#i need to think of more stuff for this guy

[firingstars]

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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[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

PART 3

-----------------------------------------

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973

[hanasnx]

anal w fuckboy!clark bc he’s never done it before and you’re sooooo desperate to differentiate yourself from the other girls on his roster you’ll give him anything

ANAL — c.kent

“ i heard from a friend of a friend, that dick was a ten out of ten ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: fuckboy!clark nsfw twitter porn link video reference, must be logged in to twitter with age to see it. disclaimer; fuckboy!clark is my au, do not use it without explicit permission. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ au; fuckboy!clark ノ established relationship; fwbs ノ mention of reader having hair ノ allusions to unprotected sex ノ explicit sexual content ノ anal (f receiving) ノ anal virginity.

It’s a dangerous slope, you know. Having a little thing on the side with FUCKBOY!CLARK KENT was bound to end in flames. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, one day you knew him as your classmate, and then you were hitting each other up in the AM to come over for a quick one. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, he acts strangely gentlemanly in a way a modern man can. Unfortunately you know you’ve hit rock bottom in standards because you think it’s sweet when he buys your Plan B, or stays a little longer than he needs to watch something with you until he’s gotta head home. It’s almost friendship, in a way.

The worst part is, you’re catching feelings way too quick. Sure you were attracted to him initially, but now your heart actually skips a beat when he says your name. You wait by your phone trying to catch a text from him to see what you’re up to. It’s pathetic, you think, brushing your hair back over your forehead. You’re not even the only girl he’s seeing right now, and you told him he’s not the only guy on your roster… yet you dive for your cell as soon as you hear it ring.

“You mean it?” Clark reaffirms, smoothing a hand over the cheek of your ass you’re presenting to him. Back at his place yet again, you’re in a familiar position, yet you’re offering up something new. His parted lips in quiet awe enclose so as drag his bottom one through his teeth, tilting his head at how you glisten in the dull light, pretty pussy all open while you await his answer. It’s like you’re getting wet just talking about this. “You’ll let me fuck your ass?” It’s such a crude way of saying it, and it makes you surge forward with the pillow still hooked under your hips. Thick fingers slot in between the fat of your pelvis and thighs, adjusting you right back where he wants you.

“Are you gonna do it or are you just gonna stare?” you challenge, resting the side of your face on his mattress so you can look back at him. From your peripheral, you can see his meaty dick fill out to full attention until the base is grasped by his hand. He gives it a couple of healthy jacks. You’ve been prepping for this, you did a bunch of boring research and you stuck stuff up yourself to loosen the virgin muscle. Just because your little asshole hasn’t been fucked before, doesn’t mean you can’t make it as comfortable as possible for yourself.

He doesn’t waste any more time, bringing the flat of his fingers up to his mouth so he can spit. A fat gob of it drips down, and he gently brings it to your puckered hole, massaging the natural lube in. His callused thumb swipes up and down until it visibly relaxes, when he gets cheeky the tip of it dips in. If you could see his face right now, you’d see stars in his eyes and a slack jaw. You lean into his touch, stowing your nervousness and crossing your arms under your head. The cold air hits the moistened tissue, and you hiss. It’s nothing compared to the clumsy bump of his mushroom-shaped head, the velvety skin coming into contact. You suck in a breath just as he exhales a throaty groan, shoving the whole tip in in his enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck…” he drags out the curse, tipping his head back as his hips lazily chase the feeling. You whimper in turn, but there’s a pleasurable sting in your belly coursing through you from his reaction that acts as more than enough payment for your sacrifice. “For me, baby? This all for me?” he asks, and you nod even if he can’t see it.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum back, clutching tighter onto his sheets as more and more of him is introduced to the new hole.

Once again he bites down on his lower lip hard, inclining his great body to the side to lean on his fist, the mattress dipping with his weight. His other hand palms your tailbone, pushing you down onto his dick as he surges, forcing himself into your little asshole. It hurts, but it’s a different pain than the ache of your neglected pussy. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to relax into the experience while he presses on. “You’re so- fucking- tight.” reverently, he sings your praises. His pre mixed with his spit helps to lube up the entry, but because it’s an entirely different feeling than what you’re used to, you’re not sure what change could help it feel better. It’s not bad, it’s just hard to wrap your head around. It’s probably because it’s your first time. “This your first?” He read your mind.

Once again, you can’t speak, so you nod and hum in confirmation. A grin breaks out onto his face, eyeing you with a dark hooded gaze as he laughs a little breathlessly… the kind that makes your knees go weak. “Yeah? Givin’ me your anal virginity? You want me or sum’n?” he taunts. At the sound of his assumption, he bottoms out, and all the air is pushed from your lungs in a keen. It’s a soreness in your stomach you can’t explain, but you don’t want him to stop.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[writer-freak]

♥ Romance SFW and NSFW Headcanons

A/n: And I now also have Romance headcanons ready like I'm on a roll(actually I just started with the guys I thought were the easiest to write). You can definitely expect more Kpop Demon Hunters content but I think I'm gonna work on some requests first lmao. (But if someone wants to feed my ask box with Kpdh requests I wouldn't be opposed)

He will write you love letters. Sweet little handwritten notes tucked into your bag, your coat pocket, your nightstand. “To the light of my life, please remember to drink water today. I love you madly.” quite a few of them probably have a kiss mark from him on them.

You mention liking a flower once? He brings a bouquet of it to your door and says something like “These were the prettiest ones they had… but still not even close to your beauty.” You try to roll your eyes, but your cheeks are actually heating up.

He’s so good at reading you. Doesn’t matter how much you try to hide it, he’ll be at your side with a soft, “You okay, my love?” and arms open for a long hug before you can say a word.

Again another clingy man but he#s never overwhelming, just… always there. A hand on the small of your back, forehead kisses, lying on your chest and humming softly.

He loves having his hair played with and will absolutely melt if you braid it, brush it, or just stroke it while he rests in your lap.

He likes going all out for dates with you

Think candlelit rooftop dinners, soft music, and fairy lights.

You’re like, “You really didn’t have to do all this.” And he just looks at you, utterly serious: “But my darling… you exist. That demands celebration.”

He will dramatically fall into your arms at the end of the day like, “I worked hard, and now I need cuddles.”

You scoff, but you always indulge him. He rewards you with soft kisses up your neck and sleepy romantic murmurs

He sings you to sleep (Yes, Really)

Softly hums while holding you at night, especially if you’re stressed. Sometimes it’s a lullaby in Korean, sometimes it’s whatever pop song’s been stuck in his head, but always sweet, always close to your ear.

If you fall asleep first, he kisses your forehead and whispers, “Goodnight, my heart.”

NSFW

I think he does more poetic dirty talk

He will whisper things like, “You are divine… like something dreamt up just to drive me wild.” while trailing kisses down your neck.

Then suddenly shift into a lower tone: “And you entirely belong to me.”

He’s flirty, thinks nothing of whispering in your ear in public, brushing your thigh under the table, or leaning close to say, “Careful, my love. Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have to carry you home early.”

Loves when you’re on top (in every way)

I like to believe that he would just worship you. You ride him and he adores it, hands gripping your thighs like he’s in church and you’re the altar. “You look like heaven above me” he moans, breathless and wide-eyed.

Marks You Subtly but also clearly

Nothing too aggressive just the ghost of teeth at your shoulder, a hickey just beneath your collar. “So everyone knows someone treasures you properly.”

Also one obsessed with you wearing his stuff. “You look better in it than I ever could, babe.”

Cuddly, and talkative Aftercare

Once you're both calmed down satisfied sighs escaping you

He wraps around you, pulls the blanket up, and strokes your skin like you’re precious porcelain. Whispers compliments into your shoulder “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But I’d still choose you every time.”

Divider by: @hyuneskkami

[baby-saja]

Huntrix x Saja Boys : NSFW HCs 🔞

~ Miroabby, Zoeystery + Baby, Rujinu

Mira x Abby x Romance

Mira's a switch, in the sense that usually she would dom, but when Abby and Romance start to hit on her she can't help it

She refuses to admit that she likes subbing but it's okay, the people who need to know, know

Abby and Romance are both doms!

Romance likes to tease but he's generally sweet and gentle, always following Mira's wishes and boundaries

BIG dirty talker, he makes her shiver and blush to her ears every time. He turns her into a shy pillow princess

Abby in comparison is rougher, he won't cross her boundaries but he'll push her in ways he knows she'll like, even if she won't admit it

She's less passive with him, throwing insults back and forth, putting up a fight when he doms her, but they both know she'll give in

I also think with such a big muscular guy like Abby it would be a waste to not make him submit once...

Mira gets the idea one day and, after mostly making sure it wouldn't upset him, totally surprises him one day by catching him off guard, going on top and domming him out of the blue

It's like a revelation

With Romance, she won't surprise him, she'll ask and talk about it first and when she brings it up, he'll immediately grin like "WELL SINCE YOU ASKED"

He's so happy to be dommed by her

Zoey x Mystery x Baby

Zoey and Mystery are both switches, but Zoe leans a little more sub because duh canon people pleaser!!

But Zoey is more dom when they participate in Mystery's obvious pet play kink, she loves it too don't get me wrong

She loves buying him collars and leashes, she has some sexy formal ones but some she painted, drew on, bedazzled

He loves them all of course, and loves being collared by her, getting tugged around by her on his leash turns him on so bad

When Mystery doms her, he gets wild with it, leaving bites and turning her sweet self filthy. She's no pillow princess though— she's pulling his hair, leaving scratches on his back

Once in a while, she'll get on top and she'll tease the hell out of him, make him wild for it

Now Baby, he's absolutely a stone cold dom top

He'll tease her, he'll praise her, he'll even degrade her a little in ways that makes her flush to her ears, calling her names and making fun of how desperate she is for him

He likes BDSM stuff too— handcuffs, gags, some collars too perhaps

He'll respect her boundaries and wishes of course, but the vibe overall is that she's his doll, and they love it

Rumi x Jinu

Jinu dom, Rumi sub, no arguments

With Rumi's leadership role in Huntrix, her feelings of pressure in her life, her insecurities, she needs someone to take care of her

Jinu is so gentle with her, treating her after a hard day, worshipping her body, cradling her, pleasing her and taking such good care of her

But sometimes he's a big tease, dirty talking her, saying how sweet she gets with him, whispering into her ear in public

When they're just starting, it makes her flustered, embarrassed and shy, but when they're deep into the act, it only makes her whimper, shiver, open her legs a little wider

They were both virgins when they met, Rumi never let anyone near and Jinu never had the chance. They learned what they liked with each other and still experiment all the time, pushing each other's buttons and finding new ways to make each other snap

[blenderbender1811]

I think part of it is that a lot of women have felt left out of action oriented genres when they were kids and so they want to write more action oriented women and a lot of men... let's be honest, they don't know how to write women so they either have them doing the things the guys are doing or they end up sidelined. Look at how many big fantasy franchises have twice as many men in them as women. That feeds back into your point about how women's work ends up being undervalued - maybe not on purpose but undeniably.

I think the best answer is to have a large and varied cast of women with different roles and skills. I tend to find female writers are better about that but there are some stories by men who pull it off. I'm very partial to Tamora Pierce's work, which DOES focus on Action Ladies but there's also really cool women who aren't action types and some like Thayet who have the skills of both.

The second post is so true too! There's so many ways to use the soft power and skills classical ladies had to make interesting resolutions and storylines! Yeah, sure, maybe the man knows how to swing a sword but his lady wife's been in charge of the finances for ages and she's been the one dealing with the business contacts. If he fucks with her she'll guarantee he's broke within a week. Or maybe she's been the one bringing the tenants soup when they're sick and checking on their problems so now they're all very protective of her and they outnumber the soldiers five to one.

So for those of you who would like to know more about what upper class women did, here's a list of skills

1) Have and be responsible for children

2) Oversee the staff (for your household if not the whole house)

3) Ensure wine, ale, mead, beer, etc. are brewing correctly and on time

4) Ensure supplies are put aside for famine, siege and/or winter and being maintained and cycled through so it doesn't spoil

5) Negotiate with traders to sell and buy products

6) Keep accounts for household and the overall house's holdings

7) Ensure everyone is clothed - old nobles clothes get given to servants, old servants clothes get repurposed until it's useless and eventually composted

8) Mediate disputes between vassals

9) When husband is away, overseeing the military forces (make them fed, equipped and trained and behaving)

10) If the castle is attacked and husband is away, the decisions on tactics and orders stop with her (even if commanders are still around, they need to answer for her). If it gets bad, there's a non zero chance they'll be given a bow, a small knife/dagger and armour and have to join the defence

11) Politicking - hosting parties and events, hosting visits, paying visits, picking gifts for occasions, and having a lot of influence over fosterings and marriages

12) Teaching the girls to do this stuff

13) Oversee, monitor, and evaluate people she delegates to, meeting with heads of different departments and random spot-checks

14) Needlework - both making clothes and all sorts of other needlework and decorations - in her spare time.

15) "Keep home happy" with painting, dancing, singing, poetry, music, or going on hunts.

16) Discussing matters of province with counsellors or Lord (or whoever husband is)

17) When the husband is gone, making judicial decisions, supervise rent and tax collection, address problems and hire/fire staff

I don't know exactly how to articulate this but... if you repeatedly show historical fiction women rejecting traditionally female skills/duties and doing swords instead, because swords is obviously the Most Important Thing, you are kind of implying that all the work that has been traditionally done by female hands for millennia was useless all along and not, you know, keeping civilization going. Because it's usually rejected not as a personal preference but as This Is The Important Stuff (male work) and That is The Dumb Useless Stuff (women's work) and that kind of bothers me. The message was supposed to be Vital But Underpaid and Underappreciated, not women's work is insignificant so let's all go do swords.

[shikiii-skadi]

What is Wrong with being a little Bad? || Prologue

SUMMARY: After a potion incident caused by your three disaster-prone friends, you're now stuck with an accidental villain arc.

WARNINGS: none

NAVIGATION: Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

PARTS: Prologue | Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

As usual, the three idiots you called friends had gotten you into trouble. It could have been an ordinary alchemy lesson with Professor Crewel, but Ace just had to make fun of Grim, comparing him to the shriveled gray tuber you were supposed to use for your potion.

Of course, Ace kept provoking Grim until he snapped and tried to burn the tuber. Only to accidentally set a table on fire. Professor Crewel was not pleased, to say the least. So now, as punishment, you, Grim, Ace, and Deuce had to stay after class and finish the potion within the next hour and present it to Professor Crewel. Which was a tough task in itself, even without the troublesome behaviour of your friends.

You were discussing the next step with Deuce when, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Ace trying to silently sneak toward the door.

"Ace!"  you scolded, causing him to freeze mid-step. "Don't even try to sneak off on us, or you will be glued to the cauldron."

"Geez, I wasn't even trying to go anywhere. Just wanted to check if we need anything from the shelf over there," he lied very unconvincingly.

"We already have all the ingredients we need," you reminded him, before practically feeling the mischievous energy emanating from the cat monster somewhere behind you. "Grim. Don't even think about trying anything."

Deuce shook his head, exasperated after witnessing you scold both Ace and Grim. "Seriously, it's the fault of both of you that we are in this situation."

"The Great Grim ain't done anything at all. Everything is Ace's fault!" Grim shot back immediately, puffing out his chest.

“You set a table on fire,” you reminded him.

Grim stomped his little feet in protest, while Ace only snickered. "Only because Ace made fun of me!"

You were about to launch into another lecture about why that was absolutely no excuse to use fire, but Deuce interrupted, his voice suddenly bright with excitement. “Wait—I think I’ve got it!”

Curious, the three of you crowded around the cauldron to see what Deuce had concocted. But something was off. The potion was a watery, reddish color. Nothing like the shimmering blue one Professor Crewel had demonstrated in class.

“The color’s way off,” Ace said, wrinkling his nose. “Even a blind guy could tell.”

After looking at the liquid in the cauldron for a few more seconds, you nodded. "Yeah, I have to agree... It was more blue and had this red shimmer."

"And Crewel's potion was more bubbly," Grim commented, but you had the feeling it wasn't really an observation and more a case of Grim just saying something to sound smart.

Ace shot Deuce a look. “Great job, Deuce. Now we have to start all over.”

"Excuse me? You didn't even do anything."

"Don't start another argument," you said, trying to be the voice of reason in all of this. And also to prevent any more tables from potentially landing in the crossfire. "Let's just try to get this over with."

While the three of you were distracted, Grim saw the perfect opportunity to "fix" your potion. He didn't want to spend hours making a new one, and a talented mage like him could fix this no problem, he thought wrongly.

Grim confidently grabbed a jar filled with bright green liquid and generously poured it into the cauldron. You only noticed what Grim was doing because his actions resulted in a dark green smoke that filled a good chunk of the laboratory in a matter of seconds, shrouding you in a green vision.

You coughed, waving your hand in front of your face, and stumbled blindly toward the window, trying to remember the way. Behind you, Deuce’s voice rang out, muffled by the haze: “Grim, you’re ruining the potion!”

"Don't just randomly mix stuff together," Ace said, followed by a cough, as if he wouldn't do the exact same thing.

You could barely see, but you heard Grim’s triumphant voice: “I’m fixing it! Just wait and see!”

"Stop mixing things!" you called out after hearing what sounded suspiciously like Grim throwing something else into the potion.

You reached the window and opened it, but it wasn't really effective in getting rid of the smoke. The sound of something heavy being dropped into liquid could be heard. The smoke thickened, then, just as suddenly, began to swirl and collapse, sucked back into the cauldron in a single, unnatural breath.

“There! Fixed!” Grim declared, sounding far too pleased with himself.

"You caused the smoke," Deuce retorted, before grabbing Grims' paw, stopping him from making things worse. Grim tried to wiggle free.

"Just stop, Grim," you said as you made your way over to them. But Grim didn't listen to anyone. He thrashed, and in the commotion, the little stepladder he was standing on, so he could reach the cauldron, tipped over. The ladder collided with the cauldron. Grim leapt away just in time, or he would have landed in the potion, but the ladder crashed into the cauldron, sending it toppling toward you.

You, on the other hand, were not so lucky. Instinctively, you tried to catch the stepladder falling your way, which meant you couldn’t get out of the way in time. The cauldron tips to one side completely, spilling its contents onto you.

You gasped in shock as the cold mixture made contact with your skin. Unlike before, it was no longer watery but gloppy, almost rubbery, as it stuck on you and your lab coat. Fortunately, your eyes were spared thanks to the protection of the goggles. You could feel an unpleasant prickling sensation on your skin just as the liquid suddenly evaporated. It was as if you had absorbed it.

Your friends asked you if everything was alright. You wanted to tell them that nothing was wrong. But suddenly, your annoyance about the situation turned into pure anger. "You incompetent fools! You should be skinned alive and eaten by feral animals! Why do I even keep you around?” you snap, barely recognizing your own voice.

Your three friends looked at you with startled faces. They certainly weren't expecting this reaction. Ace was the first to say something. "Ouch, where is that suddenly coming from?"

Deuce tried to help you up from the ground, but you ignored his hand, standing up on your own. "Don't touch me with your unwashed hands."

"I always wash my hands!" Deuce replied immediately, but you weren't interested in his words.

"Are you sure you are fine?", Ace asked, while Grim added, "Yeah, you are acting really weird."

You glared at them. "I was fine until we crossed paths."

Ace exchanged a nervous glance with Deuce, edging away from the cauldron as if whatever had effected you, might spread to him. “Okay, seriously, what was in that potion?” he whispered.

Deuce frowned, studying you with concern. “You don’t look hurt, but… you’re acting all… villainous.”

“We need to tell Professor Crewel,” Deuce said quietly. “Something’s really wrong.”

Ace hesitated. “Are you kidding? If we tell him, we’re doomed for sure! He’ll have us scrubbing cauldrons until graduation.”

“But my hench-human is clearly broken! We can’t leave them like this," Grim protested.

"I didn't say we should leave them like that. You can stop looking at me like that,“ Ace said, ”We shouldn't tell Crewel, we should tell the Headmage."

Even though Ace, Grim and Deuce were whispering among themselves, you could clearly hear every word. "Are you seriously going to the most irresponsible adult on campus with this?" you said, sounding almost offended.

"That's exactly why we should go to the Headmage. Crewel will only punish us more for this. The Headmage on the other hand..." Ace trailed off, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. You didn’t need him to finish the sentence; his expression said it all.

At that moment, you realize, with a new, almost sinister clarity, that the three accomplices you had gathered here were perhaps not such a bad choice after all. Ace was devious, Deuce mostly naive, and Grim a cat arsonist. And all three of them were dumb enough to be easily manipulated.

[rikisbaddezire]

riding niki?

RIRIS THINKING SPACE .ᐟ

 you know whats crazy? i dont really think riki would be into cowgirl or anything like that. i think he likes when he has more control or more dominance over the situation.

i think riki would at least be trying to have some kind of control over you, like having his hands on your hips to guide you to how he wants it.

im ALWAYS seeing riki being into like getting teased during sex but i think he would be the teasing one during sex, because like when it comes to him with jake, jay, sunoo and the rest of the members, he’s almost always teasing them at least once in every en o’clock episode, or during weverse lives, or just in general.

so like while you’re riding him i think he’d edge you a lot, like he’d guide you to go fast and then as soon as you feel yourself reaching that sweet release, he’s either making you do it yourself or he’s making you go super slow.

if im gonna be honest when it comes to him making noises during sex i feel like he would feel shy to make noises so most of the time his noises would sound held back or just plain grunting. idk why guys in general do that thoooo like yes please whimper into my ear 😞

riki has that kind of look to him where he’d talk more during it than he’ll ever make noise, so while you’re riding him i feel like he’d be so lost in the pleasure that he wouldn’t even realize he’s speaking and cursing in japanese. he would definitely swear a lot tho, he seems like that kind of guy.

like for example he’d be like, “oh fuck, baby you just got so fucking tight there”

“shit, m’ so fucking close”

“just like that, just like fucking that”

“yeah? fuck, you wanna come on me? then go fucking do it yourself, show me how much you want this fucking dick inside your fucking wet pussy.”

“mhm yeah, fuck yeah, riding me fucking so good. gonna make me fucking come already.”

“holy shit, baby fuck, you feel that? fucking feel my dick inside you? fuck, you take it so well.”

im lwk thinking what im writing is corny so im gonna stop with the examples, but i think you get what im saying. he likes saying fuck and he’s somewhat teasing but also praising you at the same time.

but this is just my opinion guys, like this note if you want a story for riding him so he quite literally breaks and he’s whimpering and whining for you

— 🙄 a few words from riri !

i love ygs, i didn’t think the people of tumblr would be such freaks omg. i thought i was a freaky engene but hf you guys might be even freakier than i am with these requests.

SPEAKING OF REQUESTS…! i would rlly appreciate if you guys gave me some requests like this one because i love yapping about enhypen (even tho i mainly only write for riki)

i also have a little 5 part series coming up and i need more requests like this while i suffer with some absolute grotesque writers block even though i’ve literally only written the first part, and guys if im gonna be honest… that whole story is based off of a c.ai chat i had with a fuckass bot when i was like in grade 6 so the story might be a little childish because im basically putting the whole bot programming into my own words and what i said back then so ermmm 😭😭😭

i will be making some links and stuff for my work like a masterlist i think its called?? idk guys im not rlly good at this tumblr stuff.

i will be also making those little posts about the stuff i will not be writing about because im very picky about that stuff but yeah bye my freakazoids, i hope ygs have a great day/night/afternoonnnnn 😝😝😝

[peasack]

Hiya! Just want to say thank you for being such a talented writer! I love all your works so far, and look forward to seeing what kind of brilliance you create in the future. If you're still up for requests, could you do some hcs about how the group acts with a teen!reader who has a quieter, more shy, and sensitive personality?

AAA TYSSMMMM, and yes totally I loved writing thissss.

Hope you guys enjoy!!!

✦ Thunderbolts x Shy & sensitive Teen!Reader Headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Alexei Shostakov

Alexei immediately assumes he needs to "fix" your shyness. He’s like “Ah! You are quiet because you are nervous! I will show you there is nothing to fear!” and proceeds to loudly, obnoxiously drag you into activities.

He genuinely means well, but his big, boisterous personality can overwhelm you at times. When you quietly step back or shrink away, he panics and tries to tone it down, but... he's not great at subtle.

Over time, he learns you actually like sitting quietly with people and that you open up best when it’s just the two of you, doing something like a puzzle or eating snacks. He starts seeking out those calmer moments with you.

Alexei loves to brag about you to the others like “My little one does not need to speak loudly to be strong! They are mighty in their own way!”

He becomes super protective. If anyone teases you about being quiet, he’s the first to defend you with a terrifying dad-glare like “Say it again. I dare you.”

✦ Bucky Barnes

Bucky gets you instantly. He’s also a quiet, sensitive person at heart, so your calm energy makes him feel safe. He’s actually super comfortable around you because there’s no pressure to constantly talk.

He’s the king of soft, silent gestures. handing you a snack, holding out a book he thinks you’ll like, sitting with you in comfortable silence. You don’t need words with him.

When you do speak, even if it’s just a few words, Bucky always listens like it’s the most important thing in the world. He never talks over you.

He’s very patient when you struggle to open up, and he never rushes you. “Take your time, kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

If someone makes you uncomfortable, Bucky is silently at your side, his presence alone enough to make people back off. He’s your quiet guardian.

✦ Bob Reynolds

Bob is very soft with you. He knows what it’s like to feel like you take up too much space, so he makes space for you in the kindest ways.

He talks to you in a gentle voice, always making sure you’re okay with the conversation or the environment. “You wanna step outside for some air? It’s a little loud in here.”

He’s ridiculously proud when you trust him enough to open up. The first time you make a joke or initiate a conversation with him, he literally beams for the rest of the day.

Bob likes doing quiet hobbies with you, drawing, reading, watching clouds because it gives you both a chance to bond without the pressure of talking constantly.

He’ll fiercely defend your softness. “There’s nothing wrong with being sensitive. It means you feel things deeply. That’s not weakness.”

✦ John Walker

At first, John is unsure how to interact with you. He’s more used to loud, headstrong people, and your quiet nature throws him off.

He accidentally overwhelms you sometimes (he talks with his hands a lot, kinda barks orders) but the moment he sees you shrink back, he instantly softens. “Hey, hey, sorry, kid, didn’t mean to snap. You good?”

Over time, he starts actively seeking your input. “What d’you think? I wanna hear your opinion.” Even when you give a short answer, he takes it seriously.

He’s super protective of you at school or out in public. If anyone teases you for being quiet, John is immediately in their face like “Problem?”

John’s love language with you is doing acts of service, fixing your stuff, carrying your bag, making sure you’re fed, because he knows words aren’t always your thing.

✦ Yelena Belova

Yelena is so gentle with you. She’s playful and teases you sometimes, but never in a way that pushes your boundaries. She loves your softness, it reminds her of the part of herself she didn’t get to grow up with.

She’s really good at pulling you out of your shell, but she never rushes it. She’ll offer you snacks, invite you on small adventures, and let you say no without making a big deal out of it.

She starts purposefully sitting next to you during movie nights, quietly offering you bits of popcorn and checking in with a soft glance.

When you finally feel comfortable enough to call her your friend or share something personal, Yelena acts like it’s the biggest honor in the world. “You trust me? Good. I will kill for you now.”

She lowkey starts teaching you self-defense, not to make you aggressive, but to help you feel more confident. “Soft is good. Soft and safe is better.”

✦ Ava Starr

Ava is very attuned to people’s emotions, so she immediately senses your discomfort in loud or overwhelming spaces. She naturally shields you from attention without making it obvious.

She’s not super talkative either, so your quiet energy actually makes her feel more at ease. She’ll quietly sit with you, offering a calm presence and a cup of tea.

Ava can sometimes come off as a little intense, but around you, she softens significantly. She slows her breathing, lowers her voice, and always gives you space to speak.

She becomes really protective over you. If someone dismisses you for being quiet, Ava cuts them down with a sharp glare and an even sharper comment. “Just because they’re quiet doesn’t mean they don’t have something to say.”

She loves doing peaceful, grounding activities with you. Gardening, listening to music, long walks in silence, because she knows you feel safe when things aren’t loud.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

AAAAAA I love you guys so much for leaving requests I swear<333

Hope this was alright for what you asked!!

[molathesunfish]

Wish upon a star

[mayshifting]

That's so true. I'm just going to say more things about the different sentences you said because I want to and some people need to read this.

I.

So the first thing, methods are tools to HELP, not to MAKE you shift. People need to stop saying or IMPLYING you need one to shift. It happens more than people think, even if it's not directly said.

Also, people need to answer the people who ask "which methods..." that the methods are not needed. Shifters are thinking more about the methods than the shift itself.

II.

Caring about what people do in their own DRs is completely stupid. I don't care what people do or don't do in their drs (like you said, except if you kill or hurt people.) And everyone should be the same, because why care about other people's lives? They are not hurting anyone (at least I hope.) So let them live, bro.

II + VI

And judging people because they DON'T script out imperfections is the same as caring about what people do in their DRs and it's the dumbest thing ever. I think imperfections make it more normal, y'know? Yes, we can live in the perfect world everyone wants but, we also need imperfections/problems too.

I'm shifting to MHA, so if there's no problem, heroes don't exist.

Or for someone who shifts in Marvel or another DR which we NEED problems to live what we want to live.

Having a bit of action makes it more fun, more thrilling. So judging people because they don't script out thing, this is low.

If you want to shift to a perfect world without flaws to not have any problems DO IT. You're so right about that. But yeah, don't judge the one who don't.

III.

About Kill DRs, they are genuinely terrifying, because you don't kill here but you CAN kill in another reality? You're just a psychopath who wants to have the right to act on their urge without repercussions. If you can kill in another reality, you can do it here too, and this is not something you can debate on.

V.

I don't have much to say about this one because, yes, shifting is scientific. And like you said it got explained multiple times. For the people who think the opposite, I invite you to do your research, or ask at least someone who knows or has read the scientific evidence what the explanations are. (Don't ask me, I'm still waiting for the motivation to continue reading, I swear.)

Also, shifting has existed since forever. Experiences were made since 1983/and before. People in the past talked about it way before everything, but just they didn't use the term shift.

Because, no, shifting is not called shifting reality. People just started calling it that way. So don't stress if you don't say "I'm shifting." Or anything.

Here, for y'all.

VII.

The over-script or don't script at all. Again, minding other people's lives.

Who cares if they over-script or don't script? Is it going to kill you? To prevent you from shifting? No, so why judging about something so insignificant.

All you want is to force people to do what you think IS the right thing to do. But not everyone works the same

People prefer to over-script to be sure they have everything. And some don't script because it's not necessary and prefer doing other stuff than scripting. You can't just judge or force someone to think like you do or do what you do.

VIII.

The cheating problem, SO MANY people are fighting about this its crazy. For the shifter, you go to ANOTHER reality, even if you have another partner in here doesn't mean you're cheating because you're not dating the person you date here. So if you don't date this person, there's no cheating.

Of course, it's okay to question it. It important. But your feelings are different from one reality to another. And it's important to understand that.

For the PARTNER, please. You're jealous of a person who's not even in your reality.

I can understand why you guys feel like that, but you guys probably do the same or would do the same (if not a shifter.)

Your partner doesn't HAVE to date you in every reality. It doesn't mean they don't love you in this one, they do. But not in another one.

IX.

I have literally nothing to say, just that there's no original reality if we shift every everytime. We just shift in a reality very similar to the other that it's unnoticeable.

X.

This one is angering me. Yes. You. Can. It's nothing religious, it's scientific. There's nothing wrong about that.

If you want to shift but you're religious, go! It's not a sin at all. And if people say otherwise don't listen to them, religion and science are 2 different things. It's sad to see someone want to shift but doesn't do it because of the fear of it being a sin because x said it was.

No, it's not. A lot of religious people shift, so do I.

𝑆𝐻𝐼𝐹𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐴𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴 𝐼𝑀 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝐹𝐴𝐿𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑂𝑅

i. “you have to use a method” sybau

ii. caring what other people do in their drs (idgaf unless you’re hurting people)

iii. kill drs

iv. “shifting isn’t scientific” there’s so many scientific explanations but ok

v. needing an s/o in every dr

vi. scripting out every imperfection (js a personal thing — i like flaws in my drs as it makes me enjoy the good even more)

vii. judging people who “over-script” or don’t script at all.

viii. thinking it’s cheating if your partner shifts for someone else … (get a grip)

ix. “original reality”

x. “you can’t be religious whilst also being a shifter”

[bloatedandalone04]

Before Love

Summary: After finally sleeping and spending the night with Bradley, you thought the sexual tension that had always been there between the two of you would be gone, but (un)fortunately for you, it did the exact opposite of what you wanted it to.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of sex, descriptions of smut, descriptions of sex, unwanted touching, swearing, pining, jealousy x10, all that fun stuff (minus the touching, ew).

You were annoyed with yourself as you searched around the unfamiliar room for your clothing. 

The crisp, white bed sheet was wrapped tightly around your body as you stood up and looked around the floor for your bra or your shirt or something that didn’t smell like him, because the sheets definitely did and you were growing more and more pissed off the longer you had it around you. 

Last night had been great. It had been fun. But now that it was the next morning and you had been brought back down to earth, you were annoyed and irritated. 

And since the very reason and cause of your annoyance seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth - at least that’s what it felt like right now - the only person you had to blame at the moment was yourself. 

Stupid brain. Stupid body. Stupid fucking curiosity. Stupid urge to know what he tasted like, what he smelled like, what he felt like. 

Well, now you know all those things, and of course they didn’t make you feel any better. 

You were muttering curses under your breath when you found your jeans, and since you couldn’t seem to find where your panties had ended up during the tossing of clothes last night, you just pulled the denim up your legs and looked around again. 

As soon as you lifted up one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed during the night, you heard his voice, and fuck did it make your skin flare up. 

“Oh, are you leaving already?” he asked, and you stilled instantly. “I was just about to make breakfast for you, you know, to refuel after last night.”

His voice was cocky, confident and sexy, and you tightened the sheet around you before standing back up straight.

There he was. 

Bradley Bradshaw stood in the doorway of his room, his upper body on full display - the same skin you touched and tasted last night mocking you as he crossed his arms, and his biceps bulged a bit. 

Sweats were hung low on his hips, a tantalizing V line resting under his abs, and until last night, you were sure those only existed in erotic novels. But of course, Bradley fucking Bradshaw was living proof that, with the right amount of exercise and training and personal care, men can truly look like a type of God. 

He was smirking at you, as if he was recalling all the sounds he’d coaxed out of you last night in his head, or maybe he was envisioning how your body looked under this very sheet, because he now knew every inch of it. Either way, you locked your jaw and gave him a fake smile, one so forced it had him laughing. 

“No, thanks, I think I’m good,” you replied as nicely as you could.  Civil. You just needed to be civil with him until you found the rest of your clothing and got the hell out of his house. 

But Bradley was anything but civil. 

He liked to provoke. To read the room, then do the exact thing that would only worsen things. That was one of the reasons you fucking hated him. Well, hate is a big, strong word. You couldn’t fucking stand the guy. There, that’s a bit nicer.

Then you went back to your search for your clothing. 

Seriously, where the fuck had he thrown your shirt?

“Aw, come on,” he said, leaning against the frame as he watched you move around his room, and something in his gaze made you squirm. It felt like he didn’t want you to go, that he wanted you to stay exactly where you are, in his room, wrapped in his sheets, in his house. But those were his eyes talking, his mouth was saying something else. “I can make you the best French toast you’ve ever had. Promise.”

You paused again and turned to face him, your hands tightening in the fabric around your body. “Bradley. Respectfully. Fuck off,”

Harsh. But, it wasn’t your fault he’d pushed you to your breaking point. It also wasn’t your fault that the distance to your breaking point was so short. 

But, of course, Bradley didn’t care. 

“Well, at least you got the fuck right,” he murmured, reaching up and running his hand through his hair. It was still a mess from last night, from when you ran your own fingers through it and pulled on it and tugged on it, the deep, eye-rolling groans he let out whenever you did it only fueling you more and more. “The off, not so much.”

His words were irritating you even more, and you grabbed your bra once you found it half under the bed. “What?” you muttered, turning around and shedding the delicious smelling sheets of you as you slid your bra on. 

When you turned to face him again, he looked almost dejected that you didn’t let him see your front side once the sheet hit the floor, as if he didn’t see it enough the night prior. But then he opened his mouth again, “Oh, I was just recalling the words you said to me last night. The ones you repeated over, and over, and over again,” 

Your face heated up and you suddenly felt the urge to walk over to him and throw yourself at him. But in what way, you weren’t sure. “Oh. Oh, God, no,” you shook your head and that’s when you found your shirt. 

Right by the door. Right at his feet. Of course. 

When you walked over and reached for it, Bradley picked it up and lifted it just out of your reach. “Why the hurry?” he pouted, towering over you with his brooding height, the difference evident and oh so tempting. “I thought we could have a refresher of last night before going back to work.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You thought wrong,” you mumbled and reached for your shirt, but he held it higher. “Bradley, give me my fucking shirt.”

Bradley pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can you ask nicely?”

You gave him a look that had him fucking cackling, then he was lowering his hand and allowing you to take the fabric from him. “Dick,” 

Bradley shook his head as he strolled past you and walked over the sheet you’d dropped on the floor, then he laid back on the bed. “Mm,” he hummed, crossing his arms behind his head as he bucked his hips slightly to get comfortable, and you hated that your eyes went straight to his groin. “You sure seemed to like mine.” 

You wanted to scream as you pulled your shirt on and looked over at him. “Oh, my God, would you shut up?”

Bradley looked like he wanted to say something else that would remind you of the fact that you and he finally fucked last night, multiple times, and he most definitely probably had something in mind and ready to go, but instead he just shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” 

You let out an audible sigh of relief as you walked over to the bed again and grabbed your phone from off his nightstand. It was nearly dead, but had just enough battery for an Uber. 

Thank you, Lord, because you were going to walk before you asked him for a ride back to your house. 

“I’ll see you at work,” you muttered as you turned and headed for the bedroom door. “Bye.”

Bradley watched you with hooded eyes. “What, no goodbye kiss?” he called after you, his lips curving upwards when you looked over your shoulder and glared at him. He lifted his hand in a lazy wave as he leaned back on the pillow you’d been on not even five minutes ago. “Bye, it was so nice to finally have sex with you.” 

You’ve never slammed a door harder in your life. 

-

Sunday afternoon was spent questioning every single choice you’d made in your life, while Sunday night was spent unwillingly fantasizing about the very man you’d swore you’d never talk to again. 

It was one night. One fun night to finally get each other out of your systems. Now you and he can stop the constant flirting that was disguised as bickering, and you can move on with your lives. That always worked, right? The sexual tension should finally be gone. 

Another thing that was unwilling on your part was the dream you had about him. You’d dreamed about him in the past, but unlike all those times before this one, you didn’t know how good the real thing was. But now you do, so when you woke up and felt an unbearable ache between your thighs, you forced yourself to get ready for work instead of indulging in the thought of how good his lips felt on you, and how big his fingers are. 

When you’d gotten to work, you had to sit in your car for a few extra seconds to calm yourself down, because you were slightly horny and the reason for it was somewhere around the base. You just had to hope you didn’t run into him anytime soon, because he’d be able to see how flustered you are. 

But nothing ever came from hoping with you, because as soon as you stepped out of your car and turned, you came face to face with the man himself. You stopped abruptly before you bumped into him, and then you felt a scowl form on your face. “Jesus Christ, now what-”

“Woah, so hostile,” Bradley teased as he stood before you in all his glory. His khakis looked better on him than they did on anyone else in the world, and his aviators were total sex appeal, and that wasn’t even mentioning the mustache. You really couldn’t be blamed for caving and going home with him on Friday night. “What’s got you so worked up? Don’t tell me you moved on from me already.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, already done with this interaction. At your lack of response, you saw the way his smirk faltered a bit and the way his shoulders tensed up, as if he really thought you’d found someone else to sleep with in the last forty eight hours since you left his house. “What do you want?” you finally asked after waiting a few more seconds. 

Bradley’s smirk returned, and he held up a finger as he reached into his pocket. What he pulled out had your face heating up, and you couldn’t even blame it on the San Diego heat. “I was just returning these,” he said as he held up your panties you’d left behind once you gave up on trying to find them Saturday morning. “Thought you might want them back, even though I really didn’t want to give them back to you.” 

Your face was flushed as you grabbed the flimsy fabric from his hand, and you felt like you couldn’t speak as you turned around and threw them onto the floor in front of the passenger seat in your car. “Jesus, could you be any more of a pig?”

Bradley shrugged and leaned against your car. “If you want me to be,”

That for some reason had a genuine laugh leaving your lips, but you quickly masked it with a cough. You knew Bradley clocked it though. He notices everything, especially everything about you. “You’re not gonna, like…brag about it to all the guys, are you?” you asked, hating how vulnerable your voice suddenly sounded. “Because that would be seriously uncool, even for you.”

One of his brows lifted as he looked down at you, and you wished you could see his eyes. They usually gave away what he was actually thinking. “Why would I do that?”

You shrugged, looking over to the right as the other aviators began making their way inside. “I don’t know, you just seem like the type to do it,”

You didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh, but the way Bradley’s lips pursed before straightening into a thin line made you regret your choice of words. “No, I’m not going to brag about it to the guys. I don’t give a shit about their business, and I can assure you they don’t give a shit about mine,” 

That made you nod, and you looked down at your matching boots. “Okay,” you said quietly, unsure if he even heard you. “Good.”

“Great,” 

You lifted your gaze just as he turned and began walking away from you, and you weren’t sure why you felt the urge to reach for him and pull him back to you. Maybe you felt guilty about your poor choice of words? Or maybe you simply wanted to be close to him. No, that couldn’t be it. It was definitely the first one, and definitely not both. 

-

It was nearing the end of the day, and you were still feeling a little bad about your last interaction with Bradley. You weren’t sure why you were feeling so guilty, or why the almost dejected look on his face was effecting you so much, but you needed to confront it head-on, or else you’d be thinking about it for the rest of the day, and you didn’t need to think about him anymore than you already do. 

Unbeknownst to you, you’d be thinking about him even more in just a few minutes. 

You were heading out to the parking lot again, planning on apologizing later when you inevitably saw Bradley at the Hard Deck, but when you turned your head and looked over, you saw him across the parking lot by his truck. The Bronco you’ve had an unwarranted amount of fondness for, and the same one he drove you in to his place on Friday night. 

Why not just do it now?

You paused by your car, your hand on the door frame as you opened your mouth to call out to him, but then you realized he wasn’t alone. No, he was leaning over and looking down at someone in the passenger seat, and you hated that the first thought you had was about how hot he looked. 

The sun was just beginning to set, and it made his skin look golden and his hair a lighter shade of brown, and you could only imagine how pretty his eyes look in that lighting. 

His forearm was braced on the door frame, his other hand gripping the window frame, and because the window was down, you could clearly see that it was a girl he was with. A girl he was talking to. Very closely. Very intimately. 

Not just any girl. Phoenix. 

The one girl you had a large amount of bitterness towards, and you weren’t entirely sure why. She’d never done anything to you, but she was bossy, and sometimes very unpleasant to be around, and for some reason, Bradley seemed to be around her all the time. Maybe that was the reason you didn’t like her. You didn’t want to admit that.

They were together all the time, and the one night they weren’t you ended up in bed with him. Almost as if she was getting in the way of it. But no, even you weren’t petty enough to blame that on her. 

You watched as he ducked his head and leaned in closer to her, and you watched as his lips moved as he said something to her, and then she rolled her eyes and leaned up to kiss his cheek before she gently shoved his face away from her. 

Almost instantly, a gross, ugly feeling crept up the back of your throat, and you had to quickly swallow the lump that was forming. You didn’t want to know if he was taking her back to his place, to the bed you’d woken up in not long ago. You didn’t want to know if he was taking her out on a date. Or if they’d say fuck it and have a quickie right then and there on the backseat. 

No way you were jealous. There was no way. 

Fuck, you totally were. 

And, because you are the luckiest person on the planet, your hand was still raised in an attention-grabbing gesture when Bradley turned his head and locked eyes with you. At least you assumed he did. You really couldn’t tell because he was still wearing his aviators.

Then he started turning fully towards you as if he was planning on coming over to you, but you weren’t feeling apologetic anymore, so you quickly turned away and got into your car. Your eyes betrayed you when they glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched as he paused and looked conflicted, like he knew that, up until about five seconds ago, you wanted to talk to him.

But you didn’t anymore, so you tore your eyes away and turned on your music in hopes that it would quiet the voices in your head that were telling you that you had no right to feel jealous. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. You’d made that clear. 

And so had he. 

-

After Bradley dropped Nat off at her house, he drove to his. He had spent the whole ride there bragging to her about the fact that he’d called the inevitable breaking of her piece of shit car nearly four months ago, but she just rolled her eyes and told him that she’d get at least another year out of it, maybe even two. 

Saying I told you so had never felt so good. 

But now he was stuck driving her to and from work, because apparently that came with the role of being her best friend. At least that’s what she told him anyway. 

He tried to keep his mind off you, and off the way you looked upset when you were leaving work. He could’ve sworn you looked like you wanted to talk to him, and were even about to, but then you turned around and left before he could meet you halfway. 

He wanted to talk to you, and he wanted to text you, but you and he weren’t really on texting terms. Sure, he had your number, but he’d never used it, and he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to start a thread with you. 

But he wanted to do more than that. He wanted you to stop putting your guard up around him, and he wanted you to say yes to him when he asks you out on a date, then say yes when he asks for three more after. But you’d never given him the time of day, and he never understood why. 

Right from the very start, there has always been a connection between you and him. Of course, the sexual tension was obvious, but there was also an underlying connection he felt that he knew you felt too. You just never gave him a chance, and he was at a loss. It bothers him greatly, and that’s probably why you and he bicker like an old married couple, or at least that’s what Nat tells him. 

He wants more with you, he wants something with you, but he didn’t know how to go about it. He’s tried talking to you, flirting with you, and after this past weekend, he’s even slept with you, and yet this morning you were back to being cold and distant with him. 

Your attitude was actually one of the things he loves about you. He finds the way you don’t take anyone’s shit incredibly sexy, but that was just the beginning. He finds everything about you sexy, and now that he’s had a taste of you, now that he’s felt every inch of you, he was fucked. 

He was fucked, because he thought that once you and he finally got together like that, the rest of it would fall into place. You’d drop the act and you’d agree to give this thing between you and him a chance, but now he felt like he was right back at the start. 

Bradley hadn’t even looked at another girl the way he looks at you since the day you joined Top Gun. You’d knocked him off his feet and straight onto his ass, and he didn’t want you to ever let go of the hold you have on him. 

Once he got home, he plugged his phone in after winning the inner debate he was having with himself about not texting you, then he hopped in the shower for a quick wash. 

It was a Monday night, which meant the Hard Deck would be filled with people wanting to kick off their week by having a drink or three, and Bradley was no better, because once he was out of the shower, he dressed himself in jeans and a light blue hawaiian shirt, then he was off to the bar. 

It was dark by the time he got there, but the place was lit up like a tree at Christmas time, giving everything a homey feel. The pretty grin he got from Penny only added to it. “Rooster,” she greeted as she dried a beer glass. “How are you?”

Her smile was infectious, so of course he returned it. “I’m always well,”

Penny raised one brow. “Liar,” she said, “You want a beer?”

“You know me so well,” Bradley leaned against the bar, his eyes subtly flickering around the room as she poured his drink. 

He wasn’t being as subtle as he thought, though. “She’s over there,” Penny said, and when he looked back at her, she nodded in the direction of the pool table. “Red shirt.”

Bradley looked over his shoulder and that’s when he saw you, and while it was confirmed by Penny’s comment on your shirt, it wasn’t needed. Bradley knew that backside anywhere. “Am I that obvious?” he asked when he turned back to Penny. 

She nodded as she set the glass down in front of him. “Oh yeah,” she answered as she looked over at you as well. “Go talk to her if you want to so badly. How hard can it be?”

Bradley wanted to bring up the fact that she and him came from different eras, and talking to the girl you’re pretty sure you’re in love with is a lot harder now than it was twenty years ago, but he bit his tongue in fear of buying everyone a round. “Thanks for the advice, Pen,” he said instead, and she just grinned at him. 

It was hard to forget about the fact that the last time he saw you here, you ended up completely naked in his bed, and he finally knew what you sounded like when you came. Multiple times. Or that you had a thing for praise. And that you like it when he wraps his hand around your throat. 

Fuck, he was not about to get hard right now just thinking about it. 

He picked up the glass and brought it up to his lips for a sip, but when he turned around and leaned against the bar, he froze. Of course, his gaze naturally wandered over to where you are, but instead of finding you standing by the pool table, he found you leaning over it as you lined up a shot. 

That was fine, he’d seen you play pool a hundred times. That wasn’t what made him grip his beer tighter. 

No, it was the way Skills was eyeing you from across the table, and since your pretty red shirt was loose at the top, it gave him the perfect view of your cleavage. 

Harley ‘Skills’ Matthews was another aviator at Top Gun, and he and Bradley had never seen eye to eye. Skills was a jerk, plain and simple, and Bradley didn’t like the way he constantly bounced around from woman to woman, with no care in the world about them afterwards. Skills had even tried his luck with Nat, but after she told him where to stick it then informed Bradley about it, there had been a growing tension between the two men ever since. As far as Bradley knew, Skills hadn’t done anything with you, and he intended to keep it that way.

Bradley clenched his jaw as he stared at the other guy, making no move yet as his beer glass hovered near his mouth, inches away from his lips. He was well aware of the thick feeling creeping up the back of his throat. It was one he’s felt countless times when it came to you. He was jealous. Of Harley fucking Matthews. He felt the same way about every guy who chatted you up, because he simply didn’t like seeing you flirt with or get hit on by other guys. 

What was a little more powerful than that jealousy, though, was the feeling of protectiveness Bradley felt for you. 

Skills wore a smirk on his lips as he watched you take your shot and totally fail, then he set his own drink aside before rounding the table and moving closer to you. Bradley couldn’t make out what he was saying to you, but he assumed it was an offer of help since he stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your body, helping you get into a better stance. 

Bradley could tell by the look on your face that you hadn’t actually accepted the offer before Skills made his move, but you didn’t say anything as you allowed him to bend you over a bit more, then he moved even closer to you. 

Your expression turned into one of shock, then one of annoyance as Skills pressed his front right up against your back, and you tried moving away from him, but his hands were on your waist now. You looked uncomfortable now as you tried to move his hands away, but Skills just leaned down so his lips were near your ear. 

Before Bradley even knew what he was doing, he was already halfway across the room, his beer left forgotten on the bar after he’d set it back down, untouched, in favor of getting over to you. 

As he was making his way through the throngs of people, he could just barely make out your voice among the chatter of everyone else. “I’m sorry, Harley, I’m really not interested,” you said in a rather kind voice, but Skills just laughed and moved closer to you once you’d finally managed to get out of his grasp. 

“Oh, come on,” he drawled. “You’re not still hung up on Bradshaw, are you? I saw you go home with him last week, but you avoided him all of today. I don’t think he’ll mind if I step in for the night.”

That had Bradley speeding up a bit and his anger growing, because yours and his business was just that, yours and his business. It wasn’t anyone else’s to talk about.

“Seriously, Harley, stop,” you warned, but your tone wasn’t as threatening as you probably hoped it was. 

“Come on,” Skills repeated, reaching for you when you backed up. “I can make you forget all about that guy. Just come home with me.”

“She said she’s not interested,” Bradley’s voice cut through the air, much deeper and powerful and threatening than either yours or Skills. You were still backing away when he finally reached you, and as soon as he spoke, you backed up into him and let out a quiet gasp as he placed his hand on your elbow to steady you. Once he ensured you were okay, Bradley’s icy gaze met Harley’s again. “What don’t you understand about that?”

Harley rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Fucks sake, Rooster, I was trying to-”

“I know what you were trying to do,” Bradley cut him off as he stepped around you so you were at his side. A few people had turned their heads to look at what was going on, but he didn’t care. His body felt like it was two seconds away from going up in flames, and his hands were aching to be clenched into fists. “And she told you to stop, yet you kept trying. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me.”

You stayed silent as you looked up at him, but Bradley never took his eyes off the other guy, and he wouldn’t until he was out of the bar. Whether that be by walking out or getting thrown out, that was up to him. 

“Seriously, dude?” Skill muttered, oblivious to the possessive and protective look in Bradley’s eyes as he crossed his arms. “You’ve already had her. Why can’t I get a turn?”

The nerve of this guy, talking about you like you were something to be tossed around and used and dumped. He was talking about you as if you weren’t even fucking there, and that’s what pissed Bradley off the most. As if you deserved to be treated like that for simply saying no. This guy didn’t know you, didn’t care about you, and he had no right to talk about you. 

Bradley took a few steps closer to him, shielding your body with his, and their chests a few were inches from touching now as he lowered his voice. “Get the hell out of here, Skills,” he muttered, his voice deep and dangerous as he watched the realization flash in Skills’ eyes. “And don’t ever talk about her like that again. Don’t ever talk to her again. Do you understand me?”

Skill’s eyes shifted between you and Bradley a few times before he let out a humorless laugh and raised his hands in defeat. “Fine,” he said, moving away from Bradley as he shook his head. “Whatever, man. I would’ve fucked her and moved on anyway, so thank you for saving me some time.” 

Nearly everyone in the bar had tuned into the confrontation, including Jake, who was leaning against the wall beside the doors. Once Skills had made it over there, Jake stuck his foot out and Bradley was treated to the sight of Skills literally falling face first out the door and into the sand that was outside. 

There was a round of laughter as Jake lifted his beer and took a sip, as if he didn’t just trip the guy, then he nodded in Bradley’s direction. 

Bradley couldn’t even find the joy in that obviously embarrassing moment for the man as he turned around and faced you again. You were rubbing at your eyes as you let out a sigh, and then you crossed your arms. “Thanks, I guess,” you muttered as everyone, or mostly everyone, went back to doing their own thing. “Although, I’m pretty sure Phoenix wouldn’t appreciate you defending other girls.” 

He wasn’t sure why you’d brought Nat up right now, and he felt his brows furrow together as he looked down at you. “I’m pretty sure Nat would be offended if I didn’t defend another girl,” he said back, ending it in a confused tone that had you rolling your eyes as you turned around and began walking away from him. 

What? That was all you were going to say? Thanks, I guess, then go back to ignoring him? No fucking way. 

Bradley hadn’t planned on defending you tonight, but he did it without an ounce of hesitation, and he wanted to talk to you a lot more than just that. The tension between the two of you now was almost starting to feel hostile, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. 

“Wait, what is this?” he called after you as he followed the path you took towards the back door. You paused just in front of it when he caught up to you, and when you turned to face him, he saw the look of embarrassment on your face that was quickly replaced with one that was guarded. “What are you-”

It was then when he realized. You were jealous. Of Nat. 

You were jealous of his best friend. You were fucking jealous. 

The look you gave him after work today made so much sense now. He thought you’d looked jealous, but he didn’t let himself believe you actually were. Thank fuck for Phoenix.

He wanted to laugh, but he was afraid it would make you turn right back around and leave, so he held it in. 

“Oh,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he realized that Nat brought out the same, ugly feeling of jealousy in you that all the other guys you’ve talked to brought out in him. He knew then that he wasn’t alone in this, and perhaps he never was. “Oh, you think that Nat and I���” he couldn’t even say it because of how bizarre it seemed to him. That’s how wrong you were about it. 

You raised your brows as you crossed your arms, giving him an unimpressed look that came off cute rather than offensive. 

This time he did laugh. “She’s my best friend, nothing more,” he said, trying his best to keep the big grin off his face since this was supposed to be a serious moment. It was hard, because this was what he’d been waiting for. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he could see it in your eyes. You’d just put up walls for some reason, but now he finally knew why. 

“Mhm,” you mumbled as if you refused to let yourself believe that. 

But you’d gotten in his head and in his heart, and he was determined to get into yours. “I’m serious,” he promised, feeling confident enough to move closer to you. He was actually feeling pretty damn confident all of a sudden, and he wasn’t about to waste a single second of it. “Half the time she can’t stand me, baby.”

He was close enough to you that he heard your breath hitch, and you quickly looked away from him as a blush coated your cheeks. He definitely didn’t mean to embarrass you, if that was the case. He only wanted to tease you a bit, get you all flustered. “Oh,”

Well, rendering you speechless was a nice change too. Half the time you’re trying to pick a fight with him, so the fact that you were actually letting him speak for once was rather refreshing. 

Progress is what that is. 

“Yeah, oh,” he repeated, his gaze softening as he watched you sway back and forth on your feet. “That’s something you would’ve known had you asked. Or, you know, actually spent more than three minutes talking to me.” 

You nodded slowly as you pressed your lips together, giving him a sheepish look as you shrugged. “Sorry? I guess…”

Bradley laughed and shook his head, and he feared he would always let you get away with things like that. “Uh huh. Something you also probably don’t know,” he began as he moved even closer to you, dipping his head down a bit so his face was closer to yours, “is that I’m in love with you.”

That had your eyes widening as you looked up at him, your throat moving rather unevenly as you swallowed harshly. “What?” you asked, even your voice a little unsteady as you gave him a look that said, ‘If you’re fucking with me, I’ll end you’. 

“I love you,” Bradley shrugged, as if it was the easiest admission he’s ever had to say. 

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and God, did he want to kiss you again. He kissed you maybe a hundred times during the brief hours he had you last Friday night and Saturday morning, but it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to kiss you all the time. Freely. Whenever he wanted. 

“Okay, um,” you trailed off, and you sounded more nervous than he’s ever heard you. “Well, what if I hate you? Yeah, I hate you.”

Bradley let out a breathless laugh as he shook his head. “I don’t think you do,” he replied, his voice low and smooth as he lifted his hand and brushed your hair off your cheek, then he curled his fingers under your jaw and tilted your head so you were looking up at him. 

“No, I don’t,” you agreed, then you let out a puff of air that somehow sounded whiny towards the end. 

Bradley’s thumb stroked along your cheek as he wrapped his arm around your waist, and when you practically melted against him, he knew it was over. The game had been played out, and you were finally his. “Are you finally going to let me kiss you now?” he asked, noting the way you bit down on your lip at his question. “Or are you going to make me wait even longer?”

A soft groan left your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned up, and he met you halfway, your mouths connecting in a very much needed, and very much overdue, kiss. 

Bradley wrapped both of his arms around your waist as he pulled you closer until your body was right up against his, and then he kissed you like he’d been starved of it for years. 

His hands bunched up the fabric of your pretty red shirt as his tongue brushed along yours, and when you moaned against his mouth, he knew he had to get you out of here. The back door was mostly hidden from the rest of the bar, so he knew no one could see you - unless they were actively trying to look - and no one heard that sound you just made. 

But he wanted to hear it again. And he wanted to make more of those sounds leave your mouth. 

So after forcing himself to break the heated kiss, his hand found yours, and he started pulling you towards the door. You were a little unsteady as you followed after him, and once you’d made it outside, you let out a laugh as you tripped a bit. “Where are we going?”

“My truck,” he answered as he guided you along with him through the parking lot. “The backseat’s been dying to meet you.”

-

Happy Birthday, Bradley Bradshaw !

[vampmira]

loved you then, loved you now!

parenting hcs w/ hank five !

paring(s): dad!five x mother!reader, familial!hanks & mother!reader

warning(s): slight realization spoilers (?) kinda

request: here !

a/n: I HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO THE REALIZATION STUFF YET BUT I HAVE SEEN /SOME/ SPOILERS so take all of this lightly !

arguably more emotional about the pregnancy than you are

he's the type to absolutely sob . all the time

cries when you tell him, cries when he tells the hanks, cries when the bump starts showing

lucky that you and two make sure he stays hydrated

that afternoon, your beloved had invited you out on a bike ride in the morning, but to be safe, you had decided to take another pregnancy test before bed... who knew this would be the one? the one that would send five into a bundle of tears, calling the boys and twirling you around with the biggest smile. even now, the wind outside almost sounded like gentle applause for the two of you. five laid beside you in bed as the moon climbed higher in the sky, hand on your stomach as he nuzzled his cheek against your shoulder.

"you're gonna be a mom." he whispered, as if being any louder would startle you. waterworks came fast, the both of you excitedly spooning each other as his voice cracked. "..and i'm gonna be a dad!"

he is so cautious over you

because oh my god what if something happens to you ?? or the baby ?? under his watch ????? ABSOLUTELY not

he'd carry in groceries with 4 bags in his left hand and 7 in his right just so that you wouldn't have to carry anything

"extreme grocery lifting" he calls it

need something from another room? he's looking for it already

you can't even process if you dropped something because he's already picked it up for you

hank's taking care of you all the way to the birth – a real gentleman (bare minimum.. but a gentleman still)

if you think he cried a lot before? he'd sob his eyes out the most then

HE'S THAT TIKTOK OF THAT FATHER WHO SAT BEHIND HIS WIFE DURING LABOR INSTEAD OF USING THE YOGA BALL 😭😭

if you haven't seen it: you rlly should

he's holding your hand through the whole thing and YES HE'S DEFINITELY FREAKED OUT BY THE BLOOD but he would distract himself and you by guiding your breathing

he's hugging you immediately when the doctors safely have the baby, blood and sweat and tears and all

in my (as the author) very correct opinion, he is a boy & girl dad

LISTEN.

your son was born first – little hank zero !

he inherited that tanned skin from his dad like your genes weren't even in the playing field

nine months carrying this baby, making you suffer, and he looks like his himbo dad /ref

this baby is very much his son like theres no denying it

you and the hanks were all sat on the floor of the living room, telly playing some currently ignored baby sensory video in the background. after 7 months of tummy time, hank zero – or junior, legally .. or roro if you ask his uncle, hank four – had finally, finally rolled over! all by himself!! the older hanks' eyes were watery, sparkling with pride as they looked on at the little guy. five held him up to the room with unbridled joy like baby simba.

"gnarlyy!!" they all cheered, fists pumping the air, and it almost sounded like he cheered with them, clapping in his father's embrace.

your daughter would be born next – 2 years after junior

they couldn't hold back the hankette and -1 hank jokes even if they tried (they tried) ((they lasted an hour))

but you chose a name closer to yours, helping that individuality shine from an early age

he would be the one to want a family disney trip when that baby wouldn't remember a second of it 😭

a family trip anywhere really,, he loves the photos he gets to take

the family trip to the waterpark when junior's first words came out on the kiddie slides

(the sound of that little "whee!!" from the video that hank one took still makes him cry)

the four of you in the hospital bed with junior holding his sister was his lockscreen for years and no one could make him change it

the summer trip in front of the grand canyon would be tacked up on the fridge next to your daughter's recent fingerpainting of what he tells you is a zipline

junior is constantly surrounded by loving uncles playing games with him, especially when little league baseball came into his life

"let's go, junior!!" you cheered from the bleachers, your daughter's legs bouncing off your stressed knee. the game was so close – your 9y/o's team trying their hardest to keep up with their competition. junior, his dark brown curls barely visible underneath his helmet, confidently pitched the ball down the field, you and the hanks alike watching with baited breaths. the crowd slowly stood in sync, watching the game unfold in front of you. the children ran, some parents cheered, a child tripped and then ... that was it!

your daughter was lifted into the air by her father as the crowd cheered for the team's win. YOUR son threw the winning pitch!! you couldn't be prouder!! he couldn't help but run to the fense, grabbing your hand through the wiring.

"i did it, mama! i did it! didja see me!?" his chipped tooth accented his smile. "i was totally gnarly, right!?" five came to crouch beside you, hand up against the fense. "dad, that was gnarly, right!?"

"gnarly? buddy, you were the SICKEST kid out there!! hey, go catch up with your bros!! you TOTALLY deserve some ice cream after this!" junior cheered wildly, jumping and hitting the fence, before running to celebrate with his teammates and coach. five stood up with you, teary eyed with your daughter still cheering on his shoulders. "babe.. he was so.. so sick." (a/n: sobbing.)

he's just as excited with your baby girl's activities

when baseball took up half your lives, softball took up the other half

but, sporty or not, he'd support her wholeheartedly

it was a fun couple of years, but it wasn't the end of the world when the 5y/o started to show interest in piano

the little keyboard she got for her birthday would cause a bunch of ruckus whenever she got her hands on it

but you've definitely seen hank asleep next to her as she pressed at the keys

she'd slowly start to play actual pieces once she turned 9 and got actual lessons

every little rehearsal, every recital, he and you would always be front row – ready with his go-pro and a rose

he'd. always. bring a rose.

debussy's "clair de lune" echoed through the auditorium, as it has in your home as she's practiced for the last month. she's spent weeks preparing for this winter recital and you and your family watched excitedly as she carefully carried out her part of the preformance. her ponytail of dark brown curls rested against her back, a bright green bow, hand selected by her father, contrasting her concert black dress. you'd catch a glimpse of hank's camers here and there, the quality bound to be nostalgic in a couple years from now, when you hear a tiny sniffle. it takes a lot in your to hold back your fond giggle when you realize the tear rolling down his cheek.

"you okay, honey?" you whispered, tucking a collection of curls behind his ear. he sutbly chuckles, holding your hand against his chest.

"couldn't be better, babe." a sigh left his lips, the fondest smile upon them as your daughter sparkled in your eyes. "our little girl.. is so radical." you only hoped that was heard in the recording .. maybe something sweet to show to her when she gets older.

parenting, and parenting with you especially, has to be the most extreme sport he's ever done

he wakes up everyday ready to bring his a-game

there are .. hard days, of course

like the days your baby girl comes home from school with, not just math homework, but math homework with LETTERS.

or the days junior sits quietly in the backseat after a losing baseball game

or the mornings they just. can't. seem. to stop fighting with each other

but those, in his heart, are nothing compared to your surfing-filled beach trips

or the holidays when the hanks pull out all the stops and spoil the two in gifts – even when they grow into teenagers

or those weekends when he gets to see the three of you asleep and cuddled up on the couch – a sight he hasn't seen since his little hankette was a newborn

that? he wouldn't trade for the world.

[itsnothingofinterest]

While I’m on the subject & to talk a bit more lighthearted about it: my goodness, if we really are a part of Team Knight's plan, how convoluted is that plan that getting one of their guys possessed by an otherworldly entity that opposes the plan is somehow “worth it” and a net positive to their goal?

Like yeah we can see some benefits even before any big reveals; they inserted one of their own among the 3 prophesied heroes, hypothetically control our ability to seal fountains and beat Titans, and Kris can assert control to muck up the Delta Warrior's plans...so long as they aren't seen ripping their soul out.

But the cost of this scheme (even without considering the risks of anything resembling Snowgrave) is that Kris spends like 90% of their day controlled by an otherworldly entity, which they hate on principle. And let's look at just how hard they need to try and keep this plot secret; this entity is working against them, knows Kris is working against Susie & Ralsei, and thus Kris has to jump through so many hoops to keep us from learning as much as possible as well as keeping us from conveying what we do know. Their plan involves letting one of their enemies know they've been infiltrated and are banking everything on that enemy's inability to communicate it to other enemies. Deception 100.

Heck, both times you can prove to be more competent than expected in chapters 3 & 4 led to what could have been huge risks where Kris had to throw in front of Susie.

To say nothing of stuff like how much they're banking on the soul playing along with little to no direction, or that no one gets too suspicious of “Kris” acting out-of-character, or how often this save-scummer fights the Knight and risks involved there, and let it be said that I don’t think Kris tearing out their soul so often is good for their health while we’re at it. It just seems wildly risky from almost every angle.

They must be really banking on the unbreakable nature of the prophecy to keep everything in line is my only guess.

[hazard-haze]

Eddie and Volt headcanons (no player)

Soooooo

My brain has decided this shit is my new hyperifxation

And that these are my new comfort characters

But I heard that everyone was getting a hate ending with them and guess who got friendship with them first tryyyyyy! So uh, skill issue/j heres some headcanons for ya'll :)

-He doesn't do it often because he knows Eddie hates it, but Volt can 110% pick up Eddie and will abuse this power if he needs to

-Eddie is Volt's anger translator. It usually goes something like this:

Volt: "We are sorry you weren't satisfied with our service, but this is the best we can do and I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Eddie *passing by behind him*: "Pay your fucking tab and get out!"

-Volt cannot keep his hands still, he tries to play it off suave-ly (?) by just tapping his fingers and running his hand through his hair repeatedly but when he gets really excited or angry about something he will wave his hands with big, fast, eccentric gestures.

-Volt wears eyeliner, sometimes Eddie helps him put it on.

-Eddie is very talented at most things he does, fixing, building, mixing drinks (he can even do some tricks with shakers), and there's a plethora of odd things he's picked up throughout the years. However this makes him get pretty frustrated when things don't work out the first couple times he attempts something. While not the main reason, this is part of why he was so frustrated and irritable during most of his main plot. Volt sometimes has to remind him that it's okay to not have everything figured out immediately, or pull him from his work if he's starting to stress out or exhaust himself too much.

-On the topic of pulling Eddie from his work, that is a feat. Volt full well knows he can't just ask Eddie to take a break, usually he has to either ask him to do something easier as a favor, or blame the break on himself.

"Oh Eddie, I know your in the middle of something but could you wipe the bar down? I have no time before we open."

"Eddieeeee, I have no one to watch the new season of Cougar vs Cougar with! Would you take a break to and come watch it with me? Please! Just for a little bit! Just one episode!" (They got through like 2 1/2 before Eddie passed tf out)

-Oh yeah, Volt loves reality TV and Eddie pretends to not be at least a little invested.

-Eddie can draw. Volt cannot. Volt is very jealous of Eddie in this regard.

-Infodumpingggggggg. They infodump to one another without even realizing it, it is so much of how they communicate. They will ramble and bounce ideas off each other, mostly about the club but about other stuff too.

-On the flip side. They can also communicate by saying pretty much nothing, just through brief glances. I think it would partly be because they are literally split from the same thing but it's more in that way when you widen your eyes slightly at your bestie and that equates to like a full paragraph of text.

-Eddie is short af, Volt is tall af.

-Volt makes fun of Eddie for being short

-Like seriously ya know that audio that's like "I know we don't always see eye to eye" "that because your too short to do so"

-Eddie will get revenge. He can kick/punch really hard but he can also come up with some other very clever ways of revenge. Do not mess with the guy who has access to the tools.

-Neither of them really like just hard liquor. Volt likes sweeter drinks and Eddie likes quality craft beers. If either sees the other drinking something like scotch/whiskey they can usually assume somethings wrong.

-Volt has sooooo many ideas for the club, several of which are not exactly... possible. Eddie has to be the one to break the news to him that No Volt we can't break down the retaining wall of the bar and turn it into an inanimal fish tank. Why? Because without it the roof would collapse!

-Volt's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

-Eddie's love language is acts of service.

-Going deeper into that, Volt loves physical touch, as previously mentioned. Eddie however does not. But they make it work, Eddie can tell when Volt needs a hug or just to have someone next to him, Volt can tell when Eddie is getting overstimulated or just needs space.

-They both have their ears pierced. Volt did it for both of them.

-Eddie actually quite likes talking to people, I mean he's definitely tended the bar at some point, he just doesn't like talking to annoying people. He's sarcastic and his humor is a bit deadpan and he's more reserved, but he 100% can be very funny and hold conversations very well with patrons and even better with friends.

-That being said, bro does not chat while he works on maintenance. If anyone, including Volt, is working with him, he isn't saying shit unless its telling them what to do, or looking over their work. If someones lucky they get a "Good job."

-Neither have ever been a fan of the dark, but they especially would not be after the black out.

-They both hate silence, I mean they work in a night club, at this point it just feels unnatural.

-Kinda already mentioned this but Volt gets quiet angry and Eddie gets loud angry. If Volt goes silent, you know you fucked up. On the opposite end, it will sometimes be assumed that Eddie is mad because he's being quiet but that just how he is, if Eddie actually is properly yelling you know he's upset.

-Nerve damage babyyyyyy. It is all up Eddie's arms, contributes to why he's not super touchy because his arms get that awful pulling, itchy, pain when something touches them.

-Volt can get some nasty fatigue. The electricity fluctuates? Bro is immediately drained, head rush, migraine, the whole shabang.

-Not really headcanon but neither of them are good at admitting they need help or at accepting it when its offered.

-They both know each others triggers tho, and make sure to tell the other to rest when they need to. Neither take their own advice.

-Eddie hyperfocuses like crazy. If he sits down with his tools, something to fix and no one around he will not move from that spot for hours.

-Volt is always jumping from project to project, person to person, never slowing down. There's a lot to do in the breaker box and he is more than happy to juggle all of it.

-Both of them forget to sleep because of these facts. and eat (do they eat?). and talk to other things. and talk to each other. and-

-They would be cat people. Volt has definitely brought up getting an inanimal from Mateo but Eddie is always hesitant (even though he would 100% end up loving it to bits if they got one)

----

Ya'll I think I'm a loser. Instead of being out on a night off I am sitting in my bedroom writing headcanons about an actual breaker box in a dating sim that I'm not even attracted to, I just think their silly. What is my life T-T

[salemrph]

I’ve been stumbling across people crying over the memories, saying the wedding is “too soon.” I think is actually not. Let me explain. (This is going to be long—bear with me!)

It's pretty clear that we are in a kind of dream, since the whole scenario is fading. But knowing how dreams work in the game, even if it is not a dream, this moment is really, really special. If we look closer on the dialogue, like what Zayne or Sylus said...

Such an intimate scenario was only meant for those two. We’ve seen that all the scenarios are linked to the myths, which could mean we’re witnessing her remembering the events of those myths. And if so, all those feelings from the past, may only reassure what MC are already feeling for them.

MC has been bound to the LIs across many lives. They fall in love every time, only to endure human cruelty, loneliness, and even death itself. MC is just as in love with them as they are with her. She adores them so deeply that she would die for them (like in Rafayel’s third myth), or choose death rather than stay behind (as she did with Caleb).

Over the past months and through all these memories, we’ve seen how their relationships have shifted, grown, and bloomed in such an incredible way.

We’ve gotten a lot of hints about that kind of bond—small details that could lead to a “wedding,” something private and just for them. In Radiant Brilliance, Sylus gave her a ring… and if you extend that ring finger.

Or if you go to Zayne memory Everlasting Wish: "I want to spend the next decade with you."

Well… of course, if you're a new player, you don’t have all that background. You need to watch and read a looooot to catch up on why we’re even at this point. And come on, peeps... If you’re level 100 with one of them, you literally get a couple ring…

Again, we’ve been Rafayel’s bride since the first myth. We’re bound and have shared our soul with Sylus. We’ve intertwined our fate with Zayne. Caleb just wants to be with us—no matter what.

And Xavier… (sorry haven't seen his myth...)

You say, "Wasn't this feminist game… why should I get married? I don’t want that in real life." Well, luckily for you, this is just a game—and these guys are basically perfect. And in a ideal world, man would be more like them. Getting married to Sylus, Zayne & co would only be a bless. Sadly is marriage in real life... cursed because we haven’t moved past the point where men take real responsibility and, still most of the cases, are little mommy boys.

But beyond that, this is a vow between MC and They. Something that goes beyond the conventional marriage-paper-stuff we have. They’re promising and committing to each other for all eternity. And we usually associate that kind of deep, eternal promise with a wedding/marriage.... But I think, in the context of Love and Deepspace, is something much more meaningful. Especially knowing the lore behind their fate.