire wedding in your head without the engagement ring on your finger. You were anything but sane. Insanity was taking over every single cell in your brain as you stared at Bucky, imagining your future. The thought made you extremely giddy. 

A smile crept up on the corner of your lips as you moved into the warmth of his embrace. His arms tightened around you instinctively, and he let out a soft, contented sigh.

You can’t keep it to yourself as the date starts coming closer and closer. 

Mel, who has graduated as your client and now has become your friend, is sitting in your apartment, telling you about her most recent date with her boyfriend of six months. Not in a way that she would when you were her matchmaker, but as friends would. You find yourself liking this arrangement much, much more.

“Enough about me though,” she grinned, swirling the wine in her glass. “Tell me about you and Bucky. How are things going?”

“You really wanna talk about the guy that your boss hates?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her as you take a sip out of your own glass.

“I can separate work from girl talk,” Mel said, smiling at you. 

“Well,” you said, smiling at her, “If you’re free the rest of the evening, I was wondering if you wanted to get your nails done with me?”

“Nails?” Mel repeated, raising her eyebrows at you as she brought the glass to her lips.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I think Bucky’s gonna propose to me on Thursday.”

Her eyes widened as she choked on her wine, the alcohol spluttering back into the glass. You couldn’t hold back a laugh before you jumped to your feet. You turned, rushing to grab paper towels from your kitchen to wipe off her face before it dripped, and stained her clothes. 

“Shit– shit! I’m so sorry,” she coughed, patting her face. 

“It’s okay,” you said between laughter, desperately trying to compose yourself. “Do you– do you want more wine?”

“Do I want– No! What? We need to go to the salon now! One of us needs to drive! Why the hell don’t you have a car again?!”

“Uh… I just… order a ride everywhere, or Bucky drives me,” you answered her, sheepish. “I’ll just order us a ride, we’ve both had a glass already. We don’t need to drive there, Mel.”

“Must be nice–”

A knock on your door makes you both pause. You move, going to check the peephole and find your boyfriend standing there with a box in his hands. You rip the door open, shocked.

“Bucky?” you asked, surprised. “Don’t you have a dinner to get to soon? It’s Tuesday.” 

“Yes, but I wanted to drop this off to you,” he said, giving you a smile. He leaned over the box, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just a present. Saw it, thought it would look nice on you.”

“What is it?” you asked as he transferred over the gift box to you.

“A dress,” he shrugged. “What are you up to today?”

“Mel’s here,” you said, opening the door further so he could see her. He looked past you, giving her a small wave that you’re certain that she returned back. “We’re about to go get our nails done. I was about to order a ride.”

“Oh? Don’t do that. I’ll just drop you two off. You’ll go the place you always do, right? It’s on the way to the dining hall,” he said.

“What? I don’t want you to be late,” you said, frowning at him. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky insisted, shaking his head. “They can start without me. Talbot is late more than a few times anyways.”

“It’s true,” Mel said from behind you. You turned around to look at her, finding that she was gathering her jacket and purse. “Talbot is always late.”

“See? Thank you, Mel.” There’s a bit of a gloating tone to his voice that makes you smack his arm. Bucky chuckled in response, a smile settling over his face. “Come on now, grab your stuff so we can get down to the car so I’m not too late for the meeting.”

You sighed, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to change his mind and get him to leave you. You put the box on the counter to inspect once you return later, and snatch your purse from where it’s resting on the table. Both you and Mel follow Bucky down to the car. He holds open the back door for both of you to climb into the backseat like he’s your chauffeur, and not your boyfriend.

Bucky drives in silence, you and Mel scrolling through pinterest hurriedly during the car ride for inspiration pictures for your nails while trying to be subtle about the fact that you know that you’re getting proposed to. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice that you know, though.

Once he pulls up to the salon, Mel thanks him for the ride and slides out. You lean over the console to give him a kiss, and he grabs your hand, stopping you.

His card is slid into your palm, and his lips are pressed against your knuckles.

“I’ll pay for you and Mel,” he said, giving you one more smile.

You want to race down the aisle right at that moment. 

Instead, you get your nails done with Mel, swallow down butterflies that are forcing their way up your throat, and get to the restaurant that Bucky told you to meet him at while he runs late at his last meeting before your date. 

It’s a beautiful skyline restaurant in the middle of New York that your own company can’t even secure a date at. You’ve tried multiple times. In fact, your own clients have wanted to get proposals done at this restaurant. It just couldn’t be done. Reservations were booked out at least a year in advance, and somehow Bucky was able to secure the two of you a spot with two months to spare. 

There’s live music playing here by world renowned musicians. The chefs are even more well known. The lighting was low so that it wouldn’t take away from the view outside the windows. The time of night that Bucky chose was perfect– New York was lit up like stars on the ground from the table that you were sitting at. 

You were dressed in the gift Bucky bought for you. A backless, square neckline gown. The straps came up and wrapped around your neck like a halter top would, and tied around the back in a thin bow, the long straps kissing down your bare spine. It was soft and airy against your skin. 

Bucky arrived earlier than you expected, but you were sure he was still later than he wanted to be. Either way, he still had another bouquet of fresh flowers in his hands for you that you two had placed under the table. Of course, he didn’t take a seat before giving you a kiss for a greeting, and murmuring his apology for not being able to pick you up.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling at you. “I didn’t think you would wear it tonight.”

“I thought you bought it for me to wear tonight?” you asked as he placed the flowers under the table. You watched as he sat down across from you. 

“Mm… Well, I bought it for you to wear,” he said, reaching his hand across the table. You easily slipped your hand into his, watching him bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “When you wear it doesn’t matter to me. I just wanted to get you a present.”

“A present?” you echoed, unable to stop smiling. “Even though you already do so much for me?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t want to do more for you, sweetheart,” he hummed. 

The waiter came by not a moment later, letting you know that the first course would be coming out momentarily. You both thanked him, and returned back to each other. 

“I feel like I don’t see you as much these days,” Bucky said, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. 

“It’s been really busy for the two of us,” you agreed, releasing a soft sigh. 

“I even contemplated hiring you as a matchmaker again, just so I could block out meetings and have you in my office again,” he joked, making you laugh. 

“That would be fraudulent, Congressman,” you teased, shaking your head. “For you and me.”

“What are they gonna do? Threaten to fire you again?” 

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face is firmly planted, and isn’t moving anytime soon. 

“You know our dates don’t always have to be somewhere big or fancy, right?” you tell him, your voice softer.

“So you keep telling me,” he hummed, squeezing your hand a little bit. “I know, sweetheart. You said this to me. Several times. I just want to do this for you. For me, too.”

You soften a little bit at his words. You’re gently reminded of a previous confession he told you from when you first started dating. 

You told him that you were more than happy to just get takeout with him on busier days. To get fast food or something quick, if it meant that you two would have more time to spend together. You didn’t always have to sit down and eat somewhere nice. He said that he knew that, and he liked doing that, too. But as a kid in the forties, he always wanted to be the kind of man that was able to spoil his girl rotten– to bring his woman to the best places and sign the check without batting an eye.

This kind of thing was healing for him, too.

“We can get burgers tomorrow,” Bucky said, giving you a smile. 

“Deal,” you grinned at him. 

The first course of your meal was brought out to the two of you. You two never spoke about work over food. It was your rule. You talked about everything else. Sam. Mel. Your parents and siblings. The conversation Bucky overheard while he was in line getting coffee the other day. 

There was always a lot to talk about when you two never saw each other. Then again, you were certain that you would ever run out of words even if you spent every waking moment with him. If there ever came to be a time when that was the case, you were more than happy to spend the rest of eternity in a peaceful silence with him, as long as you were able to hold him. 

Topics never ran dry between the two of you. More than once, you two needed to remind yourselves to shut the fuck up in this fancy establishment because there were sophisticated people around you having very nice meals. 

“I’ll book a private room next time,” Bucky said under his breath.

“I don’t think they’ll let us come back, babe,” you whispered between soft, gasping laughs. “The host is glaring at us.”

That only made Bucky snort, which made you have to cover your own mouth in return before another fit of giggles wrecked through your body. It took everything in the both of you to compose yourselves before dessert was brought out. 

Once your table was cleared off, and you were left with just your wine glasses and the centerpiece on the table, you and Bucky smiled at each other. You were strangely reminded of your first date with him. So you told him that.

“This reminds you of our first date?” he said, his nose crinkling just slightly. “How so?”

“Mm… The ambiance,” you said, shrugging just a bit. You rested your chin in your palm. “You. Me.”

“It’s always you and me on our dates, sweethearts. Who else would it be?” he sarcastically joked, rolling his eyes at you.

“You know what I mean,” you scoffed at him, watching him smile a bit. “I just… feel a bit nostalgic. Just a… who knew, kinda thing.”

“I knew,” Bucky said, making you pause for a second.

“You knew?” you repeated his words, raising an eyebrow at him. Your heart picked up speed just a little bit. This felt like the start of a speech– the start to the speech.

Bucky cleared his throat, and your chest grew tighter at the sound. He shifted in his seat, and you watched as his hand dipped into his pocket. Oh, shit. It’s coming. Your eyes shot back to his face, and your mouth went dry.

“I thought you were the matchmaker, sweetheart. You didn’t know that we would end up together?” he clicked his tongue at you. “I knew I couldn’t trust a matchmaker that didn’t have a boyfriend of her own.”

“I have a boyfriend now, don’t I?” you asked, but thought– Not for long.

He smiled, eyes meeting yours. Then, a velvet box is produced. Placed right on the table in front of you. You can’t bring yourself to look down at it, not when Bucky is still looking at you.

“I want to spend the rest of my days with you. And it’s getting really fucking hard when I can’t see you all the time because we both live on opposite sides of the city, and have awful work schedules that keep us apart. Even so, I love you so much and I can’t imagine being with anyone else,” he confessed to you. Bucky takes in a deep breath that slightly shakes before he whispers out your name, nervous, “Will you move in with me?”

You freeze.

What the fuck?

“Move in with you?” you echoed, blinking.

Bucky opens the box. It’s a key. A shiny, silver key.

“I bought a penthouse in Manhattan,” Bucky said, sliding the box over to you to inspect the key even closer. “I want to see you more often. Not just the random dates when we both have time– I want to sleep next to you every night, and wake up to you in the mornings.”

“A penthouse… In Manhattan,” you said slowly. 

Your brain was short circuiting. In fact, it was fried. Gone.  You were still staring at the key, lips parted. He… wasn’t proposing to you tonight?

“I’m sorry. Am I– Are we moving too fast?” Bucky suddenly asked you, and you could hear the panic in his voice. 

Your head snapped up to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, eyes scanning all over your face. You slapped yourself mentally. You could only imagine how you looked just now– staring at him and the key with a blank look on your face, and giving him no answer.

“What? No! No, Bucky– we’re not moving too fast at all,” you reassured him, hands darting across the table to take his hands in yours. “Most couples our age move in together by the first year or so. Mel and her boyfriend are already planning on moving in together when Mel’s lease breaks in a couple months.”

Bucky lets out a breath of relief, and you watch as his shoulders drop. You feel guilt surge through you at the pure stress that is released from his body at that moment.

“God– I just… You know, the penthouse… It’s fully furnished. I’ve been– Sam has been helping me out, actually. He helped me meet with some realtors, get the place fully furnished and decorated,” Bucky said, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve been living there for the past two and a half months while waiting for all the furniture to come in, and it’s finally all finished as of yesterday and it never occurred to me that you could possibly say no until just now.”

“You’ve been– Is that why you take me back to my apartment after our dates? Instead of yours?” you asked, surprised.

“I already got rid of my other place, sweetheart,” he said, giving you a small, anxious smile. You can see him bouncing his leg up and down just slightly. “Got the penthouse so that we could have enough space for your stuff and mine.”

“You took me out to a fancy dinner, and prepared a speech for me to ask me to move in with you?” you whispered, your heart feeling fuller by the minute.

“I grew up in a time where couples didn’t move in together until after they were married, doll,” Bucky reminded you, his voice small and soft. 

You’re speechless, for just a moment. You take your eyes off of him, to look down at the key in the box, a smile finding its way on your face. You look back up at him, watching as he mirrors your own smile.

“I think it’s time to head home, Congressman.”

Bucky trails behind you quietly as you step into the penthouse. The elevator directly leads to your home– something that you had only ever seen in movies before. You barely took a step into the rest of the home before you were running numbers into your head.

“What’s my share of the bills?” you asked, heart racing as you look up at the high ceilings. “And don’t you dare tell me not to worry about it, Bucky. If we’re living together, then we’re splitting bills. I don’t care that you make more money than me–”

“We’ll talk about finances later, baby,” he cut you off, hands rubbing your shoulders to soothe you. “We’ll split it equally based on our incomes. Just go explore for right now.”

“I don’t know if I can afford this, Bucky,” you said, turning around to look at him. You were freaking out.

“Your salary was put into play when I got this place,” he said, cradling your face. “Sam and I met with the banks. We met with financial advisors to ensure that this would be feasible for both you and me. Please don’t ask how we got your information.”

“Is there a loan–”

“There’s no loan,” he assured you. “Do you trust me?”

“I do,” you answered instantly. 

Bucky gave you a smile, then pressed a kiss to your lips. You melted into his embrace, feeling your worries wash away with just one touch. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back comfortingly. When he pulled away, another kiss was pressed to your forehead. 

“I’ll give you all the documents later to look over. If you still hate it, then we’ll break the lease, and we’ll find somewhere else. I don’t care where we live. I just want to be somewhere that’s with you,” he promised. 

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding. 

Bucky’s hands leave your body, and he steps away from you. He’s quietly urging you to take a look around. 

You had two floors to explore. The elevator opened up the first floor, where there was an open concept condo. You were staring at a living room, kitchen, floor to ceiling windows, and there were built-in shelves on the wall that held Bucky’s books– and had empty spaces for your own books. Down here, there were two doors– one leading to a half bath and the other leading to a home office. 

You saw two desks, separated by a bookshelf. Bucky’s desk was already occupied with his things, while yours was empty and waiting to be used. On the shelf were pictures and other momentos collected by Bucky over the duration of your relationship so far. There was space for you to decorate with whatever you pleased. On the other end of the room was a daybed and some other furniture to cozy up the area. 

Upstairs, there was a platform for another lounge area. Also furnished to hang out in case the two of you ever had any guests come over. Here, your bedroom was behind a closed door. 

A king sized bed was in the middle of the room, along with two nightstands on either side of it. There was a full walk in closet, Bucky already having his stuff hanging on his side with yours waiting to be filled. The windows are touching the floor just like they are outside, and Bucky has the curtains pulled back so you can see the city lights from your bedroom window. 

“What if I get fired?” you whispered, Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind. “I won’t be able to pay my share of the bills.”

“I’ll pay then,” he said, pressing kisses to your bare shoulder and neck.

“What if you get fired? Or what if you quit? Join Sam and return back to action?” you asked, heart racing. 

Bucky chuckled against your neck, squeezing you against him. 

“Iron Man’s late wife donates a large portion every year to the heroes that do the work. If that’s me, then we’ll be fine,” he promised you. “It’s how Sam gets paid right now.”

“Oh,” you breathed, nodding a little dumbly. You tilted your head to the side, allowing him more access to more skin. You felt him smile against you. 

“You like the place then?”

“I can’t believe you hid this from me.”

“I hide you from the entire American government so you can continue to walk the streets of New York without being asked about politics that you don’t care about. I hid Romania from you. I think I can hide an apartment,” he listed off, scoffing softly at the end.

All of your hair is gathered in one of his hands to get it out of his way as he continues to press dizzying, nipping kisses against your body.

“A penthouse,” you managed to correct.

“Same thing,” he muttered, and you felt him tug on the string of your dress. A moment later, the soft fabric was sliding down your body, and pooling at your feet, “C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta christen the place.”

You’re being turned around to face him, and your arms move to slide up his chest and wrap around his neck. Bucky’s lips met yours in an opened mouthed kiss halfway, tongue gliding over yours easily. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you sighed into his mouth, feeling his hands glide up and down the sides of your body. Something about him being fully dressed, and you with nearly nothing at all did something to the both of you.

Your fingers grabbed onto the collar of his dress shirt, tugging him into a deeper, needier kiss. Bucky groaned into your mouth in response, hands finding purchase on the flesh of your ass. His fingers dug into the supple skin, making you moan softly as he groped you.

Your boyfriend gently pushed you until your back was pressed against the window. Once you were situated where he wanted you, Bucky parted from your lips, only to attach himself to your neck once again. He kept shifting, moving down to your collarbones, your chest, your sternum. Lower. 

You watched helplessly, every inch of you thrumming with desire and need as Bucky slowly shifted to his knees in front of you. His hands moved down your body, dragging your underwear down your legs as he positioned himself to sit back on his feet, thighs spread just a bit for comfort. You’re certain your breathing was erratic as you stared at him.

Usually, you were the one on your knees for Bucky. This was different– this was new. You were more than certain that you would still be the one at his mercy.

“Don’t your feet hurt in these heels?” Bucky asked, hand closing around one of your ankles to lift your foot off the ground slightly. “They look uncomfortable. Very tall.”

“It’s not too bad,” you whispered, unable to trust your voice to speak any louder. “I like these shoes.”

“I bought them for you,” he said, tilting his head as he examined the design a little closer.

“That’s why I like them,” you murmured.

Bucky chuckled just a little bit, shaking his head. He moved slowly on purpose, undoing the strap around your ankle and slowly pulling it off of your foot like you were some sort of princess. He gently led your foot back down to the floor, keeping an eye on your posture to make sure you didn’t suddenly fall from the shift in height. When he was certain that you were stable, he switched over to the next foot, repeating the same process.

Except, he didn’t put your foot back onto the ground. Bucky lifted your leg higher, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle, eyes closing as he did. When they opened, he met your gaze, never looking away as his kisses went higher and higher up your leg. He settled your knee to hook around his shoulder, moving to fully kneel before you as his hands went to grab your waist, keeping you pressed against the glass behind you. A firm, tight grip. 

You wouldn’t be able to run from whatever he was about to do to you. Not that you would ever want to.

If he wasn’t holding you up, you were certain you would’ve folded over and collapsed the second his tongue met your heat. The vibrations from the groan sent shockwaves through your entire body that made you tremble above him, hands darting to grab onto his shoulders for an extra form of stability as his tongue parted your folds and flattened against you.

“Shit, Bucky,” you moaned, your mind going blank. All you could feel was him. 

His tongue dipping just slightly in and out of your aching hole, only to drag up to your sensitive clit to swirl figure eights around the nub. Bucky’s hands on your torso, his thumbs  drawing circles into your skin to soothe you against the stimulation he was giving you. The heat of his body radiating against yours from where he was positioned beneath you. 

“Your pussy is squeezing around nothing, baby,” he murmured, pulling away from your core for just a moment, a whine ripping through your throat in response. Bucky clicked his tongue at you, and kissed the inside of your thigh to subdue you. “Have I been neglecting you? Not fucking you enough for you to be so needy?”

Definitely not. Maybe it was the fact that everything was crashing down on you. The fact Bucky went so far to secure the two of you an entire home without you knowing, furnishing the whole place, meeting with financial advisors– all of it made you incredibly desperate for him. 

It was like that one time when you watched him do the dishes for the first time at the beginning of your relationship. He was at your apartment, doing your dishes that you were too lazy to do before he came over. You don’t know what the hell happened to you at that moment, but you just watched him. The second the water turned off, you were unzipping his pants and giving him head. It confused him, but he also wasn’t complaining. 

“I’m always needy for you,” you barely managed to answer him.

Bucky’s lips parted, eyes scanning your figure above him for a few moments. Then, one of his hands left your waist, and two fingers were shoved into you without a single warning. 

A moan ripped through your throat, and you weren’t given a chance to even recover before his mouth was back on your clit, sucking and flicking at the sensitive nub. His fingers entered and exited you at a delicious speed, and he could feel you coming apart around him. Your body was beginning to tremble, walls beginning to shake– and he curled his fingers the way he knew you liked.

You came undone, Bucky’s hand moving to press against your stomach to keep you from collapsing forward. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you whimpered his name, tugging on his hair weakly to pull away from your overstimulated body. 

Reluctantly, he released you. Bucky’s hands never left you as he stood, keeping you upright. Your legs were still shaking when you had both feet on the ground, but fuck if you were going to let Bucky stay dressed. 

You had every intention of returning the favor once Bucky was just as bare as you were. Bucky saw it in your eyes, too. The way your gaze dropped down his torso to his cock that was stiff and high up against his stomach, waiting for you. You barely moved your hair to the side before you were being spun back around, chest pressed to the glass– eyes to the view of the New York city skyline. 

“Next time, doll,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade that made you shiver. You let out a small moan as you felt him drag the length of his dick through your folds, coating himself in your slick to get him ready to enter. “Gotta be inside you right now or I might go insane.”

“Hurry up, then,” you whined to him, pressing your ass back further into him. A mistake, and you knew it. Not that it really was a mistake on your end though.

His hand came around from your stomach, gripping your throat and jaw, pulling you back into him. Your back was arched, hands resting on the glass for some sort of security in the position he had you in. Bucky forced your head to turn, to look at him. 

Bucky wanted to watch your face contort with pleasure as he finally slid in, watch as you fell apart as he speared you full with his cock. There was a look of satisfaction and fucking arrogance in his eyes with the way your mouth fell open in a noiseless moan. Bucky took advantage of it, shoving his tongue into your mouth to swallow up any of the noises that he knew would start coming once his hips started moving.

You couldn’t keep up– not with his kiss, not with the pacing– not with anything that was happening right now. His hips were snapping into yours at such a brutal pace, his metal hand gripping your hip to keep you in place, and you barely managed to pull away from his lips to breathe. 

“So good– so good,” he groaned as you turned back to the glass, chin falling to your chest for a moment as you moaned in response. 

Bucky didn’t let your head hang for too much longer. He pulled your head back up to look out the window, and you could feel his breath against your ear as he continued to pound his hips from behind you.

“Isn’t the view so nice, baby?” he whispered to you.

“Wh… what?” you moaned, mind spiraling for just a moment.

“It’s so nice,” he continued, grunting behind you, “I know your pussy loves it– loves it when I fuck you in front of all of New York to see.”

Excitement shoots through you, and you unexpectedly clamped around him. Bucky’s hips stuttered as he cursed softly. You were close– again– and Bucky wasn’t making this any better for you. Then again, you almost just brought Bucky over the edge with you.

“Shit. I knew you were a fucking freak when you tried giving me head in front of my coworkers,” Bucky muttered, a small laugh falling from his lips.

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “I’m so close–”

“It’s too bad. New York can’t have you,” he cut you off, pulling out of you. 

The sense of loss is immediate, but not for long. Once more, he’s spinning you around. This time, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs are wrapping around his waist immediately, and he’s sinking you back down on his length within seconds. 

Your lips are collided with Bucky as he’s fucking you against the window now, holding you up in his arms as you hang onto him for dear life. Your fingernails are digging into the muscles of his shoulders, scratching down his chest in a way that he once admitted that he loves, and you’re moaning into each other’s mouths.

The thrusts are growing sloppier as the kiss grows messier– there’s no need for words between the two of you anymore. You both know your tells at this point.

Bucky angles his hips just slightly to hit that one spot in you, forcing you over the edge as his own orgasm threatens to take him. Your body seizes, and you can’t kiss him back anymore. Bucky busies himself with your neck, leaving marks on your skin as he fucks you through your high, chasing his own that comes just moments later, coating your walls and dripping down onto the new floors of your new room together.

You’re still panting and trying to catch your breath, head dropped onto his shoulder when Bucky moves, carrying you to the bathroom to clean up. His kisses are softer as he walks over, his words more gentle. His body separates from yours as he rests you on the edge of the bathtub so he can start the water to fill the tub.

“How’s the view?” Bucky asked you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A soft laugh rips through you, and you can feel him smile against your skin.

“The view is perfect, handsome.”

You didn’t find a single number out of place in the documents he presented you either. You took an entire weekend going over the numbers while Bucky watched you quietly. He didn’t bother you while you did so. In fact, he just stayed nearby and took the days off work, too. Bucky answered any questions that you possibly could’ve had for him, already knowing what you would’ve thrown his way.

Which only made your heart grow fonder for him, if you were being honest. He knew you like the back of his hand.

Once you were satisfied with everything, he helped you move all your stuff from your previous apartment over to your new home. Bucky timed the move in perfectly– your lease was about to break the following month, so you had just the right amount of time to tie up all your loose ends. 

All you really had to move over to the new place was your wardrobe, books, and sentimentals. You found out very quickly that during your random dates where Bucky would come home with you, he started taking stock of all your little things around the house. Anything that was running low, he just went ahead and bought so it was already at your new home, ready for you to use.

The last couple weeks were spent with you listing all your unneeded furniture up on the marketplace for an extra few bucks. Things like your dining table, sofa, coffee table– everything that Bucky had already bought and decorated for your home together. 

“You know this couch?” Sam asked you as he flopped down on it. “And the coffee table? The rug? Those barstools? The fucking light fixtures?”

You and Bucky invited him and his girlfriend over for dinner for a small celebration– a little get together to commemorate the fact that you and Bucky were officially fully moved in together now. 

“What about it?” you asked, handing him a bottle of beer.

“I picked it. Me. Bucky just swiped his card. You’re so fucking lucky, matchmaker. Your boyfriend sucks. If I wasn’t there– shit. You would’ve had clashing colors and patterns in this luxury penthouse,” Sam scoffed, taking a long swig. “I had a fucking headache just standing there. The sales associate thought we were married the way I was arguing with him in the store.”

“You two basically are,” you said, grinning against the rim of your own bottle.

“Don’t say that,” Bucky muttered, a shudder running through his body. “I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life with that idiot.”

“God, I’m glad we agree,” Sam groaned, shaking his head. 

“We picked more neutral stuff,” Bucky told you, sitting beside you on the couch. An arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. “We thought it would be easier for you to add whatever additions or colors you’d want in the future.”

“Oh, so you did think about me when you purchased an entire penthouse and furnished the whole damn thing without telling me,” you teased. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the smile on his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I thought of you.”

With the two of you living together now, it was easier for you both to see each other. You reveled in the fact you could fall asleep every night in his arms, even if you went to bed first. He didn’t want you waiting for him if he had an event that had him staying out late, but you would often wake up to him pulling you into his embrace.

In the mornings, Bucky would usually be the one to wake up and leave first. 

You no longer set an alarm on your phone. Bucky’s sweet kisses were your wake up call every morning. He wouldn’t leave until you kissed him back, no matter how long it took you to wake up. 

“Morning,” you would whisper to him.

“Morning,” he’d reply, kissing you one more time for good measure. “I made you breakfast. It’s on the table.”

“Wake me up earlier tomorrow so I can eat with you,” you whined to him, though you just rolled over on your side, closing your eyes again.

Bucky chuckled, leaning over your body to press a kiss to your temple. You sighed, letting the morning wash over you for just one more moment before you pushed up off the bed. You’d follow him downstairs, watch him grab his blazer off the seat of the dining table, and you’d tie his tie for him at the door.

“I’ll be home early tonight. I don’t have any events today,” you said, smoothing out the fabric on his chest.

“You’ve been coming home early every night,” he said, raising his eyebrow at you.

“So have you, Congressman. Almost like there’s something you’re running from. Something you’re avoiding at work?” you teased, smiling at him.

“No. Just trying to get home to you,” he hummed, smoothing out your bedhead with both hands before he held your face gently to kiss you one more time before he went off into the world.

This was your new daily morning routine. 

The trade off on coming home early meant that you still had to do work when you came home. Both of you. However, Bucky seemed to plan for that, which is why he had a room specifically made for a home office for the two of you. 

You two would spend your evenings there before dinner for a few hours, finishing up any work that you weren’t able to do at your respective offices. You two would be silently working on your own jobs.

You, researching your clients preferences and trying to match them up based on their profiles. You would also be looking up the best date spots, trying to keep up with the latest trends for dating, and making sure that you weren’t falling behind on anything else.

Bucky would be going through packets upon packets of different meetings that he would have attended. There were several different duties that he had acquired since you first started dating, and there were a lot of responsibilities that he had started shouldering. You were certain that he was also helping Sam on the side, though he couldn’t tell you full details as per usual. 

Usually, you would stop working when you heard Bucky stop working and open the door to the office. He normally ordered food for the two of you, and would go out to the lobby to pick it up, and bring it back for you two to eat.

It was your signal to put everything down, and relax with him for the rest of the night.

You heard him close his binder, heard the wheels of his chair roll backwards, but you didn’t hear the elevator open and close to signify his departure down. You shook it off– wondering if he just went off to the bathroom or something.

Then, you felt him behind you. 

Bucky’s chest was pressed against your back, enveloping you in his warmth. His hands were on your shoulders, and as always, the left side of your body was colder from the touch of his metal prosthetic. 

“Hi, handsome,” you said, a smile coming onto your face. “Is it time for dinner?”

“Almost. Delivery is on its way,” he answered you.

His hands slid down your shoulders, goosebumps rising on your bare skin as his hands moved all the way down to cover your own hands. He left his hands on top of yours, and you hummed, happy to feel him all over you for just a moment. Bucky’s head pressed against the side of yours, then he dropped his forehead into the crook of your neck.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, tilting your head to the side to give him more space to rest. He took it, burrowing deeper into you.

“Yeah. Just a little nervous,” he murmured into your skin, taking a breath. 

You were about to ask him what he was talking about, to turn around and look at him properly. Then, you felt his hands slide up just a little bit, resting now on your wrists instead of covering your hands completely. Except, there was a weight he left behind that wasn’t there before. Your eyes shifted downwards, and your breath caught in your throat at the ring he slipped onto your finger– the cool metal that he masked with the metal of his own arm.

Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes widened at the sparkling star on your finger. Bucky plucked this thing out of the fucking sky– he had to. There was no way. 

“Marry me, sweetheart?” he asked softly. There was a slight tremor to his voice that you caught. A slight shaking in his right hand that you could feel. 

You couldn’t repeat what you did at the restaurant, make him freak out with worry over your quiet shock and silence.

Your sudden jolt into standing surprised him, but he didn’t seem to mind when you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his lips, then his cheeks, his eyes– everywhere you could as tears were beginning to well up and spill over. You couldn’t help it. You felt Bucky’s anxiety release with each kiss, his hands resting on your waist to hold you against him.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smiling at you.

“Why would I ever say no to you?” you demanded, making him laugh. “Fuck– I thought you were going to propose to me at the restaurant when you asked me to move in with you!”

“The restaurant?” Bucky asked, blinking. “What– really?”

“Yes!” you nodded, wiping your tears away roughly. Bucky caught your hands, putting them down to your sides so he could wipe your tears away in a more gentle way with his thumbs.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, looking appalled. “Do you know how many times you have ranted to me about the fact you hate restaurant proposals? You hate planning them, and you hate watching them. Why would I ever propose to you in a restaurant?”

“If it was you, then I would have changed my mind about it right away!” you argued with him, stubborn. “If it was you, you could’ve proposed to me with a candy ring, and I still would have said yes! We can elope– I don’t need a fancy wedding or anything. I just– just you. I just want you, Bucky.”

You watched as his eyes softened for you as he looked all over your features. You were certain that you looked like a mess right now, but you were finding it harder to believe that with the way he was looking at you right now. He looked as if you were the one that created the universe, and solved all his problems. There was nothing but admiration, love, joy. These were eyes that only you had the privilege to see. 

A smile came onto his face, one that you adored. A smile that you were going to be able to have for the rest of your life.

“Well, I’m your fiancé now, but you’ve already had me from the beginning, doll,” he said, “I’ve had this ring for over a year now, actually.”

“A year?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to ask,” he admitted, a bit sheepish. “And just… right now. It felt right.”

“Me working in the same room as you felt right?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at your blatant sarcasm. Except, he’s still smiling. He never gives you a real attitude. He wouldn’t dare. He loves you too much to ever do that.

“The fact that we’re both able to do our own thing in silence, but still be together felt right. We don’t need to speak. We don’t need to be touching. Don’t get me wrong, I love all those things, but… When I looked over at you just now— I felt at peace. Peace that I never thought I was ever allowed to have. So yes, it felt right.”

You’re about to cry again. You’re about to start fucking ugly sobbing in your boyfriend– your fiancé’s arms. You have a thousand things to say, but you know none of them will make sense right now. So, you bury your face in his chest and hug him tight, his arms coming to hold you even closer to him. 

“I love you,” you settled with, your voice breaking slightly.

“I love you, too,” he chuckled in response.

You listened to his chest rumble with laughter under your ear, felt his head rest against the side of yours. He led your bodies in a gentle sway, rocking the two of you back and forth. He took in a breath, releasing it slowly in a contented way. 

Your mind is racing still, and you ask one single question– just one to get his opinion. 

“Where should we get married?” you whispered to him. 

Bucky’s quiet for a few moments. A few moments too long. You pull back from him to look at his face, finding a smile on his lips, and a small sparkle in his eyes.

“I have some friends that want to meet you. Do you think you’re up to traveling to Wakanda?”

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn let me know if you would like to join my general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic!

[zepskies]

I've never actually done this before...

Reaching follower milestones has never really been my main goal here. I hopped over from Ao3 to the Tumblrverse two years ago to share my stories and see if I could connect more with any potential readers. What I didn't know was how amazing SPN (and adjacent Jackles fandoms) would be over here...

How much fun I would have expressing myself, challenging myself to write new things and grow as a writer, and getting to vibe with my readers and other amazing writers.

I now consider some of those special people my friends, and they continue to make my day better every time we interact — whether it's hyping each other up and fangirling in each other's comments and reblog comments, or talking about everything and nothing in our DMs. That support has gotten me through some rough times in the past two years.

So "celebrating" this milestone of over 5,000 followers is really just me saying THANK YOU to everyone who's supported me by reading, commenting, and reblogging my work, helping me brainstorm, giving me inspiration, or just simply being my friend! 💜

⋆˙⟡ WAYS TO PARTICIPATE:

Because you guys know I'm extra af 😂, there are 3 sections to choose from:

⟡ Ask Me Stuff

⟡ Summer Writing Challenge!

⟡ Mini Fic Requests

Ask Me Stuff:

⟡ Let's revisit these EOY Artist/Writer questions. Ask me any of them!

⟡ Ask me anything you want to know about my storyverses: Break Me Down, Unravel Me, Lost On You, Midnight Espresso, Smoke Eater, The Honorable Choice, Every Second Counts, Take Me Home, or any others!

Summer Writing Challenge:

If you're feelin' frisky and wanna join this summer writing challenge of less than 5,000 words before September 1, here's how to play...

💗 Gif Check: I'll send you a gif depending on the character you choose from the list below. Write a story that matches the vibe or completes the "scene." Just shoot me an ask with the character you want to write about, and request a gif!

🎨 Color Prompt: You choose a character from the list below. I'll choose a color palette for you based on what I think your aesthetic is!

🎙️ Songfic: Give me a character + a decade and/or genre of music, and I'll give you a song to match!

**Guidelines:

Submissions with pairings can be Character x Reader, Character x OC, or Character x Character.

(Please no RPF or Wincest.)

Include tags, notes, warnings if necessary - including if it's 18+

Please use the "Keep Reading" break if it's over 500 words.

Max word count 5,000 (for your sanity lol). Minimum 500 words.

Tag @zepskies (me) somewhere in the post.

Include this tag - #Zepskies 5K - within your first 5 tags.

Send me an ask until July 30! Post your fic by September 1.

I will of course read and reblog with my thoughts on your amazing work! If you get a chance, please try to do the same for others who participate. At the end, I will compile a master rec list of each fic submitted. 💜

Mini Fic Requests:

Uno Reverse! 🔄 For these drabbles (1,000 words or less), I will only answer non-anonymous asks so I can verify if you're over 18. Please make sure your age is listed in your bio! 😉

Check out the "characters I currently write for" down below. My inbox will be open for these types of requests from June 27 - July 4 only!

💗 Gif Check: Pick a character from the list and send me a gif! I'll do my best to write you a drabble that matches the vibe.

🎨 Color Prompt: I've been getting a lot of inspo from color aesthetics and moodboards lately. Pick a character from the list and a color. Any color! I'll do my best to write a drabble with that color scheme in mind.

🎙️ Songfic: Most people who know me know that I get a lot of inspo from music. Pick a character from the list and send me a song you think I'd like! I'll do my best to write a drabble that fits the song.

☕️ Characters I currently write for:

(or would like to write for)

⟡ Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester - Supernatural ⟡ Soldier Boy - The Boys ⟡ Mark Meachum - Countdown ⟡ Beau Arlen - Big Sky ⟡ Russell Shaw - Tracker ⟡ Joel Miller - The Last of Us ⟡ Javier Peña - Narcos ⟡ Harry Castillo - The Materialists ⟡ Alec McDowell - Dark Angel ⟡ Jason Teague - Smallville ⟡ Boaz Priestly - 10 Inch Hero ⟡ CJ Braxton - Dawson’s Creek ⟡ Éomer, Aragorn, Haldir, Thranduil - Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit

THANK YOU!! (Part 1)

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@wvffles @tofics @kazsrm67 @mostlymarvelgirl

@chevroletdean - Thank you for giving me the idea for the "color" prompts and the guidelines for the writing challenge with your 500 follower celebration!

@winchestergirl2 @lacilou @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords

@twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @wayward-dreamer @waywardlatina

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@deanwinchesterswitch @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @jollyhunter @moodyquesadilla

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@siampie @spnbabe67 @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @redhoodieone

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @kmc1989 @foxyjwls007

[phantasm-ae]

I want my boy Gaz some recognition 😭😭😭😭

Maybe the team will get to meet her🤨🤨🤨🤨

(okay but like imagine... Gaz having a wife similar to Price's and Ghost's wife like she is all sweet, loving, and caring... And then boom! She's Carrying Gaz like it's nothing! Like she has that Texas Cottage core vibe (is that even a thing?) like girl is sunshine and strength)

omg omg omg... im so sorry it took so long anon RAAAA. But! I have an ideaa hehehhe. Soo yk Rick and Morty?? Hehehhe well…

cw: chaotic afab reader x kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, slightly mad scientist afab reader, fluff

HEADCANON: The team meets Gaz’s bird. And well…. She was probably more than they’d expected

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x afab reader

Kyle has been dating her for months.

Wildly intelligent and hilariously blunt. Slightly feral lass who wears chaos like perfume and can talk about planetary physics and frogs in the same breath.

The kind who corrects documentaries mid-sentence, and once told Kyle after snooping through his documents, about how his missile trajectory calculations were “embarrassingly phallic,” and sincerely meant it.

And Kyle? Well... He’s absolutely gone for her.

Has been since day one when she marched up to him after attending a childhood friend’s lecture, shoved a melting popsicle in his hand, and said:

"If you had to save the world with only one mathematical constant, which one would you choose? Don’t think — answer!"

Caught between her unblinking stare and a rapidly dripping sticky mango mixture near his cargos, Kyle had only blinked twice and mumbled, “...Pi?”

“Coward,” she said, then grinned like she’d just met her new favorite problem.

That was it. Done. Hooked. Doomed, even.

And well Kyle?

Kyle, awestruck, bemused, and surprised — fingers and wrist sticky with artificial sugar and syrup. The gossamer and sweet liquid staining his newly acquired cargos — could only smile back and nod almost knowingly.

The 141 meet her months later though, during one of those rare in-between missions when there's time for drinks and dinner and recharging before the next chaos hits. But here he was. Fucking sweating and itching through and through.

Well it wasn’t like he never expected all their paths to cross eventually. He always knew she’d meet them. Meet this.

Introduce herself to this part of his life soon enough and not as an accessory or a passing visitor. But as something inevitable. Like gravity. Like sunrise. Something meant to be embedded into every bit of narrative she could sew herself into.

Because if Kyle was ever honest, she knew she wasn’t the kind of person you could keep in a separate drawer. No, never. Would never even think of ever shucking her away on some pent up flat or four-cornered bedroom. Pretty little bird kept and fed well with jewels and soft perches? No. That wasn’t her.

That was never going to be her.

Never.

She was storm and thesis, claws and questions, and Kyle -- sweet, brilliant Kyle -- knew it from the moment she walked into his life like a living paradox, equal parts catastrophe and charm. She didn’t visit chapters. She rewrote them. Annotated margins. Circled themes. Demanded footnotes.

So yes, he always knew.

She overflows. Gushes. Deluged. Trickles sweetly and syrupy into the vestiges of the gloomy part of his existence. Will spill into everything and into him. And Kyle, hopelessly, stupidly gone for her, will never really try to stop it.

So if he was being honest, some part of him had always imagined this moment -- her walking into the same room as the lads, sharp-tongued and starlit, leaving a trail of sparks in her wake. Not if. But more on when.

And now it was when.

But Christ was he still bloody nervous, aye?

Collar too hot and cap a bit too tight on his forehead, palms vaguely clammy like he was back in basic waiting to be called for his first ever inspection all over again. Which was stupid, because this wasn’t a mission. Wasn’t even a bloody op.

It was just.... her -- meeting the rest of his team.

And yet, Kyle was still internally combusting like she was a ticking biochemical warhead that could either charm the lads or annihilate the entirety of Price's backyard.

He glanced sideways at the entrance. No sign of her yet. Okay. Okay. That was fine.

Soap, across from him, was already two pints in and mid-rant about the correct ranking of fast food crisps, while Ghost sat with his arms crossed and offered the occasional low grunt of disagreement. Slow blinking in boredom and lazying around near some of Mrs. Price's potted plants.

Price nursed a whiskey like it was an old grudge and pretended not to be listening, albeit trying to stifle the slight quirk of his lip every time Soap seemed to look even more chauved and disgruntled at Ghost's lack of interest at the importance of learning the difference between Cheese-flavored crisps and barbecued ones. The younger bloke almost fuming at the disinterested and blased remarks he received from his superior. Snobbish over Ghost not knowing the based characteristics on Vinegar vs Vinegar-coated.

“She’s gonna love you lot,” Kyle muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Still don’t get why you’re sweatin’ bullets, mate,” Price replies after sidling up next to Gaz after Soap started yelling at Ghost over the massive and weighty bastard choosing Walkers over Pringles, shaking his head with an amused grin. “You said she’s a wee genius, yeah? She'll be fine aye?"

“She's just.... odd” Kyle said after swallowing

Price’s eyebrows drooped a bit reassuringly. Boonie hat tilted, expression something between humoured and understanding -- the same look he gives rookies before a live op. “Odd’s never been a problem with us, son. You seen Soap’s sock drawer?”

“Ah sort them by how often I wear ‘em, obviously” Soap called out from the booth, clearly listening now after a huff. Stomping back to grab another pint. “It’s practical warfare.”

“Freak behaviour,” Ghost muttered behind his own drink.

Kyle exhaled a nervous laugh, glancing again at the door. “I just mean… she’s different. Proper brilliant, but she says things like ‘Diogenes walked so Newton could run,’ and she means it. Like, genuinely. She once argued with Siri and won.”

“She sounds like a bloody delight,” Price replied dryly, then gave him a nudge with his elbow. “C’mon. You think any of us are normal?”

Kyle looked down at his hands, a little calloused, a little sweaty. “She just means a lot. Don’t want her thinkin’ she’s gotta tone herself down for anyone. She deserves better than that”

Price’s voice lowered, sincere. “Then don’t let her. The team’ll love her for exactly who she is. Just like you already do.”

Kyle was about to respond -- probably with something sarcastic and choked-up -- when the door creaked open.

She walks through the gate carrying a box labeled “Absolutely Not Explosives (Maybe Snacks)”, wearing a bright-green button down with her usual tenured slacks and folded manila envelopes tucked in one pocket. Windblown, wide-eyed, her glasses sliding down her nose, and grinning like she just stepped out of a fever dream and into someone else’s backyard. Armed and saddled with that same barefoot-in-a-storm kind of confidence that had ruined him from day one.

“Hi!” she calls out.

And it’s not just a greeting -- it’s an announcement. A declaration of entry. Like Archimedes, entropy, and the snack box had all been waiting for this exact moment to collide.

Kyle’s heart stuttered once, then promptly gave up any hope of ever functioning normally again.

She beelined for him as usual like a woman on a mission, but halfway there.... she noticed the fire pit --

-- specifically, the way it was constructed.

Oh shit, not again.

She veered without hesitation, knelt next to it, squinting like she was analyzing a nuclear core, and muttered, “Someone built this using a Fibonacci spiral as emotional support.”

“Fuck's Fibonacci?”, Soap whispered loudly, nudging Ghost with his elbow. “This Gaz's lass then, aye?”

Ghost gave her a slow once-over. Head tilting a bit at her mismatched flats and patched pockets. “Bird looks like she drinks Red Bull and argues with God.”

Before Kyle could respond -- or run, depending on the emotional weather -- she reaches into the sleeve of her coat and yanks out a... suspicious-looking metal rod.

No one spoke.

Then -- click -- a blade folded out. But not like a normal blade. No, this looked like a half-melted Swiss Army knife made love to a soldering iron. Wires dangling at the bits of shorn metal. Clinking and sinewy it was. A button at the side of the make-shift handle blinking blue rapidly.

Yep. Something definitely hissed, Price concludes as he minutely flinches for the first time at the sight of something so foreign and obtuse near his wife's petunias.

Ghost tensed, gaze locked like he was trying to identify what kind of improvised weapon she’d just birthed into existence, while Soap -- daft numpty -- only leaned forward in fascination.

“What the fuck is that?” Price asked, calm but also not calm, the way a father might ask why there’s a raccoon in the dishwasher.

She didn’t look up. “Thermodynamic calibrator-slash-ultralight torch. Built it from scrap and spite. Give me a sec.”

Then she jammed it into the soil like she was performing surgery on the lawn. A sharp hum buzzed through the air. One of the lawn lights flickered. She squinted at the fire pit, adjusted a dial, then jammed the device again into the soil near the base. The fire pit roared to life, its flame suddenly tall and balanced, licking upward in a soft golden spiral. It was mesmerizing, a near-perfect bloom of heat and symmetry.

The men collectively leaned back.

“Hell's bells” Soap muttered.

She stood, smacked some dirt off her knees, and grinned with both pride and a worrying amount of glee. “There,” she said, adjusting a final dial before stepping back. “Now it distributes heat evenly -- low flicker rate, too, in case anyone here’s prone to headaches or, you know… prefers not to feel like they’re being interrogated by the sun.”

Her tone was light, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Ghost -- casual, gentle, like it was just an offhand observation. But Kyle caught it. The way she noticed things most didn’t. The way she chose to.

Soap leaned back slowly, a grin now stretching across his face like a man watching the birth of a new religion.

“I like her", Soap grinned.

Kyle was already up on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, love… you gonna say hi properly, or you planning to interrogate more of the landscaping?”

She stood up straighter now, poised and readied, like nothing was odd once more, turning with an inviting and warmy grin, holding the box up proudly with a small and enthusiastic wave. Almost like she didn't just reconstruct a fire pit with a weaponized calculator and a god complex. “Hi! Sorry, got distracted. The heat ratios were offensive. Also, I brought snacks!”

She shook the box once for emphasis. It jangled. The sound was deeply suspicious.

Ghost, once relaxed and a bit.... touched alarmed that someone picked up on his discomfort with flickering light without him saying a word, now sat a little straighter at that. Eyes sharp once again. Cautious and perched. Shoulders just barely tensed under his hoodie as something absolutely squeaked when she juggled the looming cardboard in her wry hands repeatedly.

Price side-eyed the box like it had a timer.

Soap was still smiling like he’d just found a new hobby. Gait shifting to approach her closer. Reading the “Absolutely Not Explosives" label aloud. “Tha's either a bloody threat or a right good promise.”

“Depends on who opens it,” she replied cheerfully, then smiled open and inviting, adjusting her grip to shake Soap's outstretched palm. Shoving the box right after to Kyle's chest. Price humming in amusement at the sight 'oof' Kyle breathes at the weight and mounty thing now in his grasp. A misguided care package from a mad scientist at that. He was sure of it.

Making him stagger a step back, having to catch it again with both hands as it tilted precariously to one side. Something clinked. Something else sloshed. Something definitely clicked.

Price hummed, one brow rising as he took another sip of whiskey. “She always gift-wrap danger?”

“Only on the holidays,” Kyle muttered, staring down at the box like it was about to start reciting code.

Meanwhile, she was already gripping Soap’s hand with a firm shake, her grin bright, chaotic energy radiating off her like a short-circuited sunbeam.

At his sergeant's words, Price shakes his head in hilarity and interest, a slight lift from his beard for a surprised smile before stepping forward himself and offering his own hand. “You must be the chaos professor.”

She blinked at his hand at that, his words making her pause but grin proudly, grasping his sinewy fingers firmly as well in return. “I’m not a professor. Yet. But I am a Doctor of Applied Theoretical Physics, with a minor in Quantum Physics”

“You’ll fit right in,” he replied, clearly entertained. “I’m John.”

“Captain John Price,” she said then, squinting. Almost like something just pieced itself together in her head. A corner of her glasses slightly blinking green and blue. However, light and subtle -- just a shimmer beneath the lens as if scanning data only she could see.

She tilted her head. “Ohhh. You’re the John Price. Task Force 141. SAS. Operation Kingfisher, the oil rig interception, three confirmed HVTs neutralized in twenty-one minutes. That John.”

Price raised a brow, his grip still firm in her handshake. “That’s a very specific résumé you’re rattling off.”

She grinned, shrugging. “I like to research my boyfriend’s coworkers. Helps me know what kind of cookies to bake and what kinds of extraction plans to draft in case things go horribly wrong. And can I just say for the record, that you truly have a ridiculously symmetrical face.”

Price chuckled low in his throat, that rare and gravelly sound of a man both flattered and bewildered. “Symmetrical, huh?”

She nodded, eyes narrowed with faux scrutiny. “Yep. It’s giving ‘military recruitment poster.’ Like someone made you in a lab to sell patriotism and protein powder.”

Soap let out a loud bark of laughter. “Och, she's clocked you dead-on, Cap"

Kyle was standing off to the side now, box still in his arms, looking like he was debating whether to set it down gently or hurl it into the bushes before something in it decided to hatch. “Please don’t feed her ego,” he called over. “It’s already got its own gravitational field.”

She shot him a wink at his response. “That’s rich coming from the man who cried at my thesis defense.”

“That’s -- I had a cold,” Kyle protested, cheeks already pinking.

“She presented using live fluid simulations and built a metaphor about dark energy and love,” he added for the others, like that would somehow make it less devastating.

Ghost muttered into his glass, “Startin' to think you didn’t pull her… bird drafted you.”

“She did,” Kyle said, deadpan. “I was conscripted.”

Price shook his head, that amused smile now tugging higher under his beard. “Well, Doc, welcome to the madness.”

She glanced at the squad -- all casually observing her like she was both a field report and an open flame -- and clapped her hands once, bright and fearless.

“Excellent,” she said. “Then I’ll make tea after this. Also, about that fire pit--”

Soap looked delighted. “Aye, that wee disaster? That wis me, cheers.”

She gave him a mock-somber nod. Almost cringing at Soap's enthusiasm as if it physically hurt her to try and school someone for something pointless and small at the end of the day. “I admire the conviction, Johnny. But the stones.... were holding a grudge.”

Ghost tilted his head. “Fuck do stones hold a grudge for?”

She looked at him over her glasses. “Vibrations. Like people. Only less dramatic.”

Soap leaned over to Price, muttering, “This one’s a unit. A proper mad scientist.”

Price snorted. “And you love it.”

“You know I do.”

Finally, Kyle placed the suspicious box on the table with the care of someone setting down a baby rattlesnake. “Alright, so are we opening this or performing a ritual?”

She lit up. “Both.”

Something beeped.

Ghost stiffened.

Soap leaned closer.

Price calmly took another sip of his whiskey like he was very used to seeing strange things unfold in his garden.

And Kyle?

He just grinned, wide and resigned, as she started peeling back the tape with the flair of someone revealing buried treasure. Because this was her. All of her.

Spilling and overflowing for sure. All light, wit, and kinetic mess. Sharp edges wrapped in cellophane, brilliance hidden beneath layers of glitter and chaos and a worrying understanding of black-market circuit boards. Solar flare in the shape of his other half is what it is.

But somehow. Bloody somehow.

Still. Will. And is --

-- utterly Kyle's.

“Alright,” she said brightly, flipping the box open now with a flourish, “Let’s play snack roulette!”

Revealing the inside of the malty cardboard now filled with neatly organized rows of tiny vacuum-sealed parcels, each labelled with suspicious enthusiasm:

Nutritionally Suspicious Brownies

Possibly Radioactive Jam -- Only Kyle's

Chili Lemon Cry-Biscuits

Emotionally Unstable Muffins

Entropy Taffy

Soap leaned in with glee. “Christ, ye name yer snacks like they’ve got emotional issues”

“They kind of are,” she replied, plucking out the Cry-Biscuits and casually tossing one to Ghost, who caught it one-handed with all the enthusiasm of a man expecting to be poisoned. He sniffed it once, then gave her a look.

“Why’s it humming.”

“Because it’s fresh,” she said simply, then added, “And also maybe reacting to trace particles in the air. The spice is… volatile.”

Ghost stared. “You trying to kill us bird?”

“If I was, you'd already be carbon scoring,” she chirped.

Soap popped one of the taffies into his mouth with a crunch. Immediately blinked. “Holy shite. I can taste colors!”

masterlist

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi! I'm reading the summer challenge you posted, and I have a bit of a stupid question that I'm not sure if you've answered before.

How do I go about finding Black creators in fandom? I've found a few streamers and youtubers, but as far as artists and writers on tumblr and ao3, no one seems to put that kind of thing in their bio (also I don't really like discord either if that matters)

I have realized with how many times I've been asked this that I am biased. Some of you truly have the privilege to walk into a space and never have to try to find peers that look like you. Because this feels second nature to me to do atp.

A lot of times, the hardest part is finding One Black creative. Because in my experience, we tend to find, follow, and support each other's voices organically (not as a monolith, but nonetheless). I've literally found Black artists where I'll go into their notes and find more Black artists. You see who they share and you follow and share those same people. Even the ones I don't follow, I know who they are and check in on them every now and then.

Get in the tags and stop being afraid to type 'Black'! #black artist #black artist on Tumblr #black youtuber #black writer #black writer on tumblr #black [fill in the blank], #black creator #black [fill in the blank] on tumblr #black [fandom character of interest] #black edit #fandom character. If I type in #black edit #jujutsu kaisen #gojo (satoru?), for example, I could find an artist who did one, and maybe that artist is Black or had Black followers who appreciated it! Hell, even just liking the Black characters in a piece of media will help you find some Black creators.

You could even get on Google and do the same thing faster, or on twitter (though I don't use Twitter). Black Twitter platforms and is responsible for a good chunk of American online pop culture and jokes (not that we get credit for that!) but typing that in will get you Black creators of all sorts. Even on here, the Black folk who aren't afraid to be Black on main will absolutely type that into their bio. I know this, because I check when I follow people lmao.

If you really wanna get in the trenches, you could find those uncomfortable conversations y'all usually avoid. Learn some perspective AND support some Black bloggers. #fandom racism #fandom antiblackness #antiblackness #[fandom of choice]. I have a post with over 100k reactions on the topic, and amongst the thousands of white folk that missed the point, there are still Black bloggers who contribute their experiences. Every Black creator in a fan space has at least one experience of fandom racism, it comes part and parcel with trying to be here.

[mayshifting]

That's so true. I'm just going to say more things about the different sentences you said because I want to and some people need to read this.

I.

So the first thing, methods are tools to HELP, not to MAKE you shift. People need to stop saying or IMPLYING you need one to shift. It happens more than people think, even if it's not directly said.

Also, people need to answer the people who ask "which methods..." that the methods are not needed. Shifters are thinking more about the methods than the shift itself.

II.

Caring about what people do in their own DRs is completely stupid. I don't care what people do or don't do in their drs (like you said, except if you kill or hurt people.) And everyone should be the same, because why care about other people's lives? They are not hurting anyone (at least I hope.) So let them live, bro.

II + VI

And judging people because they DON'T script out imperfections is the same as caring about what people do in their DRs and it's the dumbest thing ever. I think imperfections make it more normal, y'know? Yes, we can live in the perfect world everyone wants but, we also need imperfections/problems too.

I'm shifting to MHA, so if there's no problem, heroes don't exist.

Or for someone who shifts in Marvel or another DR which we NEED problems to live what we want to live.

Having a bit of action makes it more fun, more thrilling. So judging people because they don't script out thing, this is low.

If you want to shift to a perfect world without flaws to not have any problems DO IT. You're so right about that. But yeah, don't judge the one who don't.

III.

About Kill DRs, they are genuinely terrifying, because you don't kill here but you CAN kill in another reality? You're just a psychopath who wants to have the right to act on their urge without repercussions. If you can kill in another reality, you can do it here too, and this is not something you can debate on.

V.

I don't have much to say about this one because, yes, shifting is scientific. And like you said it got explained multiple times. For the people who think the opposite, I invite you to do your research, or ask at least someone who knows or has read the scientific evidence what the explanations are. (Don't ask me, I'm still waiting for the motivation to continue reading, I swear.)

Also, shifting has existed since forever. Experiences were made since 1983/and before. People in the past talked about it way before everything, but just they didn't use the term shift.

Because, no, shifting is not called shifting reality. People just started calling it that way. So don't stress if you don't say "I'm shifting." Or anything.

Here, for y'all.

VII.

The over-script or don't script at all. Again, minding other people's lives.

Who cares if they over-script or don't script? Is it going to kill you? To prevent you from shifting? No, so why judging about something so insignificant.

All you want is to force people to do what you think IS the right thing to do. But not everyone works the same

People prefer to over-script to be sure they have everything. And some don't script because it's not necessary and prefer doing other stuff than scripting. You can't just judge or force someone to think like you do or do what you do.

VIII.

The cheating problem, SO MANY people are fighting about this its crazy. For the shifter, you go to ANOTHER reality, even if you have another partner in here doesn't mean you're cheating because you're not dating the person you date here. So if you don't date this person, there's no cheating.

Of course, it's okay to question it. It important. But your feelings are different from one reality to another. And it's important to understand that.

For the PARTNER, please. You're jealous of a person who's not even in your reality.

I can understand why you guys feel like that, but you guys probably do the same or would do the same (if not a shifter.)

Your partner doesn't HAVE to date you in every reality. It doesn't mean they don't love you in this one, they do. But not in another one.

IX.

I have literally nothing to say, just that there's no original reality if we shift every everytime. We just shift in a reality very similar to the other that it's unnoticeable.

X.

This one is angering me. Yes. You. Can. It's nothing religious, it's scientific. There's nothing wrong about that.

If you want to shift but you're religious, go! It's not a sin at all. And if people say otherwise don't listen to them, religion and science are 2 different things. It's sad to see someone want to shift but doesn't do it because of the fear of it being a sin because x said it was.

No, it's not. A lot of religious people shift, so do I.

𝑆𝐻𝐼𝐹𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐴𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴 𝐼𝑀 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝐹𝐴𝐿𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑂𝑅

i. “you have to use a method” sybau

ii. caring what other people do in their drs (idgaf unless you’re hurting people)

iii. kill drs

iv. “shifting isn’t scientific” there’s so many scientific explanations but ok

v. needing an s/o in every dr

vi. scripting out every imperfection (js a personal thing — i like flaws in my drs as it makes me enjoy the good even more)

vii. judging people who “over-script” or don’t script at all.

viii. thinking it’s cheating if your partner shifts for someone else … (get a grip)

ix. “original reality”

x. “you can’t be religious whilst also being a shifter”

[tinybeetiny]

I Love You I Love You I Love You: K.S

My baby sunshine boy!

->Starring: YeosangXReader ->Genre: Sickeningly sweet fluffy fluff, best friends to lovers ->Cw: none?

Seonghwa | Hongjoong | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Nine years.

That’s how long you’ve known Kang Yeosang.

Nine years of inside jokes and late-night calls. Nine years of shared playlists, movie nights, and birthdays spent side by side. Nine years of him showing up when no one else did, of quietly memorizing the way he laughs when something really gets him, the way he looks away when he's flustered, the way his voice softens when he talks to you.

And nine years, painfully, quietly, of being in love with him.

You don’t remember the exact moment you fell, just that once it started, it never stopped. Every little thing about him, from his soft-spoken charm to his oddly specific snack preferences, made your heart ache. But you never told him. How could you? The friendship was too precious to risk.

So you kept it in. You stayed by his side. You loved him from the background.

Tonight, though… something feels different.

You’re curled up in Yeosang’s apartment, legs tangled on the couch as a half-watched movie plays in the background. The air is warm with comfort and familiarity, but underneath it all, something lingers. A tension, quiet and restless, like the calm before a storm.

Yeosang has been stealing glances at you all evening, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s fighting an internal war.

“Hey,” you say softly, nudging his leg with your foot. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes, usually guarded, are wide and shining in the dim light, like he’s standing on the edge of something huge.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he finally says, his voice a whisper. “I’ve tried, but, God, I can’t.”

Your heart stutters. “Can’t do what?”

Yeosang takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking slightly.

“Pretend I don’t love you.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that wraps around your lungs and squeezes.

“I know this might ruin everything,” he rushes out, eyes flicking nervously to yours. “And maybe it’s selfish, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore. Not when every time you laugh, it feels like coming home. Not when every part of my day is better just because you exist in it. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and it’s been eating me alive.”

You stare at him, mouth parted, breath stolen. Nine years. Nine years of waiting, of hiding, of wondering if he could ever feel the same.

And he does.

“You—” Your voice cracks, tears springing to your eyes. “Yeosang, I’ve been in love with you since the day we met.”

His lips part. “What?”

"I love you" He says "I love you I love you I love you"

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you,” you laugh wetly. “But I’ve loved you through every stupid inside joke, every late night call, every time you showed up with snacks just because you thought I’d had a hard day. I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Yeosang is frozen for a second, like the words are still sinking in, and then he’s pulling you into him. Not gently, not shyly, but desperately. Like he’s afraid he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.

He buries his face in your neck, and you feel his smile against your skin. “You really love me?” he whispers, voice trembling.

You cup his face, bringing him back just enough to look into his eyes. “I always have.”

And when he kisses you, slow and sweet and aching, it feels like the end of every question you’ve ever asked yourself. Like every day, every year, every heartbeat has been leading to this moment.

Yeosang, quiet and reserved, completely comes undone in your arms.

“I’m never hiding it again,” he breathes. “Never.”

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