#he needs people to know and he needs people to pay

[tinlizziedlinwa]

If you want to prove to me that you do NOT know how to science, that you do NOT understand that correlation isn't equal to causation, that you do NOT have even the vaguest grasp of statistics, and that you do NOT accept that the man himself said in a US Senate Hearing that people should not take medical advice from him... then you'll support his idiotic ass.

The dipshit in that photo is fully vaccinated, enjoys top-of-the-line-healthcare, can eat anything he wants any time he wants, doesn't need to pay for a gym membership, and gets paid with kickbacks from ad revenue on platforms selling his anti-science bullshit to conspiracy theorists on-top-of his federal salary.

People already are living shorter, more miserable lives because of his rhetoric. Just witness the measles outbreaks we've been having in the USA. Almost 150 children hospitalized and three dead so far in 2025 alone. https://www.cdc.gov/measles/data-research/index.html

Think! Even though a stopped clock is right twice a day... Is absolutely everything he says totally, flat-out wrong? Many people feel the need to cherry-pick those (exceedingly rare) gems and conclude that everything he says must be gospel. So many people have empowered this dipshit because they've narrowed their focus down to a single issue and are relying on anecdotal "evidence" to try to back up their position.

Don't even get me started on his take on autism. omg. Ever heard of epigenetics? How environmental factors influence current & future genetic expression? And this dipshit's cohorts in crime are stripping our government of research funding as well as destroying oversight of what chemicals industry decides to dump in your local rivers and pump out of their smokestacks.

It takes a special kind of snowflake indeed to support this coterie of grifting bullshitters, and this dipshit in particular.

I hate this motherfucker the most. People in my family who should know better fell under the sway of this lying, psychotic monster. If you’ve ever loved anyone with any kind of disability, you are betraying them by looking up to this man and giving weight to anything he says.

[makeitworse]

SEOUL CITY

♬ seungcheol as your older bf. (age gap hcs. 18+)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀HE SAYS MY ATTITUDE OUT OF CONTROL ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TELL ME WHAT TO DO, MR GENERAL

✦ the first time you called him “oppa,” he flinched. not because he didn’t like it— oh he did, too much— but it hit him like bricks just how young you sounded when you said it. how wrong it should feel. it never stopped you, though. and he’d never ask you to.

✦ he didn’t act on his feelings at first. he’s well aware of just how much older he is, how often people talk. but you’re a persistent little thing: always coming to him for advice, always calling late at night, always so damn sweet when you look up at him and say his name like he’s your whole world. so eventually, inevitably, he gives in.

✦ the power imbalance isn't lost on him. he pays for everything. teaches you things he’s learned over the years. set boundaries you’re too passive to set for yourself. cheol justifies it as protection— but there's a part of him that likes it. the dependency. the trust. how you lean on him, need him.

✦ cheol spoils you in ways that blur the line between boyfriend and provider. gas tanks full, appointments paid for, new clothes ‘just because’. he’ll never say it out loud, but it’s like his way of staking his claim, you know? taking care of you in a way no one else could compete.

✦ he’s incredibly protective. doesn’t like you staying out late without him, gets irritated if you mention a guy friend your age. he tells himself it’s cause he knows better, knows what boys that young are after. but it’s jealousy. he hates the damn word, but it is. the fear you’ll wake up one day and want someone you can relate to a little more.

✦ he’ll often pull you into his lap when he’s sitting down. he has a tendency to after arguments too. his voice low, hands firm on your waist, tone shifting to tender in a single breath. it’s his way of grounding. a reminder that he’s the one who adores you, and still the one in charge.

✦ “you don’t know what you want yet,” he’d tell you more than once. especially when you try to push his buttons, act older, test his limits. it’s part concern, part arrogance. sometimes he thinks you’re not ready for a ‘real’ relationship— but he’s not strong enough to stay away.

✦ cheol calls you “baby” more than your name. at times it’s “kid,” like when he’s annoyed. other times it’s “good girl,” when you’ve done something that makes him feel pride. there’s a tenderness in it, but also a sense of ownership. like you belong to him in every sense.

✦ it took some time before you actually slept together. there’d been no end of cheol going down on you, making you cry with just his hands. but he never asked for anything in return; always shaking his head when you’d offer. cheol didn’t want to rush, wanted to ease you into it. and you found out why the first time he pulled down his pants. he’s huge. rightfully worried about hurting you. it took about a week of foreplay before he had the courage.

✦ cheol’s usually careful during sex: obsessively so. gentle, slow, constantly checking in. but there’s an underlying tension simmering under his skin. that part of him he suppresses, that wants to utterly ruin you. to make sure no one else will ever measure up. he bites it back— most of the time.

✦ once you called him “daddy,” just as a joke. but with how he went still next to you, his pupils swallowed with black— you knew you had that over him. cheol had promptly plucked you up with two big hands on your waist, tossing you to the nearest couch, hands already unbuckling his belt. he’d lost himself in a way you only rarely get to see. but you try to rile it out of him.

✦ the guilt creeps in during quiet moments. when you’re asleep beside him, curled up peacefully, and he realises just how small you look. remembers the gaps between your worlds. he wonders what your parents really think. what his members bite their tongues about. but cheol doesn’t stop. not when his own advice to himself would be that he probably should. because you sleeping soundly next to him, warm and safe, is all that he gives two shits about.

✦ you told him you love him first. he had hesitated: not because he doesn’t feel it— you’ve got no idea how deeply he does— but because it’s like he’s holding something fragile in his hands. and if he says it back, there’s no undoing it. no going back. but he does anyway. “i love you too, my girl.” and he knows then that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

notes: another age gap fic by attie welcome to the club coups og post

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @pinkpunkdynamite @babycaratdeul @sseungcheols @cheers2hani @chocolattexyz @riyahwooahae @macheriezz @onceuponateenagetrash @choshushu @theold8 @thedragonholder @jihooniesss @markkiatocafe @channieschubbycake @okinawwa @sseungcheols @cheers2hani @accalus @hhwksixjshs @priisprii @wenhuihuii @t-bag2 @natalicss @jmkookie0 < can’t tag

[sailingintothenight]

"The girl in his eyes." Bob Reynolds Imagine.

(Not my gif but give a prize to the people who make them)

Summary: Time together created feelings in the two of you. One night, the group tries to get him and you to talk about it, with John urging Bob to talk about "the girl in his eyes." And that creates a big misunderstanding.

A/N: Just a kind of short imagine (around 4K words) cause I'm new here and I don't want to go on too long and bore you all in case this is boring. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. But something I always knew but I accepted today is that some of us write the kind of love we'd like to receive, right? The kind we sometimes can't find, though other did find, I hope. However, in the meantime, don't forget to love yourself please. As a warning, a little angst(?) but with a happy ending! and the word "drug." I think that's all, thanks!

“Lena, did you see (Y/N)—”

The last letter of your name drops to a whisper as Bob stops in front of the long couch, Yelena’s finger pressed against her own lips to silence him, a potato chip sandwiched between her other two before she pops it into her mouth, the bag in her lap, and her full attention back on the phone in her other hand.

She’s sitting diagonally, her back between the cushion behind her and the armrest, her left knee bent down as it falls off the edge to the floor, but it’s the other one that has Bob pressing his lips together as he films this version of you with his bluest gaze, the memory searing itself into his mind. You’re there, asleep, lying sideways on the comfy, fluffy cushions, part of your head on the outside of Yelena’s thigh, a front strand of your hair now falling over your closed eyelids and the border of your nose.

And it's soft for Bob, that image of you, and overwhelming only in the way it forces him to swallow the lump forming in his throat as his feelings pile up inside.

"You need anything, Bob?" Yelena's pointed gaze moves from the paused TikTok video (a cat staring at the camera, a flashbulb fired in right in its face), chuckling as the animal's expression still lingers in her mind, and frozen on her phone—the white feline silhouette and wide–open eyes—she shows it to him. "Have you watched this video?"

Bob nods, and the sound of him trying to clear his throat (so his words don't falter mid–sentence as he knows they will) accompanies the action.

"Yeah, (Y/N) sent it to me a few days ago."

"It's so funny." She laughs softly, and her full attention is on to the device again, finger sliding across the screen after saving it to favorites, bringing another chip to her mouth. “That cat is so silly.”

But like a cry, Bob whimpers softly, the tiniest sound in the silence.

“You’re dropping crumbs in her hair, Lena.”

Yelena stops, her gaze sliding from her phone to him and then back down to you, and her slightly oily hand catches the crispy piece that had gotten caught in the strands.

“Relax, Bob. This is the price (Y/N) is paying for using me. She knows it. We shook hands. Now, do you need anything? Or someone, maybe?”

There’s a hint of healthy mockery in her smile, a silent challenge in her tone of voice that’s urging him to answer only with the truth everyone already sees, but the featherweight of her joke feels like lead in his chest and in his nervous hands, covered by a layer of clothing one size too big for Bob.

“No, just… I finished reading a book and thought (Y/N) would be here ready to—”

But there was nothing afterward, just lying there together, in the same bed before sleeping, on extreme sides so as not to cross boundaries but to keep each other company before loneliness settled in every room, when it sometimes forced Bob to wake up with a gasp and a foggy mind filled with traumatic experiences, talking about books or things.  

But perhaps it was the words left unspoken between you two before sleeping (hidden among the ones you did say: goodnight and sleep well), the ones you two avoided saying and pushed aside, along with the feelings that lived dormant in the darkness and accumulated inside each other—the things you both were dying to say but neither of you dared for fear that the already solid pillars of your friendship would crumble because of something as unstable as love.

Yelena waits a second longer, but there is no response from the other end.

“The team and I were talking about you tw—”

Bob knows what it is, the favorite topic on everyone's lips.

“You guys talk a lot, maybe you should shut up for a while. Silence is good sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes, an exasperated look following her action.

“Help me out here for a while, will you? I have a cramp and need to stretch.”

Bob swallows, eyes slightly wide at the prospect of feeling that kind of closeness with you, the kind that comes so quickly it makes him dizzy and ignites the heat in his cheeks sharply. The warmth of your hand, he felt it before, many times, a casual or intentional touch, and it was scorching (like when the supermarket was crowded and the crush of people unnerved him sometimes, for example, so your fingers would close around his and his hand would squeeze yours), as if it could ignite a forest fire inside him, so wild it seemed it could burn everything… but everything bad, of course—like the enemy in his thoughts, his insecurities, his fears, his nightmares.

He didn't even want to think about what it would feel like to feel the heat of your cheek.

But he did.

Bob had imagined it several times already. In a burst of bravery, with his heart beating faster than a drug high, his thumb would slide down your soft cheek, fingers hooking gently around the edge of your jaw.

"Bob?"

"What?"

Yelena drops her things into the armrest, her hand cupping the bottom of your head.

“Put your leg here, Bob.”

He shakes his head fast, his own heartbeat increasing with the fear and excitement that mix, so close that the line between them blurs, and his somewhat messy, wild hair moves with him.

“I don’t think—”

“Three…”

“What are you—?”

“Two…”

“Lena—”

“One.”

Bob takes a step forward, hands outstretched to stop her without a word, a silent plea in his eyes for her to do nothing, even though Yelena hadn't moved an inch and wasn't planning to either. And with a deep inhalation and exhalation, a failed attempt to fill his lungs with cold air and soothe the heat settling in his chest, Bob switches places with her, even more gentle as you shift in your sleep, your hands close to your face and your cheek now on his leg, covered by his gray sleep pants, but which seem like the finest fabric in the world when Bob feels your heat radiate through your skin until it meets his, every nerve ending.

"You're adorable, Bob." Yelena laughs quietly, but there's not a hint of cruel mockery in her words—never with him—and she leans back on the second–long sofa, phone in her hand again. "Like those boys in her books. Such a gentleman. I know why she likes you so much."

Likes you, being in love—two different scenarios if the feelings on either side were unequal. Either a chasm separated those two feelings, or the first could be the path to get to the other.

“Did I do something wrong to make her not like me anymore?”

The weight of self–doubt about a topic as distant and still foreign to him as love (next to his insecurities) try to bring down the confidence Bob was still trying to build little by little, day by day, and Yelena can see them shining clearly in his gaze as he finally holds hers, even in the dim living room light at night, searching for an answer he can't find within himself, not when there's a thick fog between the truth and him.

“What do you mean?”

Bob shrugs.

“(Y/N) is always here with me, but absent at the same time, as if something has suddenly changed between us.”

“You’re overthinking things, Bob.”

There’s affection in Yelena’s words, and they are warm in their attempt to reassure him of a truth hidden among his fears, but he lets out a small sound, something like a laugh without a hint of humor. Just an empty noise.

“Overthinking sometimes allows you to see the smallest things.”

“Like what?”

Bob can see it in his sometimes fragmented mind, every moment together and the way you changed, slowly, with him always next to you but finding solitude where there was only company, a touch of emptiness when there was always life in your eyes everytime you looked at him.

He doesn't know exactly how to explain any of that, and Yelena nods thoughtfully.

"Why don't you try to think about what exactly you did then? We have a while until the losers arrive with dinner. I'm going to be here with you, but ignoring you at the same time, okay?"

Catching his slight nod, Yelena turns on the couch, face close to the cushion and her phone in between, indistinct sounds from the videos, set to low volume, floating around him so the absolute silence doesn't completely consume him with the severity of his thoughts.

Bob lowers his head and his gaze rests on you, listening to the sound of your slow breathing as, in your sleep, your body relaxed, at peace. The curve of your lips is tempting, and he lifts the hand resting in his lap to push that strand of hair away from your face and place it where it belongs.

There, above your eyebrow and with nothing covering it now, Bob can see the only physical reminder of the fall of a whole building when your self–control overflowed at the edge of your anger. And like a tiny crack in a surface, the small scar has a slightly different hue than your skin, but it was an imperfection that only makes you even more perfect, more real, a whole person and not a cruel dream from which Bob always wakes up before reaching.

Just like that, your presence in his life became a need.

You were the proof that he was still alive after the unbearable pain, (knowing all have been worth it because he met you) and that his heart hadn't turned to tin. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and for the first time, he'd finally felt the nervous tingle, the fluttering of being in love.

Love, so silent you don't even know you have it until you're full of it.

Love, a silent feeling in a room full of euphoria, and at the same time, it's like an alarm that goes off and no one but him and you can hear.

To be close to you, with you, every day, that’s all Bob wanted at the beginning. But almost selfishly, the passage of time together made him greedy, wanting more from you, a different smile than you had for others, a new kind of laugh, escalating until all his thoughts were about you, daydreaming about how to shake off his title of friend and crown himself with a different one.

It was a silent plea, a hope. It became a desire that made him company through his sleepless nights…

“You need to be direct with her.” Alexei had said a few weeks ago in the kitchen, when the hands of the clock showed it was very late at night. “Your words must be deep enough to cut like a knife in the heart.”

Bob didn’t even know how he’d ended up in that secret meeting, when all he’d wanted to do was grab a late–night snack from the fridge to leave on your nightstand after you’d joked, somewhat embarrassingly, that you did that sometimes. But, confused and slightly scared, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise as the rest of the men stared at the red guardian and his constantly failing attempt to explain himself properly.

“Maybe not so direct.” Walker shook his head, the usual mocking tone in his voice. “How about you just tell her in small hints instead of trying to draw blood? You can hint that you like her, but without actually saying I like you.”

Bob blinked, confused, the information coming in too fast as he tried to take it all in.

“Like what?”

Bucky wag his head softly.

“Ask her to teach you how to do things you know she likes. She will feel that you are interested in her.”

And that was exactly what Bob did.

Now, when the doors of the elevator open and some really loud voices pierce the room, Bob’s natural protective instinct, (the one that was born in him the first time he took care of his father after witnessing his first blackout) makes his hand, a second after the resounding sound, move fast to press it against your ear, blocking out the laugh coming from the men.

As a reflex, your body moves in your sleep, but your awakening is less abrupt with his help.

You get up slowly, your mind and gaze blurred as Yelena leaves the living room, patting Bob on the shoulder on her way to the dining room. The edges of your gaze darken after rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, the pleasant sting creeping around as you chuckle.

“Did I sleep so much I forgot I was lying on your leg?”

Bob chuckles too, and an invisible thread pulls the corner of his lip upward.

“You slept so long that Lena’s leg went numb. Just like mine.”

You let out a surprised laugh, your body slumping back against the backrest.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you know I’m always here for you.”

“Kids, dinner!”

Alexei’s voice fills the room.

At the same time, as a reflection that you both can’t avoid in time when instinct wins, Bob and you move your bodies to look over your shoulders, heads turning in the same direction, finding yourselves at what your mother used to call, at the perfect distance of a kiss. Bob is so close you can almost drink his breath, stopping yours when his blue gaze holds yours for an eternal second that finish too quickly but that feels endless too, watching each other's eyes before you both separate, looking forward as a nervous feeling fills your heart.

You walk away first, finding an empty spot next to Ava.

“Dad, will you stop calling us to the table like we’re real kids?” Yelena complains, sitting at one of the heads of the food–laden table as Bob sits in the chair across from you. “Someone here is older than life.”

The rest chuckle, not too loudly.

“But you’re my kids. Now, let’s have dinner like family.”

At some point, there is a back—and—forth conversation around, about a past relationship for some of them, somehow empty, never too deep because talking once about the future they hoped and never got to feel is enough for everybody, but always accompanied by soft laughter that makes the tower feel like a real home after some lost it or never had it in the first place.

“So… what’s your type of man, (Y/N)?” Yelena chuckles, and the sound is full of her genuine affection for you, but it hides too her desire to steer the conversation in a way that Bob can be somehow included in your words. “You’re always reading, so you must have a type. Maybe someone here is just like that.”

The others feign innocence, but the possibility stirs in Bob’s body with a heartbeat that’s too fast, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, in expectation, and with a certain weight of worry about not hearing a promising answer.

“Who?” Ava laughs also knowingly, with a certain disdain at thinking of the others and you that way too, and her finger points at Alexei. “Too old.” Then at Bucky. “Way too old.” Finally, at John. “Too much of an idiot. That leaves just Bob.”

Bob swallows at the sound of his name, so abruptly that the food in his mouth makes his expression twist slightly in pain.

The others, expectant, continue waiting.

You clear your throat, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were seeking its own freedom and a way out of a situation that seems unlikely to end well.

“The usual, I guess, just… a nice guy.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fun.” John grins, malice bubbling up as if he needs to embarrass someone at least once a day to survive. “You could be more specific, like Bob. Right now there is a girl in his eyes so he could tell us what she’s like, describe her so much until we’re bored.”

Bob's gaze meets yours, barely a second before you look away when Bucky speaks.

“I think that’s enough with the jokes, huh?”

But then, to everyone’s surprise and his own, Bob speaks, and with a touch of nervousness in his voice bordering on anxiety, he starts talking about her. Just a little, not a lot, not quite to the point of boring the rest of you.

And you listen, your heart a little cold around the edges. Like a brutal change in the season, the tempest of his words threatens to hurt you without hesitation or guilt, but you listen, because you always tried to be a good friend to Bob, a person he could trust when he didn't even trust his own shadow. And even when he was always full of doubt about himself, about the truth, he seemed to trust your voice more than the enemy within, the one that whispered only cruelty. Even when he became cloudy, Bob would pull the blanket off his head when you asked him to, because that was always a promise for him that the sadness would all end eventually.

For all those months together, it had been you, and between heartbeats, it had always been him. Until you confused things, apparently.

Until the girl in his eyes arrived.

And it hurts, it burns to think about it, that reality that creeps up on you, that of always being just a friend. And it's like having an empty stomach, an empty mind, an empty heart.

When he's finished, you excuse yourself to leave the room with a smile and your head held high, leaving the deathly silence behind and missing the way Bob follows you with his eyes, even after you disappear.

"I think we blew this." Ava lets out a small sound, like a worried laugh at possible defeat as she looks at the rest.

"Did you have to go on so long, genius?" A semi–hard object hits the side of Bob's head and bounces off it, but without erasing his terrified expression as he looks at Bucky. "We told you you had to flatter her a little, not write her a whole Shakespearean sonnet."

Yelena frowns.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Some weeks ago we told Bob to try to hint to (Y/N) that he likes her without telling her he likes her.”

“And?”

“And nothing else. (Y/N) came into the kitchen that night to get something from the fridge, and the conversation ended there.”

“Did she hear you talking about this ingenious plan?” Ava’s hard gaze landed on Bob, and he blinked, innocent eyes set in a look of terror. “Did (Y/N) hear you talking about her? or did she hear you being told by the smartest men in this place how to get a random girl?”

As night fell and sent the rest of the team to sleep, the endless talk finished when you had entered the kitchen, a soft sound from your throat announcing your presence first.

“What are you doing up so late, darling?”

“Just came to get something to eat.” You replied to Bucky, and Bucky’s gaze rested on you, all the way until you closed the fridge door. “Sorry to interrupt your boys’ sleepover.”

“It’s not a boys’ sleepover, (Y/N), please.” John whined softly, slightly offended.

“Men’ sleepover is better.” Alexei smiled, and you laughed with him, his innocence fluttering as the others sighed in defeat.

“Of course, my mistake. Sleep well, everybody.”

“You too.”

The others' voices were an echo, except for Bob's, lips closed as your eyes fell on him in your farewell, just for a second.

He never said your name, and neither did the others. But from then on, there was only half a life in your eyes, whereas before they had always been full of it every time you looked at him.

The seconds of understanding end when Bob stands up, so fast he pushes his chair back with a dry sound against the polished floor.

His own breathing becomes labored, but he tries to calm his anxious heart all the way down the hall.

"You always have to ruin things—"

"Not this time. Not with her." Bob murmurs softly, and when he finally reaches your room, your door is always open for anyone who wants to enter and exist, and that's a mixed relief for him. "(Y/N)?"

You look over your shoulder, your body facing away from him as you continue to sit in front of your laptop on the desk.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Bob closes the door behind him, barely making a noise as he ventures inside, but feeling the place like untapped territory even though he's been there since his life merged with yours. The sound of his sneakers on the floor is almost nonexistent, but it feels heavy like lead in his pockets as Bob sits next to you, listening to the almost ghostly volume of the video playing in front of you.

"You okay, Bob?"

Your attention is on the screen and your voice is a whisper, but it is an overwhelming force that hits his chest, even harder than bullets in the past.

"Are you?"

You chuckle.

"I asked you first."

Bob hums a reply.

"You wanna lie down for a while? I finished a new book today and I know I can convince you to read it."

You shake your head, but there's a slight, honest smile on your lips.

"I'm not sleepy yet. Maybe later or tomorrow."

Neither of you says anything for a moment, your eyes straight ahead like Bob's gaze lingers on your profile. Bright eyes, soft skin.

But Bob knew that you too were still learning to use your voice just like him, to find the right words—those always hidden—so scattered across different galaxies, so far from each other that you still struggled to put them together to say something eloquent, to say what you both truly wanted to say, what you two truly felt. Silence had always been your ally and an imposition for him. And that had been his curse throughout his life, always in solitude, until it created his inability to say what he really wanted to say.

But not today, not ever again.

“We’re feeling a little much apathetic today, huh?”

It’s not an accusation, but his tone tinges with his sassiness, the kind he used to make direct comments and respond to other people’s jokes, to John’s sarcasm and sometimes Bucky’s condescension. Today, however, his words make you frown sharply as you turn to look at him.

“Excuse me?” His gaze threatens to falter and leave yours when you narrow your eyes at him, but Bob stands firm when what he's said is free to the world, saying out loud what he wants to say instead of letting it perish inside and ducking his head to pretend it never happened. "You're quite bold sometimes, Bob."

“And you’re quite clueless.” He smiles, softly, nervous but firmly planted on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The electricity, the tingling at his fingertips as the result of this brave act is addictive, like a drug, but ultimately a healthy one, one he wants to get hooked on. “I was talking about you, silly. How can you be so smart and not realize that every word I said was about you, (Y/N)?”

Your frown relaxes more, and the gnawing feeling of annoyance at his forwardness is replaced by confusion. His hands cup the sides of your chair, and Bob pulls you closer, gently, not roughly, taking in the way your body has stopped tensing, being brave when he sees your eyes light up with affection again, completely—a little scared around the edges, but finally not halfway.

“When I asked you to teach me how to braid your hair, it was for you—for that loose braid you always have. Your mom did it for you, didn’t she? Every day. You told me.” You nod, feeling the heat from his knees radiating against yours. “When I asked you to teach me how to dance to those old ballads Bucky loves so much, I didn’t do it to dance with someone else. I did it because I saw the way he spun you around one night and saw you laugh, and I wanted so badly to be him that I could feel my body vibrate. The things I said in the kitchen, about her hair and her laugh and everything—it was all about you, okay? Can you believe me, honey? Please?”

You nod again, and Bob can see hope, right next to that desire of a soul crying out for the exact same thing as his, silent but fervent.

His hands cup your face, soft skin over slightly calloused fingers on your cheeks and the underside, thumbs gliding to make his dreams (asleep and awake) come true, a touch so tender you feel nothing but warmth at the tips—his face so close his breath mingles with yours.

Your own hands clutch at his arms, searching for something to hold you steady as well.

“I’m sorry. I… I got scared. This is my first time feeling like this.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, I never meant to make you feel like there was someone else because ever since I met you, it’s always been you. But if you still have any doubt, you are the girl in my eyes.”

Bob leans forward, closing the small space between his existence and yours.

And behind his closed eyelids, just like yours, the darkness ceases to be terrifying and becomes pleasurable, for the first time in his life, a place where Bob would stay if that means he can keep kissing you like this. Time, life itself, the past and future are suspended, unimportant and in an eternal pause in the long seconds his lips linger and move with yours. It’s like an unspoken conversation between you two, a confession of love without even having to say those three magical words. A connection, strength and gentleness, melting away any fear or doubt. The kiss is soft like him, a little shy like you, but real and perfect after every moment you imagined him in your head.

And in a synchronized movement, the two of you separate, breathing in each other's air.

"I'll be back, okay? I won't be long." He whispers, his lips touch yours with the promise of many more shared kisses, before Bob stands.

"Where are you going?"

He stops halfway across the room and turns around, those strands of hair on either side of his face bouncing with the movement.

“I'm going to get you some midnight snacks so you won't have to get up later, and get that book I was talking about.”

You laugh softly.

“And you're going to tell the others, aren't you?”

“No.” His shoulders slump. “Yes. I have to, honey. Lena and Ava were about to hurt me really bad.”

A nervous but genuine smile appears on that sweet face of him before Bob turns away.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: when his cat counterpart is hogging your attention.

COMMENTS: are they jealous of the kitty? are they chill? whatever they are, it's ridiculous (affectionate)

TAGLIST: @as1iiiwhaa @astralsocfactory

Jin will not hesitate to push the cat to the side and take his rightful spot on your lap. His cat is just as sassy as him though, and will more likely than not just stretch all over him . Jin may get annoyed at your soft coos, but if you direct some attention to him he might be satisfied. In a way, you’re still paying attention to him anyway...

Tohma often finds himself in a stare down with the cat version of himself. It’s not like he’s against sharing, so long as it’s not with another man, but there’s still some tension in the room. Whether you notice it or not, it would be in your best interest to give your partner a kiss so the cat in your lap doesn’t get too bold and start hogging all your attention.

Luca rather likes his cat counterpart, actually. He entrusts the cat to protect you if he isn’t there to save you, which can lead to some rather hairy situations. Luca Cat will still jump to conclusions! (And jump on people’s faces to scratch them up.) Maybe you should get him a leash...

Kaito is pouting. He’d feel bad if he shooed the cat away, since it’s technically him and he knows all too well what being shoved aside is like. But he wants your attention too, is that so bad? You should notice how quiet he’s being and take that as a sign to rub his head, too. He may be a human but he’s still weak to head pats!

Alan eyes the cat mournfully, but won’t move it. Honestly it’s best if you just snuggle with both of them at once, because Alan isn’t going to disturb you and neither is Alan Cat. Besides, double the Alan, double the extreme body warmth—maybe you should do this in front of a fan!

Sho Cat knows he needs to stay out of the kitchen, but he wants to be in it anyway. It’s a bit sad that you can’t take pity on the poor cat, so you compromise by giving him a bunch of attention outside. Sho gets a bit grumpy about it, but he knows you’ll make it up to him (one way or another.)

Leo and his cat will have a face off for your attention on a regular basis. It’s up to you to compromise between the two, because they’re too stubborn to do it on their own. Also, cuddling them both at the same time won’t work because they’re gonna get all snippy with each other...I am so sorry for your predicament.

Haru will try his best to bond with the cat, but he always makes his way back to you. Haru is devastated that his cat likes you more, but ultimately he can’t blame the little guy. If he could, he’d nap on your lap forever too! Ultimately, the two get along pretty well, so there’s no need for either of them to get jealous over it.

Towa and Towa Cat can go one of two ways. Either they have a stand off for your attention with thunder and lightning booming outside, or they’re both snuggling you. If it’s the second one, you’re being crushed with their whole body weights and likely overheating from how warm they both are! Good luck either way (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Ren and Ren Cat are so chill. Like genuinely, just put a screen in front of either of them so they’ll be so engrossed. Ren Cat doesn’t see a problem with sitting himself right on your lap, but Ren’s shifty eyes tell you he does. That’s his spot, after all. You know Ren won’t say anything though, so it's up to you to compromise!

Taiga is more likely than not just going to move Taiga Cat. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been sleeping on your lap, sharing is caring and it’s Taiga’s turn now! Don’t bet on them having a peaceful resolution to this unless both Taiga’s are in a good mood and willing to share. Hell, maybe Taiga Cat will cuddle with Taiga himself!

Romeo and Romeo Cat are both divas who do not want to compete for your attention. Get used to multitasking! One hand will be stroking Romeo Cat’s beautiful mane, while the other holds your boyfriend’s hand as he barks orders to the poor General Students. They can make it work, but Romeo can’t wait to have you to himself again.

Ritsu is rather impressed with Ritsu Cat’s ability to steal your attention away from him during work hours. He politely asks the cat to focus, which snaps Ritsu Cat out of his head scritch trance. Both of them are quite serious actually, but Ritsu is a bit miffed that you chose to sit next to his cat version and not him...

Subaru honestly does not mind that you’re spending a bunch of time with his cat counterpart. If anything, he’s one of the least jealous ones. (After all, it’s still him, kind of. He has no need to view that as competition.) Be prepared to have a cute tea time session with him and his cat, even though neither of them will touch you.

Haku and Haku Cat are menaces when together. It’s almost as though they’re locked in a playful competition for your attention, and won’t give up until you’re an embarrassed mess on the floor. Haku kisses your cheek? Haku Cat is giving you a few licks. Haku takes your hand? Haku Cat settles on your thighs. Haku wraps an arm around your waist? Haku Cat climbs onto your shoulders. It’s never ending.

Zenji and Zenji Cat are the most energetic duo you’ve ever seen. Both float around your head and yap. Zenji will hold conversations with his cat counterpart and even go so far as to play the biwa while Zenji Cat sings. It’s a fun time, being around those two. They’re very wholesome!

Edward doesn’t mind that much. He can share. The most likely scenario to come out of Edward Cat hogging all of your attention is Edward himself teasing you just to watch you squirm. He knows all your possible ticklish spots, gently brushing over them in a way that makes you jostle the poor kitty in your lap. (Edward Cat does not wake up.)

Rui and Rui Cat are complicated. Chances are Rui Cat has dove under some furniture—and since you are familiar with his curse, you understand why. Despite your attempts to coax him out, Rui Cat will not budge. Rui watches you and sighs ruefully—it’s sweet that you’re still worried about him being lonely, even as a cat.

Lyca doesn’t know how to feel. You’re supposed to smell like him so other people know not to mess with you, but now that this cat has taken residence on your lap, you smell like...cat. Lyca grumbles something under his breath before taking the spot beside you, getting as close to you as humanly possible. Don’t mind him! It’s simply necessary.

Yuri doesn’t let his cat counterpart close to the lab, much to the cat’s chagrin. You hold all the power here, though! If you give Yuri Cat enough attention, he’ll stay away from the experiments in favor of you. Just be prepared for a jealous Yuri (who will not admit he’s jealous) when he sees how much attention he missed out on!

Jiro Cat spends a lot of time sleeping. You’re likely fawning over how cute his lil face is when Jiro stumbles upon you. He will agree—I mean, animals like cats have been domesticated and have therefore developed traits such as a shorter muzzle, extended juvenile behavior, smaller brains, and—oh, you probably don’t want a lecture about Domestication Syndrome, do you?

[batsandbirdbrains]

ok but give me bruce holding all of the kids to dick’s standard but not as robin, just as a normal kid. like bruce has always been a weird guy even as a kid and while he has a public persona he’s incredibly awkward underneath and does not interact with many people. alfred ‘let me help train my little orphan friend in martial arts and let him loose’ pennyworth is not much better. then they get dick who, by most means, did not have a normal childhood either. his new caretakers do not have any idea what normal children are like. so when dick gets excited and does 10 back flips in a row, they think “ahhh children must do that to show their happiness”. when dick is angry and throws massive hysterical fits where he bites people, destroys shit, and climbs onto chandeliers to sulk, not once do they consider that his reaction may be a bit disproportionate. when dick has depressive episodes where he can’t get out of bed, they think that this must be what other people mean when they talk about teenage hormones. when dick makes friends with almost everyone in the entire universe and then some, they think “well who doesn’t like children?”

but then comes along jason, and jason also did not have the most normal childhood, but it was closer to normal than what dick and bruce had. bruce starts worry that he’s completely fucking up while trying to parent jason, because jason isn’t reacting like dick does. to bruce, jason hardly ever emotes around him. bruce buys him ice cream and the kid doesn’t do a single flip. bruce upsets jason and doesn’t even know it until jason starts ranting about how he’s tired of giving bruce the silent treatment. bruce starts to worry because jason doesn’t have many friends but jason yells at him that he doesn’t need to socialize all the time (bruce considers looking into therapy - surely such little socialization isn’t healthy?) at least jason does flips sometimes as robin, which must mean that it makes him happy, right?

then jason dies and bruce is alone for a long time. tim comes along and bruce is still so stuck in his grief that he’s not really paying attention to tim’s behavior. when he finally manages to get better he realizes that tim doesn’t do ‘normal’ kid things either, but bruce just settles on tim having a weird childhood and being a weirdo in the same way bruce is.

over time his family grows more and more, and yet none of them act like normal kids. bruce starts to get a little concerned - the only besides dick that emoted was damian, when he was angry, and even that went away over time. he tries to nudge them in the right direction time and time again with little anecdotes about dick but it doesn’t seem to work. he’s met with eye rolls and scowls when he talks about how dick used to do flips all the time, when he talks about dick swinging from the chandeliers, when talks about all of dick’s friends, when talks about dick diving off a roof to knee a goon in the face. bruce is just trying to give his children suggestions on how to be normal, dammit!

eventually he brings up his concerns to clark, who makes a considering noise and says “i had that same issue at first. i was waiting for jon to do flips when he got older but he never did. then i realized nobody taught him. now he does them all the time.” because while clark did have a normal childhood, he’s also an alien and did not spend much time with children as an adult (beyond saving them) until dick came along as robin. lois sighs exasperatedly from the background. bruce is incredibly horrified and sad at the thought that he had been waiting forever for children to flip for him and they didn’t know how (mind you, they all definitely know how to flip, he’s seen them all do it at least once). bruce wonders how he can broach the topic without messing up the conversation and decides to enlist the other JL founders for help. diana wants her nephews to be happy, clark was always on board, barry remembers all the weird shit wally did as a kid and doesn’t question it, oliver doesn’t really care, and hal is too scared of everyone’s wrath to tell them all that dick is just a weirdo.

Dude the last line fucking killed me “and Hal is too scared of everyone’s wrath to tell them that Dick is just a weirdo” beautiful, wonderful, excellent. Hal always thought Robin/Dick was a fucking weirdo little kid/teenager/adult but could never say it bc somehow everyone loves the kid.

And all the other Batkids feeling like Dick is just an impossible standard to live up to is so accurate. But would Dick even know about it? I feel like they wouldn’t blame Dick necessarily, but he absolutely grates on their nerves after a long lecture from Bruce about how they need to be more like Dick and now Dick is at the manor hanging out acting like nothing is out of the ordinary

[rjunhuang]

juliet, o juliet ✰ tim drake

pairing: tim drake x reader

summary: tim gets grounded so you take it upon yourself to get him out. the problem? he doesn't want to leave — he just wants you.

warnings: lowercase intended. fem reader. established relationship. reader is also a vigilante. making out. suggestive. tim is red robin. mention of jason's death. clingy tim.

note: i am his biggest fan. i felt so sinful writing them just MAKING OUT — must be the ace in me. fuck knows how old tim is in current canon but i imagine they're like nineteen in this. also, viet/wasian tim is so real to me — whenever people mention his blue eyes i get jumpscared.

divider by omi-resources | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

tim drake had always been the voice of reason.

being reckless was not in his nature. he was wired for precision and hypothesis. out of all his teammates, young justice or anywhere else, he was least likely to mess things up due to carelessness. in fact, tim drake cared too much.

it was exactly why he put himself on the frontlines this time — for the sake of the mission. for the safety of his team. if anyone needed to harmed, let it be him.

and while the mission ended in a success with red robin unscathed, bruce did not like what he came to hear. maybe it was the jason trauma kicking in, but bruce didn’t need his children playing the role of martyr.

so, for the first time in long while, tim was grounded.

no outings. no patrolling. no you.

his brothers took great pleasure in seeing the wayne child, whose image was all about being ‘orderly’, sulk in the confines of his bedroom. tim attempted to slip away many times, but living under a roof filled with security systems and other super-spies, it was harder to escape than arkham asylum in comparison. little damian had no problem reporting to their father if tim’s foot made it even a centimeter past the front door.

lucky for tim, he had a girlfriend who shared a mind of his own. breaking into the wayne manor was difficult — this was batman’s sanctuary, after all. you’d almost gotten your butt fried when hopping past a high voltage trip wire.

truthfully, you didn’t need to be doing all of this. you had access to most, if not every, part of the estate. you even had your assigned room there, whenever you decided to stay over. you were associated to the bats as closely as stephanie brown or barbara gordon. nevertheless, the idea of forcing your way into a place you could practically call your home sounded incredibly appealing for what was a dull wednesday night.

tim only noticed you perched out his windowsill when he heard a small tap on the glass, forcing him to peel his eyes away from his laptop. his personal laptop, of course — bruce knew tim’s biggest hobby was scrolling through the system files to crack any cases.

“nuh-uh.” tim begun to vigorously shake his head. “no. nope.” he pushed himself out of his chair, walking over to the window. “get out.” he hissed lowly, like he was shooing away a stray cat, fanning his hands. to be fair, you did look like one with the cheshire’s grin you held. when he realised you couldn't hear him through the glass, he unlatched it, leaving a crack wide.

tim’s reaction hadn’t faltered you in the slightest. you saw it coming, in fact. if bruce happened to catch you in his room — which was very possible — tim would be blessed to be un-grounded before thirty.

you took the open window as a chance to push your way into his room. your hop was light, feet soundless on the rich wooden floors. it’s been near a week since you’ve last seen your boyfriend. the longest separation since the time you met at the ripe age of fourteen. tim, who had all the strength to do so, doesn’t make an attempt to keep you out. despite all his protests, he was missing you a lot more than he currently let on.

you don’t pay mind to a single word he’s whisper-yelled. instead, planting your hands on his face, diving in to give him a gentle greet on the lips. he couldn’t say a damn thing once your lips landed on his.

his hands automatically found their usual position on your hips, instinctively pulling you closer as he kissed back. he was dying of withdrawal, his body reacted to you like he needed air. the kiss left you giddy, but you managed to pull yourself back before any one of you could lose the plot. staying put in tim’s hold, you asked, “sneak out with me?”

“this is a horrible idea—“ he muttered in a hushed tone. it was evident how badly he wanted to run away with you.

“oh, come on,” you begun, “he’s your dad. he’ll come around to forgive you a lot more easily than you think.” the tips of your fingers brush against tim’s pale face, pining the mere touch of him. it was a deal with the devil — for you were letting your heart get to you and not your head.

but, dammit. how did you making everything so enticing? you were a temptation that he absolutely could not resist.

with a groan, he leaned into your touch. he didn’t want to admit it out loud but he was caving. “he’s already pissed that i went against orders. this’ll just piss him off more,” he protested weakly, despite knowing that he was about to give into you anyway.

“please?” you pleaded, with a weak attempt of what people called ‘puppy eyes’. you leaned in closer to brush your lips against his. “i miss you.”

you had him wrapped around your damn finger — the second those three words left your lips, it was over. his will to resist was crumbling by the second. tim sighed, giving your lower lip a small and playful bite. “you’re the bane of my existence.”

you raised your eyebrows. “isn’t that a bridgerton quo—“ your comment is smothered by another kiss.

tim’s hands shifted to your thighs to lift you up, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. he pressed you against the wall of his room, returning the kiss with fervor. his fingers curled into the fabric of your clothes, clinging to you tightly. “shut up and kiss me.” he breathed against your lips.

your bodies are reacting before your brains do. clearly, the days spent apart had been driving tim up a wall as well. “wait, wait, wait.” you giggled against his lips, “we’re supposed to be sneaking out, not making out.”

tim only groaned when you interrupted the kiss, burying his face into your shoulder. he was so close to completely abandoning the idea of sneaking off to just kiss you until the sun came up. “c’mon,” he whined, “sneaking out is overrated, let’s just stay here and make out instead.”

“gods— you are such an introvert.” said the other introvert — yourself. you rested your head against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the black tufts of hair on tim’s nape. his eyes fluttered momentarily at the feeling of you playing with hair, a small, content hum rumbling in the back of his throat. “i really wanted to go for the whole romeo and juliet aesthetic. except, i’m romeo and i’m trying to get you out and have your father’s approval.”

he raised his head to roll his eyes in an overdramatic effect, though a smile pulled at the corner of his lips while listening to your rambling. “you do know they both die at the end, right?” he teased before pressing another kiss against your collarbone, trailing his lips up towards your jaw. “besides, you’d be the worst romeo,” he said with a gentle nip.

“what?” you dramatically yelped, offended. “would not. i’d totally drink poison for you, or however the play goes. juliet, oh, juliet — let down your hair.”

the sudden and rather loud outburst had tim immediately cupping a hand over your mouth, muffling your next sing-song remarks. “be. quiet,” he said with a small laugh. “you’ll get us caught, dumbass.” he couldn’t help but shake his head slightly. “see? terrible romeo, i’m doing all the work.”

but you weren’t really listening anymore, your eyes narrowing into a knowing, dirty-minded look. the smirk you were currently sporting was enough for tim to get the message. the small smile on his face betrayed the false annoyance, “pervert.” he mumbled, lowering his hand from your mouth to rest it on your hip instead.

“you like this pervert.”

“not the words that come out of that mouth.”

“i can think of other ways to use this mouth.”

“oh, yeah?”

“i can use it,” you paused for dramatic effect, and in a blink, you’re swinging off of tim’s grip, “to eat a good ol’ hotdog at our nearest bodega.” you said the line like a narrator straight out a 60’s commercial.

“you little—“ he started, his hand flailing outwards in a pathetic attempt to grab you again. you snickered at his reaction, too busy collecting your backpack that you slipped off in passing earlier. tim was still pouting like a child as he slumped back against the wall. you took a step closer and swung an arm across his shoulder, dragging him with you to his window.

“a shitty pizza slice sounds so good right now.” he couldn’t help but let out a soft snort of laughter at your excitement for shitty bodega pizza.

tim’s only response was to let out a small smile, muttering, “alright, let’s go get our shitty pizza, then—”

[lemon-limess]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

cw/tw: unwanted touching, obsessive behavior, panty sniffing and licking, masturbation

note: someone sent an ask about this BUT I ACCIDENTLY DELETED IT!! I AM SO SORRY ANON I DID NOT MEAN TO DELETE IT AHHHH!! anyways enjoy~ (´・ω・`)

this post will contain 18+ content MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who is used to being fawned and lusted over. born with a pretty face and a charming personality, he knows how to use it to his advantage and charm people into doing his bidding.

He's also insanely loaded. like he has a shit load of sugar mommies/daddies, a paypig, and has a page where he uploads special content. how he's able to manage all that, we'll never know.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who stumbles upon a tiny cafe you happen to work at, feet killing him from walking around with his sugar daddy and sugar mommy in his favorite baby blue stilettos.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ mumbles his order, rubbing his temple from an oncoming headache as he reaches into his bag to pull out his card in between his pointer and middle finger, pays for his items, and heads toward a table located in the corner of the cafe.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who scrolls through his phone mindlessly, the tapping of his acrylics being the only thing heard in the quiet space. you, on the other hand, made his drink with ease, walking back and forth behind the counter to make sure his order was properly made.

walking over to his table, you set down the drink first, to which he began to sip on, and then placed a white porcelain plate with a blueberry muffin right in front of him.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who raises a perfectly trimmed brow and points at the dessert. "I didn't order this." to which you shake your head. "I know! You just seemed a bit stressed so I uh, thought you might need something sweet to brighten your day."

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who's heart skips a beat at your kind words. his cheeks turning red as he stutters out a 'thank you' and nibbles on the sweet treat. you smile and walk back to your station, not knowing the green eyes lingering on your figure.

and that's how ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ made it his mission to visit the cafe pretty much every day in order to get to know you better. not to mention, he leaves a huge tip just for you. bro wants to give you his tip

the more he visits, the more he falls in love with you and your kind personality. eventually, he was able to snag your phone number and texts you every day.

'heya [name]! how r u?' 'are u busy? wanna call later?' 'maybe we could hang out later if ur free??'

after pressing send, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ clenches his phone to his chest, rolling back and forth on his bed as he let out giddy giggles, feet slamming against his mattress.

but it's not enough.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who watches you walk to your car from an alley after a tough day at work and in the early hours of the morning, he calls a tow truck to tow away your car while you were sleeping.

you end up calling him in a panic, practically begging him if he could drop you off at work. he giggles, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, and goes to grab his keys.

"sure! I'll drop you off," ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ turns his car on and begins driving as you gave him your address.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who parks in front of your workplace, you gather your stuff and turned to thank him, only to find his lip gloss covered lips plant themselves on your cheek, leaving a pink mark behind.

you freeze, cheeks warming at his actions. he giggles, leaning over once more to plant another kiss on your other cheek. "have a good day, cupcake!" and drives off, leaving you stunned on the sidewalk.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who then starts getting more confident in his affection.

from simple brushing against your hands to him planting goodbye kisses before dropping you off to work. it always leaves you flustered, but you don't say anything.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who brings you back to his apartment after a stressful day of work; customers shouting at you to hurry up with their order, some even throwing their drinks at you. you were on the verge of crying before ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ came to scoop you in a warm embrace, cooing words of comfort in your ears.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who encourages you to take a relaxing bath using his bath salts and bath bombs.

"i'll give you a back massage while you bathe." he coos, slipping your shirt down your shoulders, kissing at the exposed skin. you shudder at the feeling. "won't it be relaxing? you could have a sleepover here."

so here you are in the bath... with ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he snuggled his face in the crook of your neck. when you asked about why he was in the bath with you, he just shrugged you off, mumbling how “we’re both best friends and this is what best friends do."

normally friends don't do this but... you thought, shutting your eyes as ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ scrubbed your body with body wash. it does feel nice.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who immediately notices your relaxed expression, smiles and brushes his hand against your inner thigh. you jump at the feeling, turning your head to the side to stare at him.

"relax~" he laughs, the tips of his fingers teasing your folds. "I'm just washing your body."

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who teases you a bit more before removing his fingers, leaning over to pull out the drain. "time to get out, darling!" he stands up and you immediately look away from his crotch.

jesus fucking christ.

turning your head slightly, you try and get another look before flushing and shaking your head, going back to stare at the water draining. how the hell does he hide that... that weapon on him??

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ notices your staring, hoping out the tub with a towel in hand, not even bothering to hide his cock from your sight. the bastard is practically flaunting it.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who begs you to allow him to wrap you up with a smaller towel, to which you do, but man was it tight on you. pushing your breasts together and barely covering you.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who shrugs at your persistence for another towel. "it's the only clean one I have." he said like a liar, subtly eyeing the hallway closet that had towels that would completely cover you.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who gives you his clothes to wear, ignore how he picks up familiar piece of clothing, briefly bringing it to his nose for a deep sniff before shoving it under his bed for later use.

"i'll change in here with you if you don't mind!~" ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ declared, dropping his towel to slip into his sleepwear. which was an off the shoulder sweatshirt and some booty shorts that BARELY hid his bulge.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who later puts on a movie for you both to watch, sitting his plump ass on you, wrapping his arms around your neck, and giving your neck a quick peck.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who gets bored fast and decides to tease you. subtly grinding his crotch against yours, claiming that he 'was trying to get comfy,' and peppering your neck in kisses. your grip on his waist tightens at his administrations, letting out a small whine as he sucks on your skin slightly.

he soon stops his movements and continues to watch the movie like nothing happened. you pout at him, cheeks hot as you shake your head before watching the movie.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who tucks you into his bed, kissing your forehead like a loving partner before whispering he'll join you soon. you nod, turning to your side and slipping into sleep.

waking up from a loud shout with a startle, you glance at the glowing clock. it was 2 AM. ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ hadn't joined you yet so you slip out of bed and left the room in search of him.

wandering down the hallway of his apartment, another loud shout startles you. glancing around, you spot a closed room with light peeking underneath it. curiosity getting the best of you, you tip toe closer and gently cracked open the door to peek inside.

there on the bed layed ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ, in one of his hands was a clear dildo shoved in and out of his tight ass and the other was tugging at his pink puffy nipples.

in front of him was a camera. the blinking light signaling that it was recording ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ and his self-pleasuring. in his mouth, that barely did anything to cover up his loud moans, were your panties he had stolen earlier.

covering your mouth in shock, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. watching him pleasure himself was hot. ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ was hot. you can't deny that.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who begins to get louder, his hands on the dildo and his nipple went faster and faster. with an arched back, his eyes roll to the back of his head as he came. his sticky white mess landing on his chest and all over his hands, hips jerking his cock into the air, like he was imagining he was fucking into your tight cunt.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who slumps in his bed after weakly reaching over to turn off the recording, spitting out the saliva covered panties next to him and removing the dildo from his ass.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who finally catches his breath, snags a rag from the bedside table and begins to clean himself up happily. "I'll edit and post the video later but for now... it's time to sleep next to [name]!" he cheers, tossing the dirty cum filled rag into the laundry basket and changed back into his sleepwear.

realizing he was heading back to his room, you quickly head back, slipping under the sheets and closing your eyes just in time for his arrival.

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ who sneaks inside the room, gently shutting the door and pulling back the sheets to slide in next to you. "goodnight [name]~" he whispered lovingly, pecking your cheek and spooning you from behind, practically purring from your warmth.

the next morning, you couldn't look at ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ in the eyes, too ashamed from peeking in at his private activities. he notices your behavior and saunters over to your side of the table. "something on your mind, [name]?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side. "you look like you've seen something... naughty~"

you jump, slamming your knees against the table. "n-no! I haven't seen anything, I, uh, just had a weird dream last n-night! haha!"

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ rests his chin on the palm of his hand, a smug look plastered on his face. "you sure?~" he teased. you shout 'yes!'.

later in the day, long after you went back home, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ decides to edit the video he took a few hours ago. staring at the paused screen, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴇᴍʙᴏʏ palms himself through his shorts at the sight of your flustered face watching him please himself.

"you're sooo cute, [name]." he moans, biting his lip. "I can't wait to make you mine."

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) banner made by dollywons

[eclairemaire]

the sound of music pt.3

playlist | part 1 part 2

Pairing: Lewis Pullman x Reader Category: Fluff Summary: Stranded in a 24-hour diner in the middle of nowhere, you make an unlikely companion as you bond over the sound of music. Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Swearing, fast-burn??? (idk), No mention of Y/N, Nicknames & petnames, mechanic-ish reader, musician reader (Lemme know if I missed any) Notes: This is part 3 of this series. I hope everyone enjoys. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; all characters are just that, characters, and have no ties to their real-life counterparts.

Lewis puts his phone onto the dash as you plop into the passenger seat, you sigh and throw yours up there as well. He watches as you rest your elbows on your knees and stare at the floorboard for a minute. 

“Ok,” you say after a moment.

“Ok?” he asks in response.

“Yeah, Ok.” You look at him for the first time since you got into the car. “I will move in with you.” Lewis looks like he’s about to start talking, but you hold up a finger to stop him.

“But there are some conditions.” Your tone brooks no argument from him, so he nods and waits for you to continue. 

“First,” you hold up a finger. “I will NOT mooch off your wealth or take any freebies. Therefore, I will not just live with you; I will be paying rent, and you can decide how much that is later. But this is non-negotiable.” Lewis nods, but doesn’t look like he quite agrees with it.

“Second,” you raise a second finger. “You need to be aware that I am not very fond of people, so if you have a ton of people over or something to that effect, give me like a 30-minute warning so I can prepare myself.”

“I understand that.”

“Third,” you raise a third finger. “I know your family is very private about your lives, I ask that you extend that courtesy to me. I have no interest in being a public figure, I don’t want fame, I don’t want your money. I just want to be me, and if that includes being your friend or whatever, great. I respect your boundaries and you respect mine.” Lewis hums low in his throat and nods agreement.

“I think I can do those things, but I want to add something.” He says, “You continue to treat me just like anybody else. Not an Actor or an important Musician, just me, Lewis.” 

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal.” You put out your hand for him to shake, and he does. After that, he starts the truck, and y’all continue on your journey to Lewis’s home.

It’s a week after your initial move-in that you have a slight conundrum, it’s around mid-afternoon, and Lewis was just finishing up a call when you messaged him.

‘Hey, we need to talk when you get the chance.’  He read your message and let you know that he was free now for the rest of the afternoon.

Knocking on his office door, you wait for him to respond, “Come in.” He turns and smiles at you as you open the door and lean on the door frame. “What’s up?” 

“We need to figure out how to get my stuff from my storage unit.” You say.

“Okay, well, where’s your storage unit?” He asks.

“It’s a U-Haul unit in Oklahoma. Got all my shit in there, my piano, my violin and my car to name a few things.” You say as you walk further into his office. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to play violin,” he mused as you stopped in front of him in his desk chair.

“Believe it or not, there are quite a few things you don’t know about me.” You reply.

“Well, we could use a moving service, have them go to your unit, get your stuff, and haul it out here.” He said, as he turned to look one up on his computer. 

“Yeah, that’s where the issue comes up, I don’t think anybody we sent would know how to drive my car…” You trail off at the end of your sentence, and Lewis turns back around to look at you.

“Why wouldn’t someone know how to drive your car?” His gaze was curious as he eyed where you stood, fiddling with your fingers.

“Uhh… becauseitsavintagejapaneseimportedcar.” You said it so fast that he missed the majority of what you said.

“Care to repeat that slower?” He requested.

“Because it’s a vintage Japanese import car.” You repeated, slower, ducking your head down in slight embarrassment.

“You have a vintage import car?” He didn’t seem to believe you.

“Yeah, remember I said I’d been driving since I could sit in a go-kart. That later translated into working on and owning vintage cars. How do you think I made enough money to hitchhike for three months by myself?” You ask, putting your hands on your hips as you stared him down in his seat. He raised his hands in surrender before responding.

“Ok, so what do you suggest doing if we can't do the moving service?”

“I’ll probably call my dad to be honest, get our enclosed trailer, and meet up with him at the storage unit and drive back here with my shit. Then I can ‘officially’ move in.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Sounds like a plan, what do you need from me?” He asked, not seeing where he came into play in this situation.

“I need you to drop me off at the airport in a few days, and not be here when we get there. I know it’s your place and all, but my dad’s really overprotective, and I really don’t want him scaring you off, because then I’ll have to find a new place to live.” You state with a deadpan expression on your face.

“I uh yeah, when do you think you’ll be back?” He asked after checking his calendar for the next week or so.

“I’ll fly out in two days, it’ll be a little over 22 22-hour drive, so maybe two days after that, I can text you when we’re five hours away.” You say as you look at your phone, and then over to him. He nods, and then his phone rings, and you take that as your cue to exit his office and leave him be.

Four days later your unloading all your shit from your dad’s trailer and taking it into the house and putting the various boxes in their designated places, kitchen things in the kitchen, your toiletries in your bathroom, your tool box in the garage, and all your other possessions is going into your room the only thing you don’t know what to do with is your piano. 

So you call Lewis. He picks up after the second ring. “Hey Lew,” you say as you look around the living room.

“Hey, what’s up? How’s unloading going?” he asks.

“Good, only one thing left.” You answer.

“Oh, that’s good, what is it?”

“You wouldn’t be opposed to having a piano in the living room, right?” Your voice is soft as you ask.

“Why don’t you just put it in the studio?” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Um, because the studio is full of the bands equipment, I wouldn’t want to fuck anything up.” Was your answer.

“You wouldn’t fuck anything up.” He laughed, but you weren’t joking. If you somehow broke any of that equipment, you wouldn’t be able to face him ever again.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, you’ve seen what a clutz I am sometimes,” you mutter.

“Here, how about this, you and your dad can leave it in the living room for now and when I get back, we'll move it to the studio?”

“Ok.”

“Great, see you later, Sweetheart.”

“Bye, Lew.” You sigh as you hang up the phone and shove it into your pocket, before going to the kitchen, where your dad is sitting at the table on his phone.

“We can put it in the living room, but we need to leave it on the furniture dollies.” You state as he looks up from his phone. “I’ll mail them back home to y’all, lord knows no one else is moving anytime soon.”

“When do I get to meet your new roommate?” He asks as he gets up, and y’all both go to get the piano from outside. 

“You likely won’t, they’re busy, and won’t be back for a day or two.” You say as you begin to push the piano into the house and towards the living room. Your dad doesn’t have a response to that, and you both carry on. He leaves an hour later after making sure you had everything, and goes to his hotel for the night before he leaves in the morning.

Lewis comes back home around eight pm to see you in your pajamas dancing around as you pull stuff out of boxes and put them in places around the kitchen. ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’ by Jeff Buckley was playing throughout the house. The lyrics were ringing in his ears as he listened to you sing them.

“My body turns And yearns for a sleep that won't ever come It's never over My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder It's never over All my riches for her smiles When I've slept so soft against her It's never over All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter It's never over She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever Oh, but maybe I'm just too young To keep good love from going wrong”

You spun around to get a box from near the door when you finally saw him, your smile beaming as your eyes lit up. You turned down the music but didn’t turn it off as you walked over to him, where he leaned against the door frame. He smiled at you as you came to a halt in front of him. He reached out and wrapped his arms around your shoulders and rested his chin on your head, as your arms wrapped around his waist. 

“How was the drive?” He asks, voice quiet.

“Long, but good, Dad’s heading out tomorrow morning.” You murmur against his chest.

“I missed you,” his voice was thick with emotion.

“Hey, I was only gone like three days,” you pull back and put your hands on either side of his face. “What are you going to do when you go on tour, or leave to film? Can’t just put me in your pocket and go with.” You giggle as he pouts at you.

“So where’s this mysterious car you were worried someone wouldn’t be able to drive?” He asked.

“In the garage, you can see it tomorrow. Right now, you have to help me move the piano into the studio.” You say as you pull out of his hold entirely to walk to the living room. 

You both got the piano into the studio successfully without damaging any of the equipment, but it was significantly more difficult than either of you thought it would be and took a whole hour; you both collapsed into a heap onto the couch after.

Over the following weeks, you and Lewis got to know each other more. You learned about how went to college to be a social worker, and he learned that you went to trade school and had a shit ton of certifications in different fields, so you could do odd jobs while you traveled. You both continued to bond over music, with him being the drummer for his band, and you as a ‘classically’ trained musician. 

During those weeks, your stuff had started to appear all over the house, goofy mugs sat on the drying rack by the sink, and in the cabinets, books of various genres littered bookshelves, and at least 2 of your blankets could be found in the living room, car parts were sitting in boxes in the garage waiting to be installed either onto your car or his truck, and sheet music could be found on almost any flat surface within the house. Your jackets and shoes had made homes in his entryway. And the number of plants around the home had skyrocketed.

~ 

Danny wasn’t sure he had the right house when he pulled up; the porch had a significantly larger number of potted plants than he remembered from his time living with Lewis. The garage door was open, and he could see a wicked-looking car inside that he didn’t think Lewis could ever justify buying for himself. But he double-checked the address, and it was Lewis’s house, and it was the day they had planned to meet up.

Lewis had told him that he could come straight in when he got there, and he did have his own key after all. He paused at the front door. He could hear music playing throughout the house, and he was sure that if he did have to knock, whoever was inside wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Unlocking the door, he was greeted by the smell of food coming from the kitchen and the sound of singing, which wasn’t Lewis's.

“Hey Lewis, I’m here!” He yelled into the house as he was taking his shoes off, before heading towards the kitchen. When Danny walked into the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting to see you at the dining table, in what appeared to be one of Lewis’s shirts and a pair of pants covered in paint. You were on a laptop and had a notebook next to you, and were chewing on the end of a pencil as you stared at the screen in front of you.

“Lew’s in his office,” you say, jamming a finger in that direction without looking up from your laptop. “Tell him lunch is almost ready and if he wants some he needs to get his butt out here in the next five minutes.” You add before you scribble something down in your notebook. Before you stand, crack your back and pick up your things, and leave the kitchen.

Danny was not expecting that to be how you would act, but he still wasn’t even sure who you were, and you left before he could even get a word in. Deciding to find Lewis, he goes to his office and knocks on the door. Lewis opens the door and up seeing Danny, smiles brightly.

“Hey man,” He pulls Danny into a hug.

“There was a random person in your kitchen who told me to tell you, quote unquote ‘lunch is almost ready and if he wants some he needs to get his butt out here in the next five minutes.’” Danny said after they separated.

“That’s my supposed stray I picked up a month ago.” Lewis laughed and started for the kitchen.

“Wait, they’re actually living with you?” Danny asked incredulously.

“Uh, yeah. Moved in officially like a week and a half after we got back.” Lewis answered. 

When they reached the kitchen, the music had been turned down, and you were pulling something out of the oven. It smelled even better than it did earlier. You set down the lasagna on a marble slab in the middle of the dining table, which had been set for three people. Once your hands were empty, Lewis decided to introduce you both.

“Danny, this is the stray,” He says, gesturing to you, “Sweetheart, this is Danny Ramirez.” You stick out your hand to shake Danny’s.

“Nice to meet you, Danny. Lew’s been singing your praises the past few days.” You say voice fond as you glance at Lewis.

“Nice to meet you as well, though I haven’t heard as much about you, I’m afraid,” Danny says as you release his hand and move to sit down. 

“Not surprising, I’ve asked Lewis to keep me under wraps, people aren’t my forte.” You reply.

“That explains why I haven’t heard about you since that first phone call,” Danny says, sitting across from you at the table. At the mention of the phone call, you shoot a look towards Lewis as he goes to grab drinks, you can see that his ears are slightly pink, from where you are sitting.

“I wasn’t aware that Lewis had told anyone besides the band that I was living with him.” Your tone was curious as you looked back over to Danny.

“Haha,” Lewis gave an awkward laugh as he sat down. “Well, it was before you actually agreed you’d stay. “ Lewis muttered.

“Oh, so that’s who you were talking to before I came back to the truck. Gotcha.” Was your response.

playlist | part 1 part 2

Taglist: @smoothdogsgirl @bmyva1entine @daisydark @sadpetalsstuff @articel1967 @xblueriddlex @louloulemons-posts

[writtencrone]

Tw -

Anal sex (woah), I mean like absolutely debaucherous, near mind numbing sex,

spanking (or, one singular spank and the rest are sort of implied)

A  propostersously under-negotiated kink

lots of talking during sex. If a top taking pleasure in hearing you describe what you feel whilst he fucks you is a kink then that is definitely present here

praise kink? Do I hear a praise kink for 70?,

Mentioned Semi-public sex (you fuck in the woods, and semi-fuck public restroom - not necessarily in that order)

Degradation kink but u guys don't know it yet

Slightly stalkerish behaviour, implied

Slight Dracryphilia whilst we're here.

Agent Oc x Writer Bottom Male Reader

OR, you're suffering from writers block, and you have three months to finish this romance book. Your spoilt, prissy, unreasonable, unusually cruel, superfluous bastard who's somehow already right lame-ass of an agent has had enough of it. He books you a writers retreat, however...his intentions may not be all too pure

Or, a short-ish smut drabble. My first ever smut drabble, I hope this sends you into gooner heaven you perverts (says the pervert)

SFW, NSFW, SUGGESTIVE

Imagine... You're an author with two acclaimed mystery novels, so when you decide to write a romance, you think it would be a good departure from the norm.

Imagine... Your absolute devastation when the first manuscript comes back to you covered in proverbial red ink. The beta readers, bless your soul, felt it to be blank. They thought the main characters had no real connection. The plot was weak, and worse...the sex bland.

Imagine... At first, this spurs you on, pushing you to write. But as the words come, the change needed doesn't necessarily follow. Then the block, and with the deadline looming you couldn't exactly avoid your agent.

Imagine... Your Agent. Tall, handsome, drives a porsche gifted to him by his family. Elliot Dickerson-Chen. Living up to his name, he was a pain in your ass. You looked at people who could get along with their agents with envy, because Elliot Dickerson-Chen made it his mission to undermine you, from his mousy, dark brown hair, to his almond eyes and the beauty mark under his left eye, to his good figure, to his nice suits, to his stupidly handsome and well sculpted face---

1. When you first met him, he looked you up and down like a sack of meat. He focussed on the places where you had some meat on you -- and gave a non-commital hm sound. As if he had made a decision.

2. Your second encounter with him was in the supermarket -- dairy aisle. He followed you around, judging your items. He replaced certain items for more pricier brand names (store products are perfectly fine!!).

Worse, when you hesitantly, hummilliatingly, brought up the fact you couldn't ordinarily afford these things, he simply swept your basket away from you and went off to pay for it. You were too shocked to tell him that you were only halfway done.

Then he accosted you, intimidating you into his car to drive you home. Then he tried to make a habit of driving you places - something you have to regularly avoid, because sitting in his passenger seat in dead silence is a personal sort of hell. It is not a shameful thing to be an adult and not have a car. You have a house. And you... have a house.

3. When he meets you now, sitting in his perfectly tailored suit wearing his perfectly off-the-rack sneer just for you, he tells you that he's already booked a writers retreat for the next week. Excuse him! He didn't ask if you had any plans for the next week -- you didn't. He tells you that he was so considerate as to check your diary and your google calendar to make sure you didn't, he even planned your schedule around in advance. He preens, like he's done something benevolent and good whilst you choke in shock.

Imagine... The retreat is a cabin in the woods, and utterly solitary. There's only one bed , but you expect the issue to be dealt with later. You shower, and when you come out you ask who will be sleeping on the bed and who on the sofa. Elliot gives you a strange look, before glancing at you up and down. Then he says, perhaps, another thing on the infinitesimal list of absolute lunacy that is your relationship. He asks to have sex with you. For the writing, of course, is what you tell yourself as you get undressed ...

NSFW!

Imagine... When he kisses you and presses you to the bed, his tongue exploring your mouth in ways previously unknown. You think about your past exploits, how none of them ran their hands down your body like this -- like they were trying to memorise your very essence. You think about how much experience Elliot must have, and shudder. He's on top of you, straddling your waist

Then he moves down to your neck, sucking and biting. Taking his sweet time undressing you. Between bites, he asks you to describe it. How does it feel when I suck on this part of your neck (Ticklish, you say, curling in on your self).

Imagine... You babbling off how you feel -- how you're being stretched when he works you open. Tears pool in your eyes when his fingers brush against your prostrate, and from between your legs he is on you. He is asking you to describe. Is it euphoric or unreasonably pleasurable. When he sticks three digits in, he asks how the the lube feels -- if you need more. He asks you to imagine the dry burn of being without it whilst you bury your head in your pillow, listing off sentences in between hitched, desperate breaths.

Imagine... The first night Elliot bends you in half, so when you look forward you see your weeping red cock. Worse, you see where he connects with you -- How your hole stretches and almost puckers to meet him -- to pull him in. You let out something between a sob and a moan, your legs kicking at the air a little -- his grip squeezed around your thighs, and you know you would have bruises the next morning.

" See this? See how you suck me in? Do you feel how badly you want this? Verbalise it, tell me about it. Write about it. Think about me when you write about those two characters fucking.

Talk about how well you took it, and how well you're taking it now. You're so good, so good," he says between breathy moans and groans. You wonder how he can talk so much when his balls are making such obscene squelching noises against you.

You let out an incoherent wail as he then proceeds to take your cock in his fist - and in one rapid jerk you're spilling your cum over his wrist. Elliot fucks you even though you go limp -- going faster, harder, until you felt your feel your teeth rattle.

You shudder, your hands clawing at his back, his arms, struggling for purchase as he ploughs you into overstimulation. He ploughs you like your a field and they're running late for planting season. You can feel it in the back of your throat with any thrust, to the base of your skull. You remember a phrase in your book, saying how they went on until dawn - and you can't imagine yourself lasting more than thirty minutes. You expect to feel full when Elliot finishes inside of you, but instead you feel slimy. Post-nut clarity, followed by the five-stages of post-nut grief, is strong in you.

He cleans you, talks to you about the book. Your throat is sore from all the moaning, and screaming. Your eyes dry from all the wheeping.

Imagine... The second time you and Elliot go on a hiking trail with him, dazed from last night. He asks if you want to do it against the tree -- for the experience. You say no - but not to the sex. Being on the hiking trail would be too exposed.

Doing it standing up is more of a stretch, an ache. He has one leg hitched around his hips whilst he thrusts into you, the other barely staying on the ground. Your pants are around your thigh, and your shirt pulled up so your chest rubbed against the bark. He brought a hand around to squeeze around your nipples - around your chest and you nearly yelp. What was ordinarily painful was mixed in-between the pleasure rising from your groin. You fall apart when he presses you against

Imagine... When he finishes he takes you to one of the public bathrooms, and you try to do it there whilst cleaning up. It ends half-way though, because the bathroom is too small and you're already sore enough. You muster enough courage to kick Elliot out whilst you pee, clean up, and contemplate everything you've ever (never) done in your life.

When you step outside to wash your hands, you hear Elliot's smooth voice on the phone. He's talking to someone - his mom.

"No mom, I'm with a client. Yeah, I'm making a sale on a downtown condo."

Maybe lying to his mom about his job is a red flag, and maybe for that fact alone this relationship should end with the week.

You make out with him at the mountain top, your hands lost in his brown hair as you pulled him forward. It wasn't certain, but you were already acting like this would end soon enough -- why not take a little bit more initiative.

Imagine ... The third night he has you on your hands and knees, then he only has you on your knees. You face is pushed into the pillows, your face planted sideways so you can see him through your (h/c) strands.

"When you're faced down like this, the only thing that matters is this perfect hole. That's all you become, that's all you are now (y/n). A perfect hole for me," Elliot blabbers on about whilst pistonning into you with enough force to make the bed actually creak.

Before he pushes your head into the pillows so that you can't actually see him, he asks you if you're down for spanking. Ideally, that's not a question you would ask whilst balls deep in someone, but you nod numbly. You yelp at the first strike, bedsheets balling up in your hands.

The second time doesn't come for a while, giving you time to digest the residual sting against the rolling waves of now-familiar pleasure. You whine when he pinches your thigh and tells you to say it out loud, describe it out loud, rolling you over whilst he's still in you. You understand what a piece of big doner meat feels like when it's spinning on a stick.

When he sees you, teary faced and debauched, he moans.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful when you cry. You're so fucking beautiful-" your breath hitches in your throat, and he throws on of your legs of his shoulders so he can get a better angle to push into you.

"- So handsome-"

He thrusts forward again, bottoming out and watching you choke on your moan, watching your tears run down the side of your face and into your hair. He peers down at you, tan and flushed pink. Sweat dripping down his forehead, down his chest. You think about how he must taste like the ocean.

"So pretty, so pretty."

he leans in, his mouth near you ear whilst he pulls out all the way. His tip catches on your hole, and you whimper.

"All for me, all for me," he croons.

You flush red, making a shocked noise then gasping when he bottoms out into you.

SFW

Imagine .. you're both on the couch, because neither of you want to change the sex-stained sheets on the bed. All things consider, the sex has actually.. motivated you to write. You've pretty much perfected all the smut scenes, but now it's the intimate scenes you need. You're sprawled across a chaise-lounge, typing away at your laptop, and he's slouched on the armchair looking at his phone then occasionally looking at you.

"Why do you lie to your mom?" You ask, after about an hour of silence. "Didn't mean to listen in, but you don't... say much, really."

Elliot clicked his tongue, and goes silent. His hand comes to his mouth, and you admire how delicate it looks.

"My mom never wanted me to have a career in the arts, even as an agent. Or talent manager, or... whatever. This is the only way I can have peace at my family gatherings."

You hum, saving your draft twice over before closing your laptop. "Must be tough, having to lie."

He shrugged, then his dark eyes danced over to you. "That's why I like you. You're unabashedly honest, and so are some of your best characters."

You blinked, suddenly having to digest so much. "You like me?" You ask, suddenly.

Now he frowns, and you can feel the third-act break-up stalk onto the stage. "Why else would I bring you here -- why would I have sex with you if not because I liked you. What did you think this was?"

Not today You thought, using all your authorial might to make sure you can actually communicate.

"In my defence, you've never said anything about having any interest in me. You accosted me, undermined me, at every junction. You always assume I have no money, down to the second time we ever met and you paid for my groceries without even saying anything --"

"I was being nice!" He says, standing up. "If it was that much of a bother, you always could have said something." Bad sign.

"How was I meant to know that when you looked so pissed --- look, wait! I didn't know, but I do--" He's walking away, and you're not sure when you say this but you call out. "I like you too!"

He stops, which is all you wanted.

"I really do," you say, and you don't really believe it yet.

But Elliot does, and that's enough. For now.

"You're right, I could have spoken up. I've always been a coward, but somehow this week trip has changed me. It's very much rearranged my insides. I," you swallow thickly. "I want to change with you, though. We can apologise, start over?"

And you don't know why you're offering this olive branch, or why you're so desperate to see Elliot take it.

He walks over, and he's looming over you. You're both in your pyjamas, and you never noticed just how nice his are. Suddenly, you know you're both from very different worlds. You a working-class background, somehow making it in a hostile industry. Him from... somewhere. All you know is that Elliot is White-Singaporean, that his mom doesn't want him working this job for whatever reason, and he still does.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should have talked more, I guess I just got so good at making another life I... forgot I was living this one. For a while. It's not really and excuse, and I hope that -- in the future, you'll..." He's gnawing on his bottom, a worry line pressing between his eyebrows and you realise that he is pouting. "You'll feel comfortable enough to talk to me. Even after this."

You feel a small smile curl at the edges of your lips.

"I hope so too," you say. And you mean it. You hope you can actually love him, that you can be comfortable with, patient, respectful. A good starting place would probably be trying not to listen in on his conversations.

--

And that's where I'll end it. I was going to end it at "I really do". However, I didn't know if I had the effort for a pt 2 soo... uhm yah here's an ambiguous sort of ending! hope u enjoyed - if u have any advise for

[flvvffy]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . ❝ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄... ❞

summary: suguru geto comforts chubby!reader, letting her know that she is loved and appreciated despite her insecurities

suguru adored you ever since the day he laid eyes on you. how could he not? you were breathtakingly beautiful, easy on the eyes and the your amazing personality was just another wonderful bonus.

suguru expressed his love for you in the ways he knew how. rushing to the store when you urgently needed something. offering his honest opinion when you asked. having an extra hair tie in case you needed one. he did everything he could to make you know that you are loved and appreciated.

you loved him too...deeply. he made you feel comfortable in your own skin than anyone else ever did. but sometimes...you felt that maybe changing yourself for him was for the better.

pretty girls with slim bodies were plastered everywhere you went. bill boards and social media more specifically. dressed in hot bikinis that you always hesitated to wear infront of suguru.

you were sure they never struggled to find the right bra that neither dug painfully into thier shoulders nor have cups too big. the right jeans that fit both their tummies and thick thighs, that actually allowed the possibility to breathe and not feel so self-conscious in public. shirts that looked stylish and trendy but comfortable.

you started to hate the way the seams dug into your skin, the way your reflection felt like a stranger's. you started to hate how you needed to plan your outfits like puzzles. never too tight, never too baggy. just enough to hide the parts you didn't like.

obsessively staring at yourself in the mirror. making a note of all the imperfections on your body. the stretch marks on your stomach, hips and swell of your breasts. the ways your thighs always touched. often thinking 'i know he loves me...i know that...but maybe he'd love me more if i wasn't... fat...'.

you wanted to let suguru know how you felt. but how? this wasn't a topic you were comfortable with. as much as you liked being around him, you couldn't help but feel too big, too noticable. especially when there were so many other girls out there, that were prettier, more skinnier and...perfect for him. your insecurities slapping you in the face whenever it crossed your mind

"I wanna start going to the gym...with you". you stated randomly as you were in his apartment, just casually, silently hoping that he wouldn't ask further questions. but you underestimated how much he pays attention to you.

"why the sudden interest?", his brow raised. shifting his attention for a short while from his phone to you

"i just wanted to try something new. you make it look so fun and easy", you reason but he still didn't seem to understand.

"it's not as fun as you think, pretty...you have to stay consistent"

"i can do that", he gave you a wary look and set his phone aside, attention fully on you.

"where is this coming from?", you shrunk back into the cushions, controlling your expression, hoping that he wouldn't catch up on your true intentions.

"just curious to know how it is...", he squinted his eyes at you and shook his head just a little. a sign that he wasn't, at all, convinced.

"you never want to try something new. you're the only person I know who despises change. you also told me that the gym seems like too much"

"people change", you shrugged.

"not you...you can tell me anything, you know that...". suguru's eyes showed concern. he placed his hand on yours the other tilted your chin to look at him. your throat felt dry. getting harder to swallow as he stared at you with such loving soft eyes.

"do you...", pause. "do you think i'm...beautiful?". silence follows. he looked deeper into your eyes, searching for sincerity in then. and you let him.

"you're the most beautiful girl in the world. of course i think you are", a small smile is plastered on his lips but you don't believe him...not yet...

"you don't have to lie to me...", his brows creased. his hand slid down to your shoulder and squeezed a bit.

"is it really so hard to believe. you are beautiful. has anyone made you feel like you're not?"

you shake your head, no. "i just feel like things would be better for me...for us if i was...skinnier"

"oh, baby...", he pulled you against his chest, his large hands cradled your head. you wanted to push him away. away from yourself...but you didn't...didn't have the heart to. so you wrapped your arms around his waist. your cheek pressed against his chest, the smell of his cologne invaded your nostrils, wrapping around you like a memory--sharp, warm...familiar

"there is nothing wrong with you, honey. everything about you is so elegant and astounding sometimes i think...that you're way out of my league.", you slapped his chest playfully and he kisses the top of your head.

"i go crazy whenever i see you. they way you carry yourself is just so...magical. i wanna nuzzle into you every time we cuddle. you're warm and you always make me feel so much better after such a long day. that beautiful smile of yours, your comfortable weight on top of me makes me wanna show you off to the entire world", he pulled back to look at you. your eyes a little watery.

he cupped your cheeks and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. "there is nothing that you need to fix for the world, but the world needs to fix itself for you". a tear slid down your cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb. you were smiling now, your cheeks heated and heart full from his words alone.

suguru leaned in, sealing his lips with yours in a passionate kiss. eyes closed. heart thumping loudly in your ears as your tongues danced together. hands roamed around the other's bodies until he pulled away. catching your breathes as he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered:

"you're beautiful in ways you can't always see...and don't you forget that"

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[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

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[chadobi]

The Look of Love

Bayverse Leonardo x Fem!Reader

The lair was glowing, alive with the kind of warmth that only came from mismatched furniture, half-working lights, and the presence of people you didn’t have to pretend around.

April’s laugh cut through the air like a song you never wanted to end, mingling with the excited chaos of Mikey’s voice shouting something about “technically legal Uno moves.” Donnie was trying to explain the rules (for the fifth time), and Raph had just thrown down his cards and declared, “This game is dumb anyway.”

You smiled, curled up on the edge of the couch, watching the dysfunction unfold like a well-rehearsed play. And yet, despite the comfort of it all, your mind felt distant, adrift.

You rose quietly, unnoticed in the blur of playful accusations and flying playing cards, and made your way toward the kitchen.

It was dimly lit, washed in soft gold from the overhead lamp. The walls still carried faint traces of past meals and late-night laughter. You reached for a glass in the cabinet, already picturing the taste of cold water, when…

He was there.

Leonardo stood near the counter, his back to you, the mug in his hand still steaming.

You paused.

He turned at the sound of your step, slow and instinctive, eyes landing on yours. His expression shifted, subtle, but noticeable. Just enough to catch your breath off-guard.

“Oh,” he said, not startled but definitely surprised. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

You swallowed. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he turned back to his mug. “You didn’t. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

The air felt different now. Not tense, but… aware. Like even the quiet between you two was watching.

You moved to the sink and filled your glass. From the corner of your eye, you could feel him still there. Unmoving. Present.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence softly, “needed a break from Uno madness?”

He exhaled a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You have no idea. Mikey and April teamed up, and now it’s not even Uno anymore. It’s some mutant version called ‘Undefeated Mikuno.’”

You snorted into your glass. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or horrified.”

“Both’s a safe bet.”

You turned, leaning back against the counter across from him. He mirrored the posture, arms folded casually over his broad chest. His hoodie was slightly too small for him now, tight across his shoulders. You’d seen him train, fight, lead, always with control. But here, in the warm quiet, he seemed… softer. A little more human.

Your eyes met.

It wasn’t intentional.

Or maybe it was. Just a second too long.

Something flickered there, between the space of a breath and a blink. It didn’t speak, didn’t demand. It just existed, like a light between two rooms.

You didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

It wasn’t intense, wasn’t wild. It was quiet. But it burned. A stillness that made the blood in your neck rush warm and visible under your skin.

The look of love, the rush of blood.

Not love, you told yourself. Not yet. But something.

Something enough to make the world feel a little less steady under your feet.

His gaze was unreadable in that moment, but not cold. If anything, it was too open. Like he forgot to build the walls in time. And you were suddenly aware of just how close he was. How little space separated the tips of your toes from his.

His lips parted, as if to say something, but no words followed. Just another breath. Another moment suspended.

Then…

“Yo, Raph! You owe me twenty bucks!”

Mikey’s voice pierced the silence like a stone through glass.

You startled, nearly dropping your glass. Leo flinched too, blinking rapidly and straightening up.

You both turned toward the entrance of the kitchen.

There, in the dim archway, were all of them. Donnie, Mikey, April, and Raph. Peeking around the corner like the world’s least discreet spies.

“We were literally betting on how long y’all would stare at each other,” April whispered, covering her mouth like it would muffle her amusement. “I said four minutes. Donnie said three and a half. Raph said…”

“…that it was weird and I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Raph grunted, arms crossed but unmistakably smug.

“I said nothing!” Donnie protested. “But I did start the stopwatch.”

Leonardo sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. His cheeks were dusted with a deeper shade of green.

“You guys are unbelievable,” he muttered, already stepping toward the doorway.

“Wait!” Mikey grinned, wagging a finger. “We’re just saying-if you’re gonna be all moony-eyed in the kitchen, you could at least give us popcorn!”

“Out. Now,” Leo deadpanned, voice low but firm, ushering them back like a grumpy shepherd.

They scattered with laughter echoing behind them, leaving only faint shadows of teasing behind.

You turned away quickly, letting out a long breath and pressing your cool glass to your cheek. Your heart was pounding and you were very aware of it.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“They’re never gonna let us live this down, huh?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Not a chance.”

A pause. Not awkward. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry if that was… weird,” he added after a beat. “Just… didn’t expect…”

“No,” you cut in, then smiled, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t weird.”

He looked at you for a long second. Then, nodded, slow, thoughtful.

“Good.”

There was a comfort in the silence that followed, like the moment had passed but left something behind. Not a confession. Not even a plan. Just a mutual, quiet understanding that something had happened. And maybe that was enough for now.

You nudged his shoulder gently as you walked past him, glass still in hand.

“I���m heading back before Mikey starts narrating our nonexistent love story to the entire sewer system.”

Leo smirked, following you a step behind. “Too late. He’s probably already drafting the fanfiction.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, the world felt smaller again, just you and him, and a flicker of something waiting beneath the surface.

Not love.

But maybe something that would become it,

In time.

[francislangdon]

omg. if you have the time. we decide to play a game of chicken together which leads to one thing or another AU

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Samira turns from her charting, scanning Mel’s face before shaking her head and starting to type again.

“He’s not,” Samira says, “He’s married, Mel. He talks about his wife all the time.”

“Not to me,” Mel mutters. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“You’re probably misreading the signals.”

“I…” Mel stutters. She has been known to do that. That’s why she wanted to bring it up to Samira. “…Guess you’re right.”

Married men don’t flirt with women who aren’t their wives. Mel knows this the same way she knows everyone waits until they’re twenty one to start drinking.

Langdon swings by their desks then, she can sense him coming. A weight hits her shoulders and it’s his hands gripping onto her, solid. Mel tilts her head up into his body, resting against his chest.

“Hey, babe, you wanna take a look at the guy in North 5 with me?”

“What happened to him?”

“Mandolin accident. Guess how many fingers he lost.”

“Most people just lose one.”

“Most people,” he agrees ruefully, “But guess how many this guy lost.”

“Three?”

“Cut the fingertips off of all five, sweetheart.”

Mel winces.

He pulls her up out of the chair. “Over under three that we can reattach?”

Samira pipes up, “Under.”

“Someone’s a pessimist. What do you think, baby?” He’s standing so close his chest is touching her back.

Mel tries to catch Samira’s eye, but she’s disinterested, focused on the computer. “Um, over? I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” he pushes her towards the hall.

“I know where North 5 is.”

His hand stays on her back. “I know.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Collins continues to stitch the laceration on their patient’s leg, but her eyebrows raise in a way that Mel can tell means she’s paying attention. “Why would you say that?”

“Um, he’s been calling me terms of endearment. And he touches me a lot? More than normal, I think. Oh, and he brought me breakfast this morning. It looked homemade.”

“Langdon’s pretty impulsive. He probably gave you his leftovers.”

“What about the touching?”

“Yes, he’s very tactile. Like a big puppy, really.”

“Is he tactile with you?”

“Ha! Not likely.”

Mel’s brow furrows.

“Dr. Langdon is married, anyway.”

“I know that.”

“You’re a great doctor, Mel, one of our best residents.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s just playing favorites. Robby does that too, sometimes.”

“…You don’t think there’s any reason I’m his favorite?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Mel says awkwardly.

The curtain to the room opens then, Langdon’s head popping up. He winks at her. “What do we have here?”

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he heard their conversation before he walked in.

“Belligerent drunk,” Collins says, “Had to knock him out so I could suture him.”

“And it seems like you’re doing a fine job. Can I steal Mel?”

Collins hands her over without a second thought. “Go ahead.”

“Great.” Langdon tugs Mel out of the room by the wrist.

“What did you need me for, Dr. Langdon?”

He shrugs, “Dunno yet. Let’s go find something interesting.”

“I think Dr. Langdon is flirting with me.”

Robby slowly closes the drawer he’d been digging in, a packet of nicotine gum halfway to his mouth. Mel had caught him in between cases. He’s a good teacher, albeit very hands off. Mel’s spent a latent chunk of her shift trying to catch up to him.

“Okay…?” Robby trails off.

Mel’s hands flex. “Do you…”

This is embarrassing.

“Do you think that he is?”

“Flirting with you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Mel wants the ground to swallow her.

“Langdon’s been on his best behavior since coming back.”

It’s true. He’s sharper now than he was before, she thinks, more attuned to the needs of the ED. Robby has been trying to wrangle him back into his role as the heir apparent.

“I think he was smelling my hair the other day? It was hard to tell. We were talking by the lockers and he just leaned in.“

“Langdon would never be inappropriate with any of our residents. He knows better than that.”

“I’m not accusing him of anything I just—”

“Good. If he’s not bothering you then we have nothing further to discuss,” Robby houses a few pieces of gum and shoves the rest back in the drawer. “C’mon Dr. King, we’ve got patients waiting.”

Mel takes the dismissal.

She shuffles over by the board to see what needs done, but Langdon’s standing by the ambulance doors, waiting for something to come in.

“Mel! Motorcycle accident coming in five. You in?”

She can never refuse him.

“Attagirl,” Langdon grins. He slaps her ass and gestures to a trauma room, “Go get gowned up, baby.”

Mel jumps at the impact, blushing, stealing a few glances back at him as she goes to follow his directions.

“Dr. Langdon?”

He pulls himself away from her lips, “Yeah, Mel?”

“Have you been flirting with me?”

“Little bit.”

He retracts his thigh out from between her legs. There’s a wet spot where she’s been grinding on it.

“Honestly, I thought you’d chicken out before we got here.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mel says, lips kiss-swollen. She glances at the obvious erection in his pants.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious.”

“I’m not good at social cues.”

“Ah,” Langdon says, “Alright, let me be more direct.”

He shoves her up against the wall again, kissing her intently, the press of his hard length into her thigh undeniable.

[animeomegas]

Let's talk about Jamil and conditional heats.

Conditional heats are a version of the omega heat cycle that are a little more... sentient? Rather than heats happening like clockwork, conditional heats only happen when an omega's instincts believe that certain criteria have been met.

For a sexual heat, they decide there's a fine piece of alpha nearby that is perfect to mate and make babies with.

For a soft heat, they decide that there is a safe alpha who can protect the omega while they deal with some kind of stress, sickness, or burnout.

...

So, imagine Jamil, someone who has never had a real heat before, waking up a little warmer and stranger than normal. He's confused, he thinks he might be sick, which sucks because he really doesn't have time to be sick.

It's harder to pull himself out of bed than normal, but when he thinks about how he has a meeting planned with you, an alpha that he... enjoys the company of... he manages to get up.

But when he pulls back the covers, he's hit with his own scent, crazy strong and thick. He just stares for a moment, confused, and then a horrible, horrible thought runs through his head.

No.

He races to the nearest mirror. His flushed, sweaty face stares back at him in horror. The scent glands on his neck and thighs are swollen, his pupils are dilated, his skin is flushed all over... and he can't help but wish that you were here with him.

No.

"Don't you dare do this," he whispers to his reflection. "Don't you dare. I'm just... sick. I'm just sick."

He's been busy and stressed beyond normal the past few weeks, perfect conditions for getting sick... He ignores the voice inside his head which points out that those conditions are perfect for a soft heat as well.

He doesn't have time for this, and he's choosing denial, so he slaps on as many scent patches as he has available to try and reign it in, splashes cold water on his face and get ready like normal.

He manages to convince himself that he's doing well, until the second he opens the door to his room, and everything in him is screaming that it's not safe.

He's trained to pay attention to his instincts, to seek danger, but today his anxiety is through the roof. Every step feels like the last one he'll get to take and he doesn't know why.

He's on edge, snapping at everyone over everything. Even Kalim notices that something is very wrong and thinks Jamil is sick. Several people figure out he's in a soft heat, and try to gently steer him back to his room, but he bites the head off of anyone that even hints at it.

Eventually, word must have got back to you, because you find him at lunch. He was trying to hide in one of the more shadowy corners behind a building, just to take a moment to regain his composure, when he hears your voice.

"Jamil?"

No. No, anyone but them.

Underneath all the scent patches, he can feel his scent glands working overtime to try and desperately produce a scent that will bring you close to him.

No, he's sick! He's just sick!

"G-Go away," he manages to grit out, the words causing him physical pain. "Leave me alone."

Unhappy with his resistance, his legs buckle beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Yes, if he falls, if he's weak, his alpha will protect him, they'll stay by him, this is good.

No! No, it is not good!

"Jamil!" You rush to his side, supporting him with one arm around his waist while your other hand gently pushes his hair away from his face. He can feel you studying him, looking for what's wrong. He just hopes you don't find anything.

"Jamil? Did someone trigger your heat?" you asked delicately, voice quiet and soothing, like he's some sort of child that needs mollycoddling.

"No!" he denies. "I'm sick. I'm just sick." He doesn't know which one of you he's trying to convince at this point.

You don't believe him, he can tell. Honestly, he doesn't blame you; it's a rather pathetic attempt at a lie. But you don't call him out on it, either.

"Jamil, if you're sick, then you should be resting in your room." You scoop him up in your arms before he can protest. He let's out a little strangled noise of surprise though. "Let me take you back to your room, you won't gain anything from forcing yourself through the day like this."

"But Kalim-"

"But Kalim nothing. You're just as important as he is, and you need rest when you're sick, Jamil. If Kalim needs anything, I'll handle it, okay?"

Part of him croons at your words and the other part resents them. It's this ridiculous attitude of yours that has him all... ruined. It pisses him off; life was much simpler before you turned up.

There's also another part of him, a much louder part than he would like, that's angry at the thought of you helping Kalim. You're supposed to be helping him, looking at him, being with him, not Kalim!

He doesn't say anything out loud though. He's honestly worried he'll make an embarrassing noise if he opens his mouth to speak.

Besides... your arms feel nice. Maybe he should take a nap? His eye lids feel heavy... he's been overworked so much recently, he needs a break, and you're here to protect him...

No... he shouldn't... it wouldn't be a good idea...

You're shushing him now... the vibrations from your chest are soothing...

A good idea...

To...

"Sleep, Jamil. I've got you."

To...

His eyes slip closed and his body goes limp. He'll regret his succumbing to his instincts later, but for now, some good sleep is well needed.

...

Jamil is perfect for this set up imo, because he needs an outside force to make him admit he likes an alpha. It's not convenient for him, so he'll ignore it until he literally can't anymore lol.

I don't remember the point I was making when I started this post but... Jamil 🥰

[I'm still learning about the TWST characters, so hopefully this is okay! Thank you for reading!]

[ajoure]

My little yapp session about Harley and Leith in 4cmit pre-THOJ & after Experiment 1354 under the cut.

Can we talk about the moment in 4cmit harleith relationships when Harley was actually both furious at Leith and loved him. About the moment that still shows itself, still makes Harley cautious around Leith a bit and still makes Leith experience *flashbacks* and feel guilt

Harley really hates loving Leith. In Charm of Imperfections, he tells Leith "and I hate that you did it" talking about this whole situation with the new body and how it made Harley actually feel joy about being human again. First of all, Leith fucks with his god complex, of course. Man who dreamed about being immortal and possess power over everyone now doubts himself, experiences moments in which he has to doubt his own views that he has held all his life. Harley doesn't like being *wrong* or even feel like he is.

He hates feeling love to Leith, off all people. He hates that Leith is the one.

Right after 1354, Harley felt so much rage (and he still does, it's not like he will just forgive Leith, it's hard to) he was furious. Betrayal from the one you loved. It's like he lives through the worst moment of his life again, like he went through hell with Elliot again, but this time it was even more personal. It was the person he thought he could trust after so much time together.

And like, yes, it is true, Leith will prove to Harley that he loves him, you know the whole *4cmit*, *new body*, *going too far to make Harley happy*. But then? Then Harley probably howled to himself for hours, days, weeks, refusing to work, undergoing tortures from man he dared to trust. And in his face, Leith was a menace. Humiliation, mockery, talking Harley down and threatening him

But, you can't hide from Harley. Leith wasn't able to. Harley knew how Leith actually expressed REGRET after what he's done. He saw Leith at his worst, looked at him through cameras in his office. So it affected how he felt about him, planted the doubt, reinforced the affection.

In one of future comics Harley will tell someone "Leith didn't ask for second chance, he just took it" and it's true. Leith never asked Harley for second chance, they both just. Knew they need it. Leith with his desire to redeem himself, and Harley with his hopes that *maybe he can trust someone after all*

Yapp session is over. Sorry for all mistakes in text, I repost this from Telegram and I realised I had to change some moments/add something but I don't have time now to pay much attention to it-

Pre-THOJ, They started relationships again, not really admitting that hey, they are together. It's just a twisted work thing, nothing serious, "I will tear you apart the second I get a chance to, Leith"

But after like, a solid number of times when Leith could've shocked Harley but didn't, and Harley could've killed Leith but didn't it's began to seem like It's not really just a work thing. They still denied it, because after all what happened it's obviously very hard to admit.

Stella knew the whole time she's #1 old men yaoi shipper btw/hj

Conclusion: I love toxic old men yaoi🤸🏻‍♂️

[mattslilies]

Reflection - M.S.

"no, baby, that's not true." or... the one where you begin to hate what you see in the mirror each morning, and despite trying to hide it from matt, he makes it his mission to comfort and reassure you. warnings: insecurity, mentions of weight, social stigma. word count: 942 a/n: requested by anon! dividers from @kodaswrld! disclaimer: beauty standards are not real!!!! you are all gorgeous <3

you told matt absolutely everything. well, almost. you hadn't told him this.

you didn't know what had changed. it was like someone was slowly turning a dial, one that caused self-hatred to flow into your brain like water. progressively, every time you looked into the mirror, you found flaw after flaw after flaw.

your nose wasn't the right shape, or your eyes were too uneven, or your stomach showed just a little bit too much in the outfit you were wearing. you weren't tall enough, your ribcage too wide, or something completely out of left field. you always managed to find something that was wrong.

logically, you knew that this wasn't rational. there hadn't been anything specific that had triggered it, but the online discourse surrounding your relationship with matt definitely did not help at all. it only furthered your belief that there were things about you that needed to change, in order to be considered worthy of being his girlfriend.

you knew he would discourage that idea,. you knew he would sit and list all the reasons why you were wrong to think that, how it didn't matter what anyone said online. and that was the exact reason you hadn't told him, because you always felt like a burden expecting him to take time out of his day to comfort you.

you'd been independent for a long time before meeting matt, and even after you two were official, you stayed that way. you would never use him for his money, although it was nice not having to worry about bills anymore. but you still had the deep rooted urge to do everything by yourself, and if it was gonna get done right, you had to do it.

though matt appreciated your independence, he also gently encouraged you to allow yourself to depend on him sometimes, instead of always arguing over paying for yourself. he often knew that was an argument he wouldn't win, so he made up for it with spontaneous gifts that you couldn't possibly refuse to take from him.

you stood in front of the mirror, picking apart every piece of your body, so deep into your own mind that you didn't hear the front door opening. nor did you hear him walking into the bedroom. as he saw the bathroom light on and your shadow encompassing the floor, he walked towards it, face etched full of concern when he processed the sight.

you had a look of disgust on your face, looking down at yourself. your eyes were red-rimmed, from the long minutes of crying you'd spent today. he stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, accidentally startling you as you jumped. you quickly wiped your eyes, shoving him backwards slightly.

"matt! you can't sneak up on people like that!"

he threw his hands up in surrender, apologies leaving his mouth.

"i'm sorry, baby, i didn't mean to scare you. are you okay?"

you nodded, quickly. too quickly.

"yeah, i'm fine."

you walked past him, going straight back into the bedroom and changing into a loose hoodie that encapsulated your frame.

it was almost like you didn't want him to see you.

he sat down on the edge of the bed, opening his arms.

"something's up, baby, i know you too well. cmere."

he was right, after over a year of dating, matt knew very well when something was wrong. you sighed, not wanting to talk about it but desperately wanting a comforting hug, so you sat down next to him. he wrapped his arms around you, letting you lean against his side.

"what's goin' on, sweetheart?"

you shrugged, not feeling like responding. he waited for a few minutes before speaking again.

"you had a look on your face, baby. like you were grossed out or somethin'."

he felt wet droplets hit his bare arm and his shirt, and he immediately tilted your head up, his heart breaking when he saw your tears flowing. he had a feeling he knew what was going on, but he had never wanted to be right.

"hey. who said something about you? i'll handle it, you know that."

you shook your head, sniffling and wiping away the water pouring down your face.

"it's not that, i just-"

you sighed. he didn't speak, knowing you weren't finished with what you wanted to say.

"i just don't like what i see in my reflection anymore."

matt tightened his arms around you, as if should he squeeze hard enough, all of your insecurities would flood out like a sponge.

"i feel like every time i see myself, there's something new that's wrong, or doesn't look right, or some new flaw."

matt shook his head, insistently.

"no, baby, that's not true."

you knew he would immediately rush to comfort you, and the tears only poured faster.

"there's nothing about you that's wrong. every part of you is perfect. i think you're absolutely beautiful, and anyone who says different is wrong, even when that includes yourself."

his tone was soft, but his words hit deep.

"i just wish i could see what you see in me."

he sighed, but not one of annoyance, one of deep thought, concern, and sadness.

"and you will. you don't ever have to deal with this stuff alone, sweetheart. i'm here. we're going to work on it, okay? whatever you need."

you couldn't stifle the tears, full blown sobs leaving you, yet comfort radiated over your entire body.

"it's okay, baby. cry it out. you're going to be alright. i love you, pretty girl."

you couldn't make out the words, so instead squeezed his body.

he knew you loved him too.