#now if only I can become consistent about it...

[bodhiscurls]

now that we don't talk. ( clark kent )

clark kent has to prove himself that he's loyal, that despite his consistent wandering absences and emergency leave, he can be trusted to be chief editor at the daily planet. and that means having to ask the one person in the world who hates him more than anything to play pretend as his date (his wife) at the next gala. to show the world clark kent is loyal, the picture of stability and did not ruin his only serious relationship he's ever had.

clark kent x nurse fem! ex! reader

themes: slight enemies to almost lovers (i dont think you ever stopped being lovers), angst, angst x2, confrontation about breakup, neighbours setting, fake relationship/marriage, partial resolved ending.

masterlist. (queued!)

its ironic as he stands there now. the door is shut, looks exactly as it always has- looks exactly as his right opposite but this door? this door could very well be the door to hell.

he stares at it under microscopic view, inspecting dirt and the dents and maybe- just maybe if he focused hard enough he could detect if there's ever been anyone else's fingerprint marked at the handles other than yours. anyone else who's had access to early morning breakfast in beds, movie nights and terrible deadlines where clark would have your feet in his lap, sleeping soundly on your sofa as he typed his soul away. he lingers on the memory- not because he misses you, of course but in case you've met someone who could spoil this utterly stupid plan of his.

his teeth sink into his lip forming a little bruise and he's sure he can taste the blood but his mind is millions of miles away, trying to silence the roar of his blood through his veins that pulses with pure panic. he shouldn't be here right now, or ever really, it was a promise he made to you to give you your space and call it what it was- the end of a doomed relationship. just knock on the door, clark, he psyches himself up, just do it, just-

"what the fuck are you doing here?" and he freezes.

it's comical really, his hand mid raised to a knock lingers in the air; the skin never meeting the wood, his heart not beating in sync to yours, an imbalance of some sort.

"oh gosh," he breaths, caught in a trap he's clearly made himself, it didn't occur to him that you might've not been home already and he decides that suddenly this feels way worse than you not answering at all "hey!" and he doesn't know what possesses him but he crosses the distance like you're an old friend, awkwardly wrapping in stiff hug as you feel his palms pat your back gently. it catches you for a moment, to be in his vicinity again after months of pretending like he doesn't exist that you're sure your hallucinating. until the awkward patting becomes a little bit more awkward, bordering into a heimlich smack.

"clark, what the fuck? i will call the cops" and you weasle out of his death grip. your brows are furrowed in what clark remembers as a silent rage- and he holds up his hands in surrender.

"sorry, shit," he swears, "i didn't mean to do that, please wait," and he winces at how your intimidating stare does not waver once.

"what are you doing here?" you repeat with more urgence and the weight of your backbone, letting you know that you should probably absoltuely call law enforcement to deal with him. then again, he's fucking superman and you roll your eyes in annoyance- he can't even let you have a single win. "you're ruining my routine," you stress, fingers coming up to your temple, massaging the growing headache landing.

"routine?" he quizzes, awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest- perhaps if he tucks them in tightly, he'd be less inclined to do something stupid and hug his ex-girlfriend after months of ignoring each other.

"yes routine- where we live our separate lives? where we pretend like we didn't know each other intimately for a year? you know, the one where i have to do my laundry on mondays and you took thursdays even though you know i get off late at the start of the week and honestly, now that you're here i can tell you that that fucks up my schedule clark," you huff in annoyance and he can't focus on a single thing youre saying though he watches your lips move religiously.

"hello?" you wave a hand in his face and he's moulded his feet into the earth outside your front door. he watches how your lips have slowed, how the bottom one juts out in a curious pout as you watch him with like one would watch a snotty child. he suddenly feels the weight of your stare and shrugs awkwardly, mumbling a faint "sorry, i'll take mondays?" and you narrow your gaze.

"what are you actually doing here?" you ask for the third time and clark hears the subtle fatigue and exhaustion laced in your voice that he feels like the worst person alive for a moment- bringing such intensity to you on a rogue tuesday evening after months of ghosting.

"may i come inside?" he asks, "please?" the addition is small and something very dangerously similar to concern builds up in your system that you find yourself nodding, offering no other words and letting the rattle of your doorknob and clunk of your key fill the heavy silence. he notices your work bag the same one he used to carry for you slumped on your shoulder and you're dressed in your scrubs- shit, you've just come off work and he thinks just maybe, that you're worn out from the day you may possibly be more inclined to hear out his silly proposal.

you don't wait to close the door behind him, but rather leave him in the hallway to which clark then locks the door himself. you've dropped your things to the floor and for a second, clark remembers how much it used to annoy him that you couldn't just hang your things up properly- the first of many nitpicked arguements that sent you down a long way of calling it quits. he stands awkwardly, towering over your space where random books are left out, a coffee mug from possibly this morning is littered on your table and random pieces of clothing left all over.

he tries not to focus on the lacy bra that hangs out of your laundry basket on your kitchen table and the burn it scorches his heart with. thats new, he thinks. he would've remembered the purple against your skin and how it felt under his-

"you still flying around or whatever?" you call from the kitchen sink and he pops his head through the little arch and into the space. his brows crease in annoyance at your dismissal and he frowns.

"have you not been seeing me on the news?" he quizzes, surely you couldn't have written him off completely? clark kent may have been a bad boyfriend to you, but superman! he's a man of the people!

"i don't really keep up with you clark if you haven't noticed- and besides, work takes up my time anyways," you shrug and slide him a mug over. it's warm and fragrant with lemon and honey- clark remembers it as your favourite and when you used to drink it, your voice used to dip a lower octave, soothed and a lot smoother at entering his heart and playing house in it.

"so are you finally going to tell me whats going on?" you echo and he immediately drops his gaze to his lap. its his guilty face- the face that you've had to kiss in forgiveness when he missed dinner with you, when he poured his whole heart out into his work and forgot that it was your anniversary, when he apologised at you having to pick up extra hours at the hospital whilst he took breaks from work to play superhero for the day.

"oh no," a small smile plays on your lips and it's so petty but the thought of clark kent having done something wrong makes you feel a little bit better about yourself, "come on superman," you tease, "fess up," and the jokes suddenly not funny anymore- the smile from your face wiped clean when he clears his throat and meets you with earnest swimming in those dangerous ocean eyes.

"i told perry we were still together," and at his admission you pause, the earlier laughter hidden and lurking in your tea as it steams a few milimetres from you.

"what?"

"before i tell you the whole story, i need you to know that i'm sorry, i'm really sorry and i hate how this has turned out-"

"clark, this is nothing new i'm hearing, you realise that?" you roll your eyes, "tell me something different, like why your boss thinks we're together- i've probably met him once at that stupid gala you dragged me to last year," and he lets out an awkward laugh. he remembers you returning home that night, drunk in his big arms as he carried you bridal style back to his place. it wasn't a secret you found journalists boring, slower paced than your nursing duties in the emergency department that you vowed you'd never go there again.

"oh no," you whisper, "if you think i'm going to that shitty dance again, clark you have another thing coming for you, bud," you scoff and he winces. bud. its a new one. it's not darling, or sweetheart, or love of my life but then again for someone who despised him enough to dodge him every single time he's left his apartment to the point that this is the first time he's seen you in months, god he'll take bud anyday. he hopes that when he dies and reaches the gates of heaven- it'll be bud he hears.

"please?" is all he can get out.

"clark," you sigh, "you ruin our five month truce to invite me back to some lame dinner with a bunch of newspaper nerds- one of those newspaper nerds who made me feel like shit for half our relationship mind you," and he lets the digs come, cut him, slice him open and he bares himself bloodied and bruised if thats would it would mean for you to agree to this silly idea. "why?" and its the million dollar question on his mind too.

"perry doesn't think i'm comitted," he releases with a stroke of bitterness.

"perry should win a nobel prize for that revelation but he should also check his ratings," you scoff back and he murmurs in defeat, a little burst of pride swelling at your words.

"yeah well, ratings don't just give you promotions and god, i really want that editor title," he whispers to himself, "and so when he questioned my comittments and random periods of absences- i told him my wife just hasn't been well lately, i am comitted," and he winces as the words leave his mouth.

"wife?" you shout, the outrage bouncing off the walls, echoing a drum of disbelief as you run your hands through your hair in stress. "clark, you better not have-"

"he immediately assumed it was you from last year and i couldn't-"

"you didn't correct him?"

"i couldn't!" and its the raise of his voice that lifts your jaw from the ground and wires it shut. he's been calm this entire time, a nervous resolve and its the first inkling you've seen that he's actually way in over his head and he needs you desperately.

he needs you, your heart calls out, toying dangerously with the strings and you bite down your lip, hard.

"please?" he begs quietly, "i wouldn't have come to you and burdened you with this crap but gosh, i just, i'm in too deep,"

"yeah," you breathe, "too deep," and its a dumb repeat but you just can't wrap your head around it, how fate has a funny way of bringing the two of you back together.

"just one night, i just need you for one night and then we can go our separate ways, i will take the mondays for laundry i will damn well move apartment blocks if you decide you hate me so much more after this, but i am begging you. i don't know what to do," comes his heavy, uneven breaths, "please."

and your lips press firmly into thin lines before you come to his side, awkwardly placing your hand on his shoulder in comfort. it's a fleeting touch and in a different dimension, you probably wouldve chosen his firm chest- his pulsing heartbeat to feel for and let it linger longer than a second, but you don't.

its gone as soon as you start but clark feels it nonetheless.

"fine," you whisper and his eyes light up a dangerous electric blue. "what's in it for me?" you ask, pretending to inspect some dirt under your fingernails and fake nonchalance, like you haven't just opened the door to many bad memories and offered them free residence.

"i'll get you those orchestra tickets you've been after," and for a second, clark thinks he has you. he remembers the tickets just by chance; you always planned to go together but the timing was never right plus they're pricey as hell and only perform once in a blue moon but if thats what it takes for you to agree, then clark kent will bend the world to his will if he has to. he'll probably have to cash in a favour as superman and his credit card but this could be his job on the line.

"you get one night and that's it," you swear and clark thinks he could break out into a full sob of relief, the pride he's swallowed down to stand in the home he used to share with you and beg for a night where he hopes you'll hate him less and make this all alright, god this is only just the beginning.

. . .

he picks you up at eight and this time he does knock on the door.

there's a faint muffle, a shuffle and a violent curse that he recognises as your voice that brings a tiny smile to his face. the door opens with the same puff and urgency and the wind knocks completely from clark's lungs.

"i can't get the zipper up," your flushed cheeks and wide eyes panic as you blow out some air that lifts a few tendrils that escape your updo style. they bounce back on your sweating forehead, taunting. your arm holds the dress up, clutched firmly to your chest as you turn around expectantly, waiting as the chill of the landing bites at your skin.

he ushers you back inside, unwanting to share you with the entire apartment block and he's met with your whine, "clark, don't just stand there, do something!"

"okay, okay," he soothes, fingers finding the metal zipper and making work of it. he drags it out intentionally slow, savouring the way his fingertips dance lightly on your back and it takes him back to all those nights ago where he was blessed to whisper sweet nothings into your skin. you tense underneath him and at the stutter, he retract his hands, tucking them into his sides neatly as you turn around.

"how do i look?" you ask hopeful, steadying your hands on your hips and facing him with that familiar glint in your eyes. he lets out a breath, or what he hopes sounds like one rather than a guttural noise of pure misery because fuck, you look incredible and he was such an idiot to let you go.

"clark, it'd be real great if you could use some words right now, aren't you a journalist- shouldn't you know like lots of them? " you narrow your brows and he stands there speechless. "fine," you mutter, heading in the direction of your kitchen table, reaching for your clutch. the contents including some finishing powder, a travel size perfume, lip gloss and a shit ton of hope to get you through the night.

he still hasn't moved when you return and make your way to walk past him. the trance is broken the second he catches your arm and pulls you back into him. its a stumble where you have to place your hands onto his chest to steady yourself and the intensity of sudden closeness causes you to swallow.

"you look great ," and it's such a lame compliment but the way its lands; dripping with such pure honesty that you momentarily forget all the times you wished clark kent didn't exist. you nod, bashful under his attention and it warms your skin in a way that makes you feel very much unsettled.

"should get you a thesaurus or something," you mumble offhandedly, pretending that he's had no effect on you- like the admission hadn't just burned something new in you and you clear your throat, making your way down the stairs.

its so gentleman-like how clark takes your hand and leads you down each step safely as he glares daggers into the heels that he knows you're going to abandon as soon as the night is over. he walks you to the car, opens the door, even gets so damn close that you still and break free from the trance once you hear the faint click of the seatbelt.

he drives and drives and then you see his workplace come into view and groan. you aren't even given the chance to wallow in your pity, beg him to take you back home because clark is already at your door, opening it and helping you back up. a faint wobble of the heel traps onto some gravel and you almost send yourself flying back, steadying yourself on the roof of the car.

"i think you shouldve chosen something more comfortable," he mutters and you shoot him a look.

"my apologies, i was trying to go for hot wife who's husband disappears from work all the time to take care of her or whatever sob story you gave," you scoff, walking just ahead of him once again and clark stops, which in turn you stop. you mustve miscalculated how close he was behind you, the faint towering of his frame over yours and you almost ramming into his chest.

"hey!" he hisses, looking around cautiously to see if anyones in view, hearing your conversation. its funny how from a distance, you two must look like you're in a lovers quarrell.

"look, you're going to have to act like you like me," he groans, "or this is never going to work."

"this isn't going to work clark, and who's fault is that?" you pull back.

"listen you liked me once before just do it again!" he gets out exasperated.

"was that before or after you dumped me the day before our anniversary?" and its lethal the cutting edge of your words in the air and he lets out a bitter laugh, kicking the gravel under his feet as he takes a few steps away from you to give himself some space.

"clark," you sigh and call out, "fine, i'll behave myself but don't act like this isn't fucking weird," you get out, "i don't know what to do with myself." it's unspoken territory, unfamiliar in so many ways that you don't know what lines can or can't be crossed.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, staring at the floor and then meeting your gaze, "i really am-"

"let's not do this," you squirm and let out a sigh of defeat, "come on, husband," and you hold your hand out for him to take, "let's get this shit over with," and when he interlocks his hand in yours, both your hearts skip a beat in pure delusion.

"how romantic, mrs. kent," he deadpans and you don't know which version is easier- pretending you hate him or pretending like you haven't waited months to find someone so easy to be with again.

"come on big guy, i hope you're prepared for me to lie all night," you promise him, the least you could do is try and entertain yourself, seeing how long you can storytell to a group of people who value the truth more than anything- its so damn ironic.

"oh please do," he agrees, thinking you're feeding into this fake relationship but the grin that spreads across your face, god, clark should've known he was in trouble.

...

"oh my god, it was so romantic!" you gush, "one moment i'm sitting across him eating my pasta, the next moment he's holding up tickets to go to italy and i'm thinking baby what?" you shoot him the most dazzling smile known to man and clark kent thinks what fucking sunshine are you made out of to be this blinding and bright, "and he says its our honeymoon, like its nothing and what did i say baby?" you turn to him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

he turns to the crowd sheepish, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as the other is wrapped firmly around your waist, tucking it into his side. "oh i don't know honey," he rumbles into your ear, "i think you tell this story best," but you bite back a laughter and groan.

"oh he's just embarrassed- i said he was insane, like normal people ask- not my clark," and you place a hand on his chest, almost gripping him protectively as you sense the wandering eyes, "he was on his knees, begging," you emphasise. "me to marry him! no- more like demanding i marry him-"

"oh baby, i think you're exaggerating it just a touch," he rolls his eyes playfully before pulling you closer to him, his breath hot on the shell of your ear and his voice dangerously low, "dial it down a bit, doll."

defiance builds in your system at the low timbres sending shivers down your spine and you fake a sigh, "clark has never been one to take no for an answer- it was his third time proposing so naturally i just felt sorry and had to say yes," and you receive an ovation of giggles, coo'ing and coworkers who give clark a look of pure respect. it's weird how all of a sudden you tell someone you're married and that's it- you're part of some new unlocked level of life. clark can't help but feel awful and think he should've done this sooner.

"oh no doll," he draws in a smooth lie, "i think you forget you were the one who asked to marry me first; the proposal needed some serious work on it so i very graciously took over," he confirms, giving himself a lot more credit than the whipped persona you were creating for him.

"is that so? well do you remember the time where you got so nervous you almost pe-"

"excuse me guys," he interrupts you swiftly, "gotta give the wife one more spin before the nights over," and he all but drags you in the opposite direction.

"wait-" and it's perry white who shoots you a curious look. "your ring?" and his gaze flits to your bare hand. clark tightens his hold on it protectively, bringing it up to his lips with a kiss brushing against your knuckles.

"having it cleaned," you melt at the contact, slumping into clark's side like a lovesick fool and he bares your weight. secretly, you regret your shoe choice of the evening, it already swelling up your ankles slightly and clark doesn't miss a beat at holding you up against him. perry nods at you with a smile then salutes clark, who sweats a little under his stare before leading you to the dance floor.

"how long before we make a break?" you ask and clark's surprised you've lasted all but an hour before planning an escape.

"maybe an hour more?"

"clark i don't think i have an hour more," you tell him seriously, "maybe a minute more," and he suddenly laughs so loud, pecking your cheek and you feel the dimpled smile against it. the air melts as he sways you in sync with the music softly.

"what are you doing?" you hiss and his hands travel dangerously low at the small of your back.

"picture," he murmurs into your hair, pretending to move a stray piece behind your ear tenderly "smile," and he spins you just in time for the camera to catch a blur of your grin. clark makes a mental note to steal that photo later, purely for journalistic purposes, obviously.

"you're doing a great job," he speaks low enough for you to hear only. you don't grace him a reply, your smile from earlier slipping off as soon as you hear his adjective use, "uh oh," he raises his brows like you're a toddler throwing a tantrum, "what is it now?"

"nothing," you shrug in indifference but theres a little bit of bark behind your bite, "everythings great," you echo, "just great."

"i get the feeling everything is not great,"

"what would make you say that?" you gasp, he gives you a look- the stare which holds a thousand words, one you know best as "really?" and you decide to give the sarcasm a miss for the night.

"i shaved my legs," you nod slowly as you start to sway in a dance, "i wore the dress, i have doused myself in perfume, and i get a "great"" you press your lips in a thin line, "if we were actually married, that would've been reason enough for divorce," you narrow your eyes.

"honey, i don't think we would've gotten through our vows," he returns just as quick.

"clark, i didn't even know you could read vows nevermind write them- you'd probably bore the audience into some spiel about font sizes and line spacing," you deadpan.

"what do you think i do?" he whips his head in confusion.

"you get bullied by microsoft word and do interviews with yourself," you scoff, "that tells me plenty,"

"and you stab needles into poor innocent kids and steal their blood," he bites back and its a poor attempt to undermine your work as a nurse but you do the unthinkable and burst out a laugh, a pure genuine laugh where you knock your head back, clutching your chest lightly where the amber lit lamps highlight the glint in your eyes. and suddenly clark is taken back to the night where he first realised he was in love with you and the feeling of maybe, that after all this time he never really had fallen out of love with you, he's just not had the chance to show it.

"ah" you breathe out, "that was good," and he settles into the softened atmosphere where he doesn't have to try to be anyone but himself with you. "so what you gonna do about that superman?" you tease.

you don't notice that the music has stopped and pairs are leaving to take a seat for dinner until clark moves his jands from your waist to hold both your hands infront of him instead. you notice him leaning in slowly and you hate yourself for anticipating it, for closing your eyes just an inch waiting to feel his lips on yours but they never come, they settle on your forehead in a sweet tender kiss and you try and hide the frown.

"camera," he whispers again and you nod, the lump in your throat rising as you swallow.

the rest of the night carries on in a blur and its easier to pretend like you're not falling apart when there's people to crowd you at every corner. you laugh, you smile and look at clark kent with all the love you've kept buried deep inside of your soul before you finish up for the night- some half baked excuse about having too much to drink and you let clark lead you out to where he's parked the car.

before he leaves, perry kisses your cheek goodbye and claps clark on the back in approval, which clark in turn beams like a damn headlight, guiding you to a past life where all you ever felt for him was pure radiant happiness.

...

"thank you," he whispers as the car rolls to a stop and you smile- soft and small but its there.

"you're welcome," you try instead because you're all out retorts and you don't know how long you can keep up the walls you've built on sarcasm and locked away hurt. "it was easy being with you," you add, playing with your fingers in your lap as clark kent plays with your heart.

his own drum on the steering wheel as he sits in thought, "its silly," he sighs, "but it just reminded me of how we worked so well," and your heartbeat slows, mind cries out in desperation that you blink away the water that starts to build.

"we didn't," you offer instead, the voice of rationality ending his delusion "and that's why we ended," your words are meant to land with a finality but clark looks over, raw and earnest stretched into the small lines and crooks of his face.

"i don't believe that," he softens, "the way it felt-"

"it was pretend," you cut him off immediately, "you asked me to play a part and i did, you do not get to do this clark, don't make it into something it isnt," you warn.

"i think you're scared," he breathes with a shake of his head, the black curls tousling and blending in the darkness of the night "and it's okay because i'm scared to," his lungs pound as they beg for air but its so still and stagnant in the car that he has to unlock his seatbelt, reach across the controls and shift inwards to face you, to grab hold of your hands and take you to a world where things ended differently.

"i'm not scared," you get out in defiance, "i'm tired," and your words land firm, "we didn't just end clark- you broke up with before our anniversary, so clearly we didn't work that well," you scoff.

"baby," and you shoot him a death glare at the endearment, "i was in a bad place," he excuses, "it was hard balancing superman and clark and it was hurting you-"

"that would've been my choice to stay!" you get out, "i followed you to hell, clark," you grit, the emotion thick in your voice.

"and i got tired of taking you there so often!" he shouts, riled up from the months of miscommunication and resentment, he lowers his tone but you're still on the edge of your seat, "it wasn't fair to make you live through that and i knew you were too kind to not leave," he heaves, "so i made the choice for us,"

"no clark, you're wrong," the tears fall and you let them, "i loved you too much to not leave and you made that choice yourself, so don't come crying nostalgia to me now," you stand firm and tall on your walls though they crumble beneath you, "you did this,"

"yeah," he hangs his head low.

"was it worth it?" your question small as you relax back into the seat, exhaustion taking over.

"i think you know the answer to that," he smiles sadly.

"i think i need to hear it," you press, the words mixing in with the saltiness of your tears as they leave your lips.

"not in the slightest," you sit in the silence before unclicking your seatbelt and unlocking the car door. it takes clark longer than a second to get up and help you out except when you take his arm again, the touch feels like a washed out mellow flame of heat, like its barely hanging on as the sensation tethers between you two.

he helps you up the stairs, at a small distance but his hand still firmly gripped in yours and when he arrives at your door you unlock it, take a step in before turning to him. you surprise him and kiss his cheek lethally soft and gentle, like a sweet caress and he leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"you look beautiful," he breathes, the words he couldn't get out earlier and you smile sadly, lips twisting to the side as if holding back words you need to get off your chest. its what you wanted to hear at the start of the evening, a little bit of a boost to your system- to let clark know he's not the only one who made it out of this alive. but hearing it now, it feels like you're standing at the shore and waiting for the tide to swallow you whole.

"take care of yourself, clark," you whisper before the door shuts on him again.

he wishes he knew how to, and wishes more than anything he'd be able to take care of you too.

riya saying hi: hi !! if this finds you then i'm not on the app right now but i hope you enjoy this as my little parting gift whilst im away for a few days teehee this is not a complete like reconciliation - i did want to do an angst to fluff kind of thing, but i fear this needs a second part to build up to that fluff so let me know if you would like to see that ?? second part would obvs be grovelling clark, i didnt want reader to just forgive him and possibly more fake dating as he figures out how to keep you close to him long enough to make this right. anyways bye love u see ya later babygators 🥺💘💋

[immortalmrwavell]

BetterShirts

(Original story posted August 21st 2023) This story has been Updated!

“Holy crap! Your tits are even bigger than before!” Matty exclaimed as he reached out and grabbed one of Sarah’s huge new pecs. He couldn’t help giving it a firm squeeze. He adored how soft the muscle felt while knowing damn well those pecs could become hard as rock with a single flex.

“They must’ve given me one of the men’s shirts by mistake.” Sarah huffed, looking down at her new muscle bound body. Her gay best friend was obviously enthralled by her strong masculine form. “I’m surprised my leggings haven’t ripped yet with how big my thighs are…” She added, glancing down at the tight fabric that now strained across her muscular legs. Not to mention how they struggled to contain her hefty new bulge.

Sarah had been going to BetterGym for just over a month now. It was an expensive place but well worth the money because when you arrive they give you what they like to call a ‘BetterShirt’ that shifts your body into whatever shape you’re striving for. They have multiple fits for both men and women. Men’s bodybuilder, Men’s toned, Women’s lean, Women’s powerlifter and so many more! For example men that wore the men’s bodybuilder shirt would immediately hulk out into giant muscle beasts. It’s said that working out while using these body morphing shirts can help train your body to remember that physique and grow into it naturally at a much quicker pace when you’re not wearing the shirt. Until finally you don’t even need the shirts to look like that anymore! So many men and women had used these gym shirts to reach their dream bodies many times faster than they would’ve normally. Seeing results that would usually take years becoming attainable in only a few months of consistency.

Today Sarah decided to bring one of her best friends Matty with her as a guest. Unfortunately he couldn’t get a shirt without being a full member but he still got to see what it was all about as Sarah asked for her usual Women’s Aesthetic shirt. The staff who provided BetterShirt’s quickly grabbed one and presented it to the young women who gave a swift thank you before heading into a changing stall. Little did Sarah realise, she probably should’ve checked the tag on the shirt before slipping it on…

Usually what would happen is her body would become slimmer in some places and curvier in others to give her that perfectly balanced female form. But this time something was different. Instead of her body simply reshaping itself, it began growing from every angle! Arms and legs bulging with thick muscle as her height shot up rapidly. “What the fuuuck… is happeninnggggghhh…” She groaned in a voice that got noticeably deeper with every grunt. Her back and shoulders widened. Her breasts flattened only to make way for a pair of giant pecs that grew in their place moments later. Even her ass lost its feminine shape in favour of a tighter looking but still rather thick man butt. Her voice really dropped a couple octaves however when a hug pair of testicles formed between her legs followed by a fat juicy cock that replaced her former genitalia. Her entire body continued to pulse and grow as her face changed, losing its soft gentle features in return for rugged manly ones accompanied by some stubble and a shorter haircut.

Moments later a total hunk burst out of the stall, giving Matty quite the scare at first until Sarah explained what happened. She poked and prodded at her masculine body awkwardly for a moment, trying to wrap her head around what the hell just happened. Squeezing her biceps, exploring her new shape, grabbing her own muscle ass a little. So much so that it encouraged Matty to reach out and do the same. How could he resist grabbing pecs as massive and juicy as those given the chance.

“Yep. The tag says Men’s Aesthetic. Not Women’s” Matty confirmed once Sarah asked him to check the collar for the shirt tag.

“Shit. Well I better go and swap this for the right one.” Sarah groaned in annoyance.

Just as the newly formed hunk was about to make his way back to the BetterShirt staff, Matty stopped her for a moment. “Hold on! What’s the rush? You look hot as fuck right now. You can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it’d be like to be a guy. All big and strong with a deep voice and powerful muscles.” He wiggled his eyebrows a little. “Come on. Just one gym session won’t hurt right? Think of all the heavy ass weights you’ll be able to lift now.”

Sarah glanced over at a wall mirror nearby and saw the man she’d become. An aesthetic male version of herself with broad shoulders, big pecs and a skinny waist. She had to admit Matty was right. She did look good. A little meathead-ish perhaps but still sexy nonetheless. And though she’d wouldn’t admit it out loud, the man she’d become was absolutely the type of man she would’ve envisioned when fingering herself. Just the thought of that made her new male anatomy start to chub up a little. The sensation of which was pretty bizarre.

“Fine. One session. But after that it’s back to the Women’s Aesthetic.” She claimed. Little did she know how deeply in love she’d fall for her manly new body over the next couple hours. Relishing in the explosive power her enormous muscles contained. Finding herself subtly groping her bulge when she thought nobody was looking until she had to excuse herself to the men’s bathroom so she could get a proper look at her new cock. It wasn’t long then until she realised how addicting the feeling of having a dick truly was. Especially after nutting for the first time before walking back out into the gym like nothing had happened. Though Matty had his suspicions judging by how long Sarah had spent back there.

Unfortunately shirts had to be returned at the end of every session. After she’d taken off the shirt and reverted back to normal she found herself feeling an intense wave of disappointment that she hadn’t expected to feel. A wave so intense that she couldn’t stop thinking about being a man and having a cock between her legs for the rest of the day. Needless to say Sarah was back at BetterGym the very next day and this time she actually requested a Men’s Aesthetic shirt! It was too intoxicating to resist. Before long it became one of the only BetterShirts she wore.

It’d been over a month now since that initial mix up and she was still wearing the men’s shirts. Still turning into a hunky man almost every day. Still sneaking off to the bathroom to jerk off her thick temporary cock between workouts. And now she’d started hoping that one day, if she continued to wear the men’s shirts for long enough, that one day she wouldn’t revert back. That eventually she’d be able to walk out of that gym a man… forever.

[loganwritesprobably]

Flirting (A.S., V.S., S.R.)

Synopsis: Short headcanon + couple hundred word ficlets about flirting with Shanks, Sanji and Rayleigh Tags/Warnings: GN!Reader, slightly suggestive, Shanks flirts well, Sanji gets flustered when flirted with, Rayleigh flusters you Word count: 224/282/310 Notes: Wanted to do a test run of writing a little for Rayleigh, and I'm not sure I've got him down just yet, but I'll get there. I also might do a part two with three more types of flirt

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Shanks

Shanks is a damn good flirt. He's so smooth with his choice of words, knows when it's appropriate to touch you and usually pretty good about knowing where is acceptable without you ever telling him. He knows just how to worm his way into your bed and he does it almost seamlessly every time.

"Can I get you a refill on that, darlin'?" The red haired pirate asked as he stepped up beside you, a warm but cheeky smile proudly in place on his face.

"Are you paying for it?"

"Course. Can't be letting someone as pretty as you pay for it now, can I?" He replied seamlessly, like he'd known what you were going to say before you said it and had prepared his response ahead of time.

"Well then, I suppose you can." After all, it was a free drink, who were you to say no?

"Tell me, what're you doing here all alone?" He asked next as you waited for the barman to approach.

"I'm with friends, but they're all coupled up. Stifling." It was easy to be honest with him, something about his air just compelled you, as if you'd known him your whole life.

"Well, if you fancy shoving it in their face instead, feel free to come find me. Always happy to spin someone 'round the dance floor."

Sanji

Sanji's attempts at flirting are a little pathetic, mostly consisting of promises of devotion and confessions of deep admiration. It wasn't much to work with. However, the moment you flirt back, he becomes a mess and it's just too much fun to fluster him until he can't respond anymore.

"Hey, Sanji, what's for dinner?" You asked casually, leaning in the doorframe to the kitchen. You were no Zoro, but doing manual labour around the Thousand Sunny had helped tone your muscles slightly so the small muscles became more visible with your hands gripping the doorframe as they were, either side of you to hold you up as you leaned into the room.

"Oh well, I'm happy to make whatever you-" Sanji cut himself off as his eyes found you, trailing over your body up and down, seemingly drying his mouth as he blindly reached for a bottle of water that sat on the counter behind him.

"Something wrong, my love?" You asked, doing your best to feign innocence even though both of you knew you were perfectly aware of what you were doing to him.

"Oh my dear you are truly radiant, I can never be worthy of the view you bestow upon us every day." He rambled, which only made you smile. The two of you had been dating for a couple of months now so while you were comfortable together, the entire dynamic was still new.

"Yeah? I don't know pretty boy, I think you might have me beat in the looks department. How about later I get up close and personal and check?" You suggested with a quick wink, and watched as Sanji's nose began to slowly drip blood.

Rayleigh

Rayleigh is an excellent flirt, and he'll always manage to fluster you, even if you're not usually easy to fluster. He'll make your face warm and hands clammy with a few well chosen, softly spoken words.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you?" Rayleigh asked as he dropped onto the bar stool beside yours. The others were all empty, yet he'd chosen to sit directly beside you.

"Not at all." You said with a shrug. It wasn't quite a free world, but this bar was about as close as it got.

"Just couldn't help coming to say hi, I'm incapable of resisting real beauty you see. So, when I spotted you, just knew I had to take my chance." He explained with a crooked grin you could tell would've suited his face just as much twenty years earlier. As you laughed, his knee brushed yours.

"Yeah?" Maybe you were fishing for more, but you couldn't help it. It'd been a while since you'd gotten attention like this.

"Definitely. I mean, when I spotted you I almost couldn't believe my eyes. No chance was I lucky enough to have someone as gorgeous as you sitting in my bar. Yet, here I am talking to you, and you've yet to disappear in a puff of smoke. So, I guess Gods do walk amongst men, cause otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here beside me." And damn if that didn't win you over, because that was good. You nodded slowly, still processing his words as your face heated and you shuffled your feet slightly, now more nervous than before.

"Don't tell me you're shy now?" He asked, the grin on his face telling you he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he was more than likely to just keep going.

"Not quite." You replied, though you couldn't bring yourself to make eye contact again.

Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa @queenmimi2817

If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi

[ballhall]

Now I sleep for another 100 years (/ref), have my interpretation of UT!Tenna and Spamton because the deltarune brainworms got me. Ref sheet without text and close up on the small doodle (+ text version of the loredump I made there just in case) here vv

Tenna (yellow text)

Currently unemployed and roommates with Spamton. He was briefly the royal babysitter for Chara and Asriel but his services were no longer needed after what happened to them (He feels horribly guilty about it and wished he could've been there to lift their spirits and at least prevent what happened in some capacity). Juggled around jobs before but could never manage to keep them.

He's kind of just a unpaid 'babysitter' for Spamton's pipis in trade of having a home to live in. Not like he'd have it any other way, he likes making them his make-believe audience.

He's actually just a freakishly large ant (that can change sizes) posing as a robotic tv head persona and wanting to make it big just like MTT

His attire consists mostly of scrap he found in the dump (shoulder pads are made out of cardboard, his belt buckle a motherboard with a yellow straw and wire to act as its antenna, etc etc). The only thing that isn't stuff he found in the garbage is just his yellow opera shoes. (Spamton stole it and gave it as a gift for him to idk, make him feel better and support him of his dreams I guess)

His shirt has two visible patches on the side that lets his other two arms pop out if needed. His other arm suffered horrible injuries due to a freak accident at work and caused him to be abandoned by those he trusted…again.

Suffered a long period of ennui and just doing things in the sake of survival and didn't discover any passion or talent he actually has…till he felt something awaken in him ever since Spamton and him snuck into one of Mettaton's live shows.

Spamton (light pink text)

Mailman that genuinely needs a raise doing his job (does grifting as a side hustle)

His head is entirely shaped like a letter, his entire body is literally almost like origami (he's also! Slightly flammable!)

Can't actually talk, everytime he opens his mouth it dispenses a letter of what he wants to say. Tenna usually grabs it and and then reads it for himself and/or for a third party they're talking to but ah...sometimes he misinterprets it and needs reading glasses (This doesn't work since he can barely see with the tv head on)

One of the only mailmans left in the underground ever since undernet came around and the addisons went their separate ways- abandoning Spamton, they're still in business since some still use the mail system and packages…which he finds having difficulty carrying around and not to mention traversing the underground. He also gets paid by the mail so he shoves junk mail into random mailboxes most of the time.

He (used) to not have a problem delivering packages since he had his cungadero (it's just a boat shaped almost like a car)…but it's now in deep repair thanks to Tenna damaging it somehow (it's also how they both met for the first time so I'll let your imagination run wild with this)

Didn't like Tenna at first but he kinda grew on him but he's pretty useful with taking care of the pipis and also helping him con, and deliver around mail (not to mention deal with people whenever he's doing his job) (i.e an unsuspecting Undyne and Papyrus)

Ever since they went to Mettaton's live show to pickpocket distracted audience, Tenna has been driving him NUTS being MTT's biggest fan and sending fanmail in hopes he responds and well…wanting to become something like him. He kind of thought it was silly at first but got to let that slide because that meant their ticket out of this dump and being able to get more coin with his mindless entertainment

Their house is actually not that bad (Think, the dumpster house But Bigger™) it's just that it's hidden away from the piles of stuff Spamton has hoarded. (Tenna does not like this fyi)

[frmdiningtsble]

THE VOID STATE

hi lovlies. i thought that it's about time i discuss the big topic of the void state and how it relates to shifting, how we can use it to shift, and why (in my opinion) it's the easiest way to shift on command.

first off, i want to put a small disclaimer here: shifting is your journey. don't ever let anyone tell you what works for YOU. with that being said, in my experience, this is what's worked for me, and others that i've helped shift.

now, about the void state...

it's not some mystical unreachable thing. it's not exclusive. it's not gatekept by experience or effort. it’s a state of pure awareness — no thoughts, no senses, just you. and the beauty of that is, when you're in that space, you're limitless. creation becomes second nature. there’s nothing between you and the reality you want.

i’ll be breaking this post down into:

✧ what the void state actually is ✧ how it connects to shifting ✧ how you can enter it (with tips + reminders) ✧ why it’s my go-to method for command shifts

i’ll also include affirmations, troubleshooting help, and how to stay detached from symptoms + expectation.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╭┈┈┈┈╮

remember: the void isn't something you "achieve," it's something you realize. and shifting isn't something you "earn," it's something you allow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╰┈┈┈┈╯

WHAT THE VOID STATE ACTUALLY IS

the void state can be described as the space between; between thoughts, between wakefulness and sleep, between presence and detachment. but at its core, it’s a state of pure, undisturbed awareness. no body. no mind. just you. because at the end of the day, you are awareness. nothing more.

it’s not about feeling empty, it’s about being empty. no identity, no senses, no narrative. just stillness. and in that stillness? infinite potential.

some people describe it as floating in blackness. others say it’s like being suspended in silence. for me, it feels like stepping outside of reality altogether, like i’ve unplugged from everything, and now i get to choose what i plug into next.

you might reach the void through meditation, through the liminal edge of sleep, through deep focus, or even accidentally. but no matter how you get there, the void isn’t the goal — it’s the launchpad.

you don’t need to be perfect. you don’t need to clear every thought. the void doesn’t ask for effort, it asks for surrender. and the second you’re there? everything becomes possible.

HOW IT CONNECTS TO SHIFTING

so, how does the void actually relate to shifting?

in simple terms: the void is the clearest, most direct path to reality movement. when you’re in the void, there are no blocks; no doubts, no resistance, no subconscious stories. it’s just you, raw awareness, and choice.

in that space, your intentions don’t have to fight for space in your mind, they are the only thing that exists. so when you declare, “i am now in my desired reality,” it’s not wishful thinking. it’s a statement of truth. and because the void responds instantly to your assumptions, it becomes the perfect state to shift on command.

it’s not a coincidence that so many people say they wake up in their DR after entering the void, it's because they made that decision from the highest level of consciousness. no doubts, no in-betweens. just shifted.

and here’s the most important part: you don’t need the void to shift. but if you reach it? it’s like having a blank canvas and the power to paint your world in one stroke.

use it with intention. declare with confidence. and then just allow it to be. that's the most important part; letting it be.

HOW TO ENTER IT (WITH TIPS + REMINDERS)

getting into the void isn’t about “doing it right.” it’s about letting go. it’s about allowing yourself to just be. here are some tips + reminders that have helped me (and others i’ve guided) slip into the void gently and consistently:

1. start by letting go of the pressure. you don’t need to force silence. you don’t need to “try hard.” the void isn’t something you chase, it’s something you fall into. shift your mindset from “i need to get there” to “i’m safe to let go.”

2. use sleep as your gateway. the void loves liminal spaces; that in-between state right before sleep (hypnagogia)? perfect. try lying still, letting your body fall asleep while your mind stays aware. hypnagogic visuals, numbness, or floaty sensations are common signs you're close, but they are NOT a requirement.

3. affirm gently or use a focus anchor. softly repeating things like “i am awareness” or “i am nothing but presence” can help. or just focus on your breath. the goal isn’t to fight thoughts, it’s to stop feeding them. i've mentioned this before, but when my thoughts wander, or i start getting thoughts like "but i can hear my CR sounds" i counter it with "yeah, but my senses are lying. i know i'm in my DR because i'm aware of it."

4. don’t chase symptoms. numb? cool. tingly? fine. nothing at all? also perfect. symptoms aren’t checkpoints, they’re just side effects. detaching from the need to feel something actually helps you sink deeper.

5. be okay with ‘nothing’ happening. ironically, not caring whether you enter the void… is exactly what allows you to. let go of the outcome. surrender to stillness. if your mind wanders, gently come back. and treat every attempt like a successful one, because it is. there's an amazing post on how there are no failed attempts on cloverapple's blog, i'll link it here.

and the biggest reminder? you’ve already touched the void before. ever zoned out so deeply you forgot your body existed? ever stared off and felt timeless? yeah, you were there. now it’s just about going deeper with trust.

WHY IT’S MY GO-TO METHOD FOR COMMAND SHIFTS

out of every method i’ve tried over the years (from visualization-heavy ones to scripting marathons to affirming for hours) nothing has given me the kind of effortless, immediate results that the void state has.

why? because there’s no middleman. no technique. no "waiting" to shift.

once i’m in the void, i don’t have to beg the universe, or align my vibration, or perfectly recite a script. i am the script. i am the creator. the second i decide, “i am now in my desired reality,” it just is. no resistance. no doubt. just truth.

that’s why i call it the ultimate “command shift” state. because from that blank, pure space, anything you declare becomes real; instantly. it’s not about forcing change. it’s about stepping into your authority as the one who chooses.

the void makes it so simple it almost feels unreal… until it isn’t. until you wake up where you meant to. until you look around and realize, you did it.

and maybe that’s the real magic of the void: not that it helps you shift faster or better than anything else but that it reminds you you’ve always had that power. all along.

TROUBLESHOOTING HELP (FOR WHEN IT FEELS LIKE “NOTHING’S WORKING”)

☾ “i can’t stop my thoughts.” you don’t have to. observe them like clouds passing. you’re not failing, you’re practicing awareness. every moment you return to stillness is progress.

☾ “i don’t feel anything.” that’s actually perfect. the void is nothingness. no sensations = no distractions. that’s a good sign, not a bad one.

☾ “i’m not shifting. i must be doing something wrong.” not true. shifting is natural. it’s not about effort, it’s about surrender. you’re not blocked, you’re just overthinking.

☾ “i keep falling asleep.” and that’s okay! many shift right as they drift off. try setting the intention before sleep and trusting that it worked. sometimes you shift without realizing until you wake up.

☾ “i keep checking for symptoms.” this brings us to...

DETACHING FROM SYMPTOMS + EXPECTATIONS

this might be the biggest game-changer: stop watching for signs. symptoms don’t equal success. you don’t need tingles or floatiness or intense visuals. they’re fine if they happen but they’re not proof of anything. you are the proof.

when you let go of needing something external to “confirm” it’s working… that’s when it works. detachment isn’t pretending you don’t care, it’s trusting so deeply that you don’t need to see results to believe they’re happening.

try saying:

𖦹 i don’t need symptoms. i choose stillness. 𖦹 it’s working, even when i don’t feel it. 𖦹 i trust myself more than my expectations.

[another-italian-crazy-fangirl]

THE TIME HAS COME: the opinion 🌟none asked for🌟

The personality's layers of these characters are insane. I've spent so many years with the game, and now I'm old enough and have a certain amount of emotional work behind me to see how well they've worked with these characters.

The nuances of their character, their evolution... are so realistic, consistent, and well-described.

Nathaniel is one of the LIs best suited to help us notice this kind of layering (I've watched some of Castiel's routes, and his life is a little less...traumatic than Nathaniel's. With Cass, we experience a maturation, we experience his loneliness, and how he changes the way he expresses it. He's good, he's someone who cares about people. The bullying was just a mask).

Nathaniel, on the other hand, is more 'complex' not in the sense that the others are less profound as characters but because he finds himself facing more changes.

In HS, his strict parents are what forces him into his role of "apparent perfection." Sure, he's brilliant, and that makes him fit in better, but family expectations force him to always give more. It's a mask, too, like Castiel's bullying: "If I'm perfect enough, no one can find fault with me." And this has been his strength, his line of defense. We can see the first cracks when he starts to care about something: Candy. He begins to have a different perspective, he begins to break out of his comfort zone. And everything falls apart with his emancipation: we see a brilliant Nathaniel, but no longer stuck in that sense of perfection. And when you play that moment, it's almost alienating, because after 40 episodes of "the delegate with the tie," from one day to the next we see a Nathaniel, no longer bound by chains or boundaries. He was just waiting for a little freedom to be able to express himself, and he does it in the most wonderfully immature way possible: that of an ordinary seventeen-eighteen year old.

What happens next is merely the fruit of Chino's words: Nath is a young man deprived of sugar all his life finally finds himself in a candy store (figuratively, but also not, woops) without restraints or supervision. He carries with him evident problems of poorly managed anger (with some repercussions in LL) and fear of abandonment, from his family, but I personally think also from Candy (if you are in his route). He gives in, and his analytical nature comes in handy in a whole new and wrong way. But he's still the straight-A student, even in the dark: he just uses his energies differently. He knows what he's doing, and he does it well. He is someone who is good at breaking laws because he's the best at knowing them in the first place.

Only Candy's return can help him regain his balance, because she is still the only person with enough influence to move him internally in the right way. In UL Nathaniel is the same as in high school, but he's also the son of the circumstances that surround him, almost suffocating him again, making him reacts in way that somehow you wouldn't expect from him, sometimes even disturbingly so (but again, it's mastery: the POV is Candy's, who doesn't know anything about what made him spiraling and how). One moment we have the old Nath, the next three years passed, and you see just the product of them.

In LL we have the final product: Nathaniel becomes the man he always wanted to be, but still human, full of flaws. The consequences of everything he's been through are evident, shown to us with incredible mastery. He's not the perfect man, he's the man who tries, who still carries the remnants of the past without letting them define him. More introspective, definitely more aware (and I might say, a little paranoid as consequence), he does his best, but is still at the mercy of his emotions from time to time.

Nathaniel hides, but he is someone who feels everything deeply.

He is not someone I'd mess with if he was real.

And I love how Castiel remains his total opposite, even when the 'bully and nerd' act drops off: Castiel makes you feel A thousand times more comfortable. It's intrinsically 'sweeter,' calmer. It's a safe haven in times of difficulty; he only looks tough. Nathaniel is a loose cannon with the appearance of an angel.

This game is pure psychological art at its best . And I can't say enough about Chino and Beemov's splendid work. This game has left a profound impression on me, after so many years spent growing up with the characters.

Hi, how are you? 😊I'm excited to see the NerGen but I would like to know: I adore Nathaniel, but I confess that sometimes I have difficulties understanding his true personality. What is he really like? Is he more the Nath of HS, College or LL? And where does the inspiration to create him come from? Thank you very much! 💕 💕 💕

Hi ! Thank you, I'm excited too XD Can't wait but still lots of work to deal with.

Nathaniel is, of course, a bit of all those versions you meet through the game.

He is a good person, no doubt about that. And you meet this part of him in HSL. But you also learn he is not always an angel neither. It's specifically pointed out in the episode when you learn a bit about his and Cas' childhoods, where you learn he could be a meanie with his sister. So at this point, he is still a teenager and his father has been controlling him so much that it makes it impossible for him to experiment and experience during adolescent crisis (to name it like that; things lots of teenagers can do at that stage, like they will stay outside after curfew, some might try a bit of alchool or smoke, have bad frequentations etc... ) -Read this with a grain of salt, I am not saying that IRL all teenagers do this, or that they have to do that etc... Just that it is a common development stage for most youngsters- So as young adult in CL he gets all this freedom and the possibility to try all those things but with no one to help love or guide him (like any good parental figure is supposed to do). So as we say in french, he is in "roue libre", kinda out of control, and it goes too far. (I imagine it came gradually of course, not everything all of a sudden.) -Here again, it is something that can happen, and that you might have witnessed if you have had friends with very severe parents, they sometimes snap when they reach majority -

By LL he is much better, and starts to find himself but he still has lot of patchup to do, which can explain a bit of chaotic behaviors at times. But he is a good boi, and at the end of the day he will be fine and will keep bettering himself, both for him and Candy. (It’s also mentionned he started to see a therapist to help him in this process.) -side note : I sometimes see comments of people who are angry at a character for reacting this way or that way. I would just like to say that for a same event happening to 10 people, all those persons can react and deal with it very differently, (sometimes even in opposite reactions). The way you might deal with whatever event or trauma is valid, but it is not the only universal way for all -

[asterlark]

something i don't think i could've articulated wanting to see in autistic rep before i watched mel in the pitt is an autistic adult who is yes, competent and sensitive and strong and all these things- but also shows evidence of the coping strategies they've worked to build up, and the ways they accommodate themselves.

this is so evident in how mel navigates the shift from hell: giving herself breaks away from the noise whenever possible (by going outside, putting on earbuds for a moment, or stepping into a quiet room); boosting herself up with lyrics from a favorite song that make her feel empowered; finding quiet ways to stim including watching stim videos on her phone; & there's probably others too that i'm forgetting at the moment. i think this is so important because as a fellow adult autistic who is not, um, in my late teens/early 20s anymore and has been in therapy consistently for a long time now, i really saw myself reflected in how mel has clearly worked on strategies to regulate, soothe, and motivate herself through incredibly tough and stressful circumstances - because she has to.

when you're autistic you don't get a lot of choice in how your body and mind instinctively react to the incredibly overstimulating world around you. you can, however, try to work on ways to regulate and affirm and accommodate yourself, and this especially becomes important when you're pursuing a career like a medical doctor that involves... a lot of very physically and emotionally overwhelming challenges that can burn you out irreparably SO quickly if you don't work to mitigate/process the stress. (plus, mel has an extra layer to Not Being Able to Burn Out- she's her sister's primary caregiver. she can't afford to lose her shit or fail. ☹️)

it made me so happy to see an autistic character like mel who is clearly not at the very beginning of her mental health journey, who has had to put in (likely a large amount of) effort to come up with effective coping strategies for her life and career. similarly to how queer coming out stories are important but shouldn't be the only queer stories we get- autistics deserve stories not just about children & teens but about adults with full lives who have done a lot of work to get to where they are, stories showing how they simultaneously still struggle and also how they approach & tackle those struggles and challenges. all told, i'm in love with mel and can't wait to see more of her story next season <33

[hexguardheart]

Since so much of the Arcane fandom seems to hate Caitlyn, I felt I had to make this edit. I wanted to explore why and to reflect on it, share my own perspective, and ultimately express my unwavering love for her.

It’s part reflection, part defense but above all it’s just a love letter 💙

Why does part of the Arcane fandom hate Caitlyn Kiramman?

1. Season 2 Moral Shift

Yes, Caitlyn takes a darker turn in Season 2…she’s colder, angrier, and more impulsive. Some fans feel this betrays the gentle, just, and compassionate character they connected with in Season 1. The shift feels jarring, especially without full access to her internal struggle…i get it !

2. Grief Turned to Hatred

After losing her mother, Caitlyn’s grief curdles into obsession with revenge and particularly against Jinx. That bitterness replaces her earlier nuance and makes her seem consumed by blame. Those who love Jinx or who hoped for healing between characters see Caitlyn as a villain.

3. Association with Ambessa

Not to forget that Caitlyn is manipulated and influenced by Ambessa Medarda, who is ruthless and power-hungry. Watching Caitlyn work with her or worse, mimic her, can make us uncomfortable. Some fear Caitlyn has traded her principles for control and survival.

4. Perceived Hypocrisy

Some fans accuse Caitlyn of hypocrisy: she once spoke about justice, but now seems to pursue personal vengeance instead. Her actions may contradict her earlier ideals, and fans who value consistency are frustrated by this. I get it !

5. Shipping Wars 🙄

Let’s be honest, fandom culture can get messy. Some of the hate comes from ship wars (CaitVi vs JinxVi vs other rarepairs). Caitlyn becomes a scapegoat simply because she “gets in the way” of a fan’s favorite pairing. It’s unfair, but it happens…and that pisses me off !

Why Caitlyn Kiramman Deserves Better: A Defense 💙

Caitlyn Kiramman is a deeply good person who is navigating trauma, grief, and political corruption and she deserves empathy, not hatred. Here’s why:

1. Even if She Started from Privilege She Challenged It

Yes, Caitlyn was born into a wealthy family. But from the start, she used that privilege to fight for people who didn’t have power. She defied her family’s expectations, trained as an Enforcer, and insisted on looking beneath the surface of Piltover’s peace. That takes courage, not complacency.

2. Her Grief Does Not Make Her Evil, It Makes Her Human

Losing Cassandra broke Caitlyn. The one person who grounded her, the only figure she trusted to lead Piltover with wisdom and fairness was taken from her. She didn’t process it. She buried it. And that grief turned to anger, then to obsession. That is not weakness. It is trauma. And like anyone else, she deserves the chance to find her way back.

3. She Was Manipulated Not Corrupted

Ambessa saw a broken girl and exploited her pain. She offered Caitlyn strength, clarity, and the illusion of control and that, just when Caitlyn needed something solid to stand on. That doesn’t make Caitlyn weak. It makes her vulnerable. And the most tragic part? She didn’t even realize she was being used. That doesn’t make her a villain. It makes her a target, a victim.

4. She Still Has a Moral Compass, It’s Just Buried

Caitlyn hasn’t lost her sense of right and wrong, she’s just buried it under layers of guilt and anger. But the Caitlyn we know is still in there. The one who risks everything to help a misunderstood Zaunite. The one who listens. The one who believes people are more than what the system tells them they are. That Caitlyn is still fighting and that fight deserves our hope.

5. She’s Not Heartless, She’s Hurting

What looks like coldness is actually self-protection. If she lets herself feel, she’ll break. So she builds walls. She lashes out. She chooses anger because it’s easier than mourning. But even at her worst, Caitlyn doesn’t revel in violence. She doesn’t enjoy power. She just wants the pain to stop and she doesn't know how else to stop it.

6. She Can Still Change and That’s the Point

Arcane is a story about transformation. Viktor, Jinx, Jayce, Silco, they all walk the line between light and shadow. Caitlyn is no different. She's not meant to be perfect. She’s meant to struggle. And if she turns back toward the light…and if she finds forgiveness and learns to grieve properly, her arc will be one of the most powerful in the whole show.

And in the final episode, Caitlyn’s arc comes full circle. She makes a choice that is both redemptive and deeply selfless. She fights against the Noxians not just to protect Piltover, but to save Zaun too, proving that her sense of justice was never truly lost. She risks everything, including her life, and loses an eye in the process.

But her most beautiful act isn’t the fight, it’s the letting go. She releases her hatred. She trusts Vi. And even when Vi chooses to free Jinx, Caitlyn doesn’t stop her. She doesn’t try to control the outcome. She knows she might lose Vi forever (if she decides to leave with her sister) and still lets her go. That’s not weakness. That’s love.

It’s the most selfless moment in the entire show. And it proves, once and for all, that Caitlyn Kiramman is not defined by her grief, but by the strength it took to rise above it.

Caitlyn Kiramman is not a villain. She is not irredeemable. She is not cold.

She is a grieving daughter, a disillusioned peacekeeper, and a woman who still believes in justice, even when it hurts.

She doesn’t deserve hate.

She needs time. And understanding.

Just like all of us…

[im-0-0]

‼️Spoilers for Xavier's new myth‼️

So after watching Xavier's myth yesterday I have many thoughts. I'm going to try and articulate my theories and thoughts in as best of an order as I can but no promises because my brain is literally all over the place😭

I'm just gonna talk about bits and pieces of this myth that I screenshotted and pinned in my brain because fuckkkk there's so much and low-key if I'm gonna actually ever go through everything in this myth one day I'm gonna have to rewatch it so many times and I'm not mentally prepared for that.

These themes of "eternity" and Philos' obsession with it is something I've always found interesting. This is an argument of "we should strive for eternity through sacrificing others to help the masses" and "what's the point of chasing eternity when it comes at the cost of other's lives?"

Xavier is the literal embodiment of the second point because he sees no reason to chase after eternity if the cost of it is people's lives and humanity, which is a huge theme in this myth. He consistently questions the status quo because he hates being confined to a "role" and not being given choice to live out the life you sought for yourself. Especially when it comes to matters where it affects MC and her freedom.

The need for eternity comes at the expense of loosing one's humanity and being stuck in a cycle that will eventually not be sufficient enough because they’re scarfing people who believe in this philosophy to do so. It's not right. Something like this shouldn't exist, which is what Xavier realizes and he's willing to become a hated king in order to prove that point and stop the cycle.

This line basically sums up why Xavier does what he does.

MC sacrificing herself was only a temporary solution to a problem that needed a much more permanent solution, which was the destruction of Philos.

He says it himself that her people forgot about her and her sacrifice years later because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. The planet is bound to be doomed no matter how many sacrifices and no matter how prosperous it may seem because the planet will require more people, more sacrifices and its greed will grow until it swallows the planet and the people whole.

Obligations to keep sacrificing parts of yourself for people who only care for themselves and chasing a false hope is what Xavier and subsequently MC fight against because eternal life isn't salvation, it's a prison that keeps people stagnant and greedy, which consumes and eats at people as they try to maintain it.

I think this was the moment I realized the Ferryman was their former teacher because I was so lost as to why he seemed so familiar and was also possibly the only other alive person in this kingdom.

I think Xavier despite knowing that MC might not remember him because she didn't the first time after her reincarnation when they met as knights still wants to be by her side in any capacity he can as he did before even if their meeting now isn't as convenient.

He doesn't mind the reputation he's built for himself as long as she's there and he can keep the past mistakes from repeating with her death. He keeps his cold demeanor and only lets softer sides of himself shine when warranted with her because deep down he wants her to remember him and for them to be together.

Now I just found this entire scene cute as fuck if I'm being honest😭

The amount of lightseeker callbacks killed me but I was loving it.

Even though I almost chucked my phone when MC saw Lightseeker Xavier, I was still geeked.

Because right here, Xavier is saying the same thing queen MC said in his lightseeker myth when they were both knights. She told him to forget the girl who he was so hung up on because if she can't care to remember him or no longer be by his side, then he should let go.

Xavier saying basically the exact same thing but about whatever guy she used to say she liked is fucking hilarious.

They’re telling each other to forget about each other and be with each other at the same time because they both imply they’re a better option than their past selves😭

THEY’RE SO CUTE OMGGG

And the constant mention of Uluru is so sad because that was supposed to be THEIR HOME. He calls it "our little planet" because it issssssss.

I feel like this revelation is so important because again it shows the pretense of eternity and the lengths people have had to go to to keep up with the greedy demands the planet required. They no longer kept it a secret, but made it seem it was noble of the people to sacrifice themselves for their planet and people (that's such a nationalist and war propaganda move omg). They used that to disguise the inherent selfishness of such a thing.

This scene just...hurt because what do you mean her grave is in Uluru😀

And what do you mean he didn't make it back to MC on time so she died without knowing his true feelings for her😀

He looks so SAD and I fucking DIED watching this shit.

I cannot begin to imagine what was going on in his mind coming back to this and having to be king after her too.

MC remembering bits and pieces of her past then all of it was such a cruel thing to watch unfold because her soul remembers Xavier and all they’ve been through, but she can't remember it all and wonders who she is.

Her realizing she reincarnated and has been in the "heart" of Philos before she woke up in Sindersfell is so interesting because she quite literally described being there as being engulfed in darkness and basically feeling empty for centuries. This shows how terrifying and dark these sacrifices were because they give a sense of dread and regret.

Her thinking of what Xavier went through and the utter loneliness in his rule and decision to "betray" his people is so depressing. He took on the role knowing in the end it will end in his hatred and destruction of his planet, but persisted either way for MCs sake because he knew it was the only way to end the cycle of death and slaughter that would befall the planet.

He hardened his heart and resolve in order to carry on because he himself has said that those with kind hearts can't rule or go as far as he can because of the fact that he keeps people at a distance and does what he does.

It's the same even in the current timeline where he still walks on a path of death and slaughter and often closes his heart to most because he's willing to carry such heavy burdens if it means protecting those he cares for the most and having them still live out their kindness.

And her referring to him as "My knight" is disgustingly romantic and intimate because it shows that Xavier is someone she considers her protector and someone who is always by her side, even in her death.

The line the bishop says and the prayer recited is so powerful and gut wrenching because Xavier hears of this prayer recited over and over and he connects it back to MC and how her death was meaningless because like it's stated, it is a false faith. It is bound to be meaningless because sacrificing your freedom and will for the sake of a dying planet. It reveals his resolve to keep going and protect the person he loves any way he can.

Lightseeker myth reference #497

Carrying her on his back, talking about Uluru, saying how their swords should point in the same direction, MC asking if the rumors that he turned down marriage proposals oh my god I would not win a yearning competition with this man

300 fucking years waiting for this woman after her death and he was so serious about that like oh my god.

Now this is where my nerd brain started to fucking explode because this tells me I was right that this myth is a future timeline just an alternate future.

It is not inherently connected to the current 2048 timeline where hunter Xavier and MC are in, but it is the one that created that timeline.

Now I'm the kind of bitch that loves multiverses and multiverses that affect other timelines and oh bitch this was chefs kiss.

Because what you're telling me is that in this timeline, Xavier was able to return to Philos after his Traceback mission, which meant that he succeeded in being king, but it resulted in the destruction of Philos by his hand because he was trying to end the cycle of sacrifices.

And MC reincarnated and realized that in the current timeline she's in, there is no saving Philos and the timeline they inhabit, but there is a possibility to save it in another, which means going back in time to a different era, the current one we are in right now and Xavier getting trapped in is the only viable option.

Now I don't know exactly how that's gonna save Philos and what it will mean for current XavierMC but I'm soooo excited to find out and hope it's gonna be in the next main story update.

MC deciding to go back in time because her trust in Xavier and the fact they can save Philos together is so beautiful because she just wants to be with her man😭😭😭

This scene almost had me in tears because after Queen MC and King Xavier's world collapsed, I'm assuming this is the current Lightseeker timeline we were aware of before this myth.

The fact that Xavier's definition of eternity is more human and kind of in a way respects people and their autonomy more is so cool to me.

And Xavier's mom telling him that he doesn't have to follow what others set up for him when choosing the kind of life he wants is so beautiful because we can see the difference in relationship between his mother and father even if it was small glimpses that she had a better understanding of him and the fact he is the kind of person to question tradition and what expectations are put onto him. She has a more open mind and wants him to just be happy no mater what that may look like. She encourages him to find something he feels worth fighting for and forging a path that he chooses.

I even saw someone say they think the tree thanking MC for choosing him is his mother and I almost imploded at the thought.

This ending fucked with me because this is MC just being sure that Xavier is gonna find her and be with her no matter where he goes and for how long. They can always rely one another to fall for each other and be by each other's side till the (VERY) bitter end.

It truly gives so much more depth to their relationship and the devotion that they share for one another because they've quite literally seen the end of the world together and decided that even when they meet other versions of themselves, they're gonna choose each other each and every single time and get through everything together.

"Our swords should be pointing in the same direction"

"We will always be together"

"Once they're used to caring for each other, they'll never be apart"

"Our little planet"

The constant promises they make to each other and see them through is so beautiful and makes the current XavierMC so much more intimate because now they don't have as many obstacles stopping them from being able to be together or fully express their true feelings and selves with one another.

In this life they’re able to show sides of themselves they don't often show others, learn more about who they are as people outside of their pasts, have moments that last with each other and live the peaceful life all their past selves had longed for and that’s making my ass tear up a bit so I'm gonna stop😭.

Man this myth took 5 years off my lifespan it's so good I genuinely can't look at MC and Xavier's relationship the same again after this.

And in my head, king Xavier and queen MC made it to Uluru and live the rest of their days in a small cabin and are ALIVE and HAPPY in another life because I said so and they DESERVE a happy ending because they’re now my top 3 fave XavierMc versions.

[riddle-me-ri]

I was wondering if I could request the mad hatters with a march hare reader

a/n: aaahhhh I’m actually surprised I went so far with a bunch of other AiW character types and yet no one ever requested for the March Hare until just now lmao. Shout out to my favorite Wonderland character since I was like 6 and all my March Hare kinnies and self insert types out there 💚 NOW up next should be a Mock Turle type reader...

Mad Hatters with a March Hare Type Reader

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter:

You're likely the reason he doesn't descend into complete madness…immediately.

You help him feel not as lonely as he used to be.

Jervis is giddy whenever you two get going on long nonsensical rambles…

You two are truly fulfilling your archetypes.

He adores how brazen you are (except when its towards him from time to time)

Especially when you spit verbal venom Batman's way.

Jervis may still be on his search for Alice

But perhaps…with time, he'll find all he really wanted was his March Hare.

BTAS Mad Hatter:

Practically the closest person he has to a proper friend/confidant.

Jervis appreciates your loyalty above all else…

It's nice to rely on someone who isn't chipped, y'know?

And is competent for the most part…

Although your snippy attitude could be adjusted…

But he supposes you raise some good points...you can be quite philosophical when you choose to be.

He enjoys talking to you for hours instead of just lamenting by himself, as he did before.

Jervis actually feels like he's in Wonderland when he's with you.

TNBA Mad Hatter:

(in the comics, he actually has a henchwoman March Harriet but ignoring that here obviously, just fun fact)

You're his right hand hare.

Jervis can't imagine doing any plan or scheme without you in the -know.

He puts a lot of trust in you, even more than he realizes.

Definitely relies on you to help him when he's in a jam–

He has you to thank for most of his getaways from Batman.

I can see him slowly developing feelings for you over time–

Jervis has been so lonely for so long…he will do whatever it takes to make you stay.

HQTAS Mad Hatter:

Oohh, you two's banter is legendary…

Jervis sometimes finds you annoying, rude, and crass…

But he also finds you brilliant, funny, and exciting.

You two may or may not have thrown some teapots, saucers, and cups at each other.

You're the only one who genuinely seems to partake in his madness with no questions asked, which he appreciates.

You're also loyal and trustworthy, even if your honesty is fairly harsh…

Jervis won't ever admit it out loud, just how much he needs you

Or how he misses you when you're not around…

Joker’s Asylum Mad Hatter:

Literally the closest thing he's ever had to a best friend, like other Jervi.

Jervis can't imagine a day without you once you become part of his routine.

You help him from straying to tea and hats…

You may even slowly assist in bringing these aspects of his life back in small, manageable ways that don't lead him back to Arkham.

You become a major character in his book–

Pages and pages fill up, consisting of your interactions; the smiles and the laughter.

Jervis no longer begins his stories with a girl named Alice…

Instead, it always starts with a Hatter and a Hare…

Secret Six Mad Hatter:

Once you've proven yourself to be a true friend–you suggest being his March Hare.

Jervis is delightfully overjoyed and adores you.

Fairly clingy and protective (not quite to the degree as a romantic relationship but…has the potential to get to that point)

He always leans towards you for insight and a second opinion.

Every hat he's made you has some nods to hare-like ears.

You two sometimes bicker and argue but always manage to laugh about how nonsensical it all is in the end.

You and Jervis ride or die for each other and no Secret Six or Caped Crusaders could ever get in the way…

[thatonecrazysidekick]

What I meant to add to my outline doc before going to sleep:

(small section clarifying lore)

Me, at 2AM:

(additional 3 pages creating a scene directly AFTER the part the lore would apply to)

@aryaokayfriend ヾ(＾▽＾)ﾉ

[thepromisedbride]

i don’t talk about bridgerton on here but just to clarify. i will not be having ANY eloise hate on this account. i will bite.

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[stargirlygirl]

you're quiet during it

lads li's (except for raf; separate) x fem!reader

contains: nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, p-in-v, oral sex (f!receiving), p-link for xavier

⭑.ᐟ caleb

at first, it would throw caleb off guard, being the louder one when y'all are devil's tangoing. but it's no issue.

he learns your audial cues: when your breath hitches as you're about to cum, the little mewls that tell him he's doing a good job, and your sweet "more, caleb!" whimpers.

he's also attentive to your physical cues: your back arching as he messily eats you out, so close to an orgasm it's almost painful; your hands tugging on his silky locks when his tongue is lapping your folds; and how your thighs tense up and shake when you're finally swept away by a riptide of pleasure.

and caleb takes pride in hearing how loud he can make you. of course, it's only after an hour or so of overstimulation that you're more talkative and noisy.

he's fucking obsessed with how you cry out, "please, caleb! i can't. n-no more." chuckling against your slick cunt, the lower half of his face drenched in your release, he'll gaze up at you with hazy sunset eyes.

"c'mon, honey. just one more?" he coos so sweetly, rubbing your thigh and all. and when you do give him that one more, you're absolutely silent, lower lip trapped between your teeth as you writhe beneath him. the ecstasy is far too overwhelming for a sound to be made.

when he sucks on your clit harshly, that's when you nearly scream; exactly what he's been waiting so patiently for.

⭑.ᐟ sylus

sylus finds your hushed moans endearing.

i think he definitely teases you when he's eating you out, something akin to, "you're so quiet, kitten. doesn't this feel good?" but he knows you're in actual heaven right now.

when he's on top, thrusting into you so tenderly, i know sylus is groaning and panting in your ear the sweetest things. "you're biting your lip so hard, sweetie. careful—" he pulls your lip out from your chompers with his thumb, "or you'll draw blood."

especially when you're cockwarming him and whimpering softly in his ear, it makes him all the more harder. he'll throb inside of your snug walls, pre-cum leaking everywhere as he rubs your back and murmurs, "don't runaway, kitten, when you're taking me so well."

like caleb, he's got your sounds memorised. but unlike caleb, i don't think sylus pushes you to the edge. i think he'll stop as soon as you yawn, god forbid you do so as he's still rutting into you.

your bf will pull you into a warm cuddle and let you rest for as long as you need. he praises you half-lovingly, half-mockingly, until it's time to get cleaned up.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

i'm imagining this princess and the pauper "you're just like me, i'm just like you" moment between you and zayne the first time you had sex (whether that be oral, penetrative, mutual touching, etc).

because he's... somewhat controlled in the sound domain, he understands that your lack of loud sounds isn't because his performance is lacking (though he needed reassurance initially), but because that's how you are. he's never commented on it or teased you for it. zayne simply relies on consistent communication to ensure you're enjoying what he's doing.

let's say you two have a rare day off and spend the morning in bed. waking up, you're exchanging gentle kisses, which quickly become heated. but since you're both sleepy, it's this lazy kind of lust.

he's in between your thighs, taking you to the far reaches of the universe when he pulls off your swollen clit and asks breathily, "does this feel good?" releasing a low whimper, you nod and push his face back into your pussy.

you can feel his micro-smirk as he eats you out till you're trembling and softly mewling, your thighs clamped around his head.

and when you're spooning, it's tender and slow, zayne sliding every inch in before drawing back. you're wrapped in his warm embrace, panting a little. your bf let's out this cracked whimper as you squeeze around him, close to his end already.

he rasps out, "it's been so long since we've done this." you hum in response, your grip on his scarred forearms tightening before you see the stars together.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

like sylus, xavier finds it cute. with how tough you try to act all the time, it inflates his ego when you're a quiet, shaking mess beneath him.

he likes how your body does the talking. no words are necessary when you're rolling your hips up to his, hands pawing at his trousers in an attempt to take them off.

he'll tease you, "you really did miss me, huh?" but he delivers it in his soft voice.

and you, too needy to register that he's having a go at you, will just nod and whimper a small, "please."

i can't help but think of this p-link.

xav definitely mocks you during sex, asking you in his low commanding voice to be louder and to tell him how good he's making you feel, how much you need him, to tell him anything because he wants to hear your voice. specifically, he wants to hear it break as you try to speak.

and he only grows more demanding as his climax approaches. his sweet pants and moans tangle with yours as you grip his shoulders. holding onto them for dear life, a stuttered cry escapes your lips as he buries himself so deep and cums inside.

masterlist

star girl's final words: sorry if this is rats ass. just something that's been on my mind, which i wanted to get out.

[omarwolaeth]

Sincerely, what is the allure of writing up 1 Card In Hand combos for cards?

[barnesonly]

Yearning

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky have been together for a while now, but haven’t had sex yet—he’s insecure, afraid he forgot how. but one night, things finally happen…

word count: 5,6k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. fluff to smut, insecure!bucky, established relationship, curse words, age difference, dirty talk, praise, oral (f receiving), PiV, unprotected sex.

Bucky Barnes is a man out of time, and you’re reminded of it every single day.

Sometimes it’s the obvious things—like how he still squints at his phone as if the apps might leap off the screen and bite him, or how he physically recoils every time you say the word “TikTok.” Sometimes it’s subtler—like the way he insists on walking on the outside of the sidewalk, or how he always opens doors for you without thinking, like muscle memory trained from another era.

And then there are the flowers.

Almost every day, without fail, a small, lovingly picked bouquet appears on your kitchen counter. Sometimes they’re store-bought, sometimes hand-picked from wherever he was that day. Always with a little handwritten note tucked beneath the stems. He never says much about it—just a casual “these made me think of you” and a kiss to your temple. But the habit is so consistent it’s become its own kind of love language.

You’re dating Bucky fucking Barnes and that still feels unreal sometimes.

He’s grumpy. He’s anxious. He has whole decades of trauma stacked inside him like old, worn-out newspapers.

But he also loves you. Deeply. Devotedly. You can see it in the smallest things—the way his hand always finds yours under the table, or how he tenses any time someone looks at you the wrong way. He still doesn’t sleep through the night, but when he does sleep, it’s usually best when you’re wrapped around him.

You’ve been together for a while now. Long enough to fall into a rhythm. Long enough to know what makes him tick, what makes him laugh. Long enough to feel the unspoken ache between you both.

Because there’s one thing you haven’t done yet.

Sex.

You’ve talked about it—briefly, carefully—but Bucky always brushes it off. Not with rejection, but hesitation. You know he wants to… you can feel that he does. But he’s scared. Scared he’s forgotten how. Scared he won’t be good at it anymore. Scared of what might surface, or what might go wrong.

You’d never pressure him. Never.

But god, you want him. Not just the sex—though, yeah, definitely that—but him. His body, his trust, his pleasure. You want him to feel good. You want him to feel wanted.

You’ve started to think he’s almost ready.

You don’t say it aloud. You don’t want to spook him. But there’s a shift in him lately—like maybe he’s starting to believe he deserves this. Deserves you.

Still, you remember the last time you two got close.

It was a quiet night, nothing special. The two of you were curled up on the couch, some half-watched movie playing in the background. You’d ended up in his lap, legs straddling his thighs, your fingers twisted into his hair, your mouths tangled in a kiss that had gone from sweet to hungry in seconds.

He was so warm beneath you, so solid. His hands rested on your waist like he didn’t trust himself to move them, like he was afraid of holding on too tightly. You could feel him, hard through his sweats, pressing up against your center—and the way his breath caught every time you shifted your hips only made you want him more.

You kissed him like he was the last good thing in the world. And he kissed you back like he believed it.

But then—just as your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, just as he let out this low, needy sound in the back of his throat—he pulled away.

Not all at once. Slowly. Like it hurt him to stop.

“Babe…” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was hoarse, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t. Not yet.”

You didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll your eyes or pull away. You just cupped his cheek and smiled at him—soft and sure and full of love.

“No worries, Bucky,” you whispered, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “You know I love you, right?”

He nodded, and god, the look in his eyes… like he couldn’t understand how someone like you could be so patient. So kind.

You shifted, slowly climbing off his lap, careful not to make it feel like rejection. Just giving him space. You tucked yourself beside him on the couch, your knee still brushing his, your presence still close. You didn’t say anything right away.

He let out a long sigh and dragged a hand down his face. The other stayed loosely resting on his thigh, still balled into a fist like he was holding something back.

“I just…” he started, voice rough. “I’m scared I’ll fuck this up. Or that I’ll hurt you.”

Your heart cracked a little, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak. He rarely did. Not like this.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, eyes on the ceiling like he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I used to be such a charmer in the ’40s, y’know? Smooth talker. Confident. I had moves.”

You huffed a tiny laugh, not mocking—just warm. “I believe it.”

He glanced at you then, barely a flicker, and smiled faintly.

“But now?” he said, the smile dropping. “Now I feel like I’ve forgotten how to even… touch someone the right way. Hell, half the time I’m afraid to want anything too much, ‘cause what if I screw it up? What if I mess you up?”

His jaw tensed. You could see the war in his mind, the echo of every cruel thing that’s ever been drilled into him—by Hydra, by time, by the weight of his own past.

You reached over, took his hand, gently pried open his fingers from that tight fist and laced them with yours.

“Bucky,” you said, soft but sure, “you’re not going to hurt me.”

He swallowed hard, eyes still on your joined hands.

“And you’re not gonna mess anything up. Okay? Wanting something doesn’t make you dangerous. It makes you human.”

He didn’t answer right away. You let the silence settle around you both. Not awkward. Just… honest.

“I want to make you feel good,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I want you to feel… Safe. Loved.”

He turned his head toward you. His eyes were glassy, a little overwhelmed, but you could see it—the crack of light breaking through all the fear.

“I do feel loved,” you said quietly. “Every day.”

You squeezed his hand, just once, then let go so you could reach up and cradle his jaw instead—thumb brushing lightly along the edge of his cheekbone.

Then you leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry or needy. It was soft. Steady. Like a quiet promise whispered between two heartbeats. He kissed you back like he was still learning how, but already knew it by heart.

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, your noses brushing, the air between you thick with unsaid things.

“I love you,” he murmured, like he didn’t even mean to say it aloud. “I don’t think I ever really understood what love felt like until you.”

Your breath caught a little, chest tightening.

He kept going, voice rough and low. “You’ve made my life feel like… a life again. Like I’m not just surviving. I didn’t think I’d get to have this. I didn’t think I deserved to. But then you came along and you just—god, sweetheart, you gave me something I never thought I’d have again.”

You felt yourself melting, your heart a puddle in your chest. His hand came up to rest on your thigh, not to start anything, not to take—it just landed there like he needed to touch you, to feel that you were real.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and sighed dramatically. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. You trying to make me cry?”

A breath of a laugh escaped him.

You tilted your head to grin at him. “You say one more sweet thing and I’m gonna have to marry you and sign up for bridge night at the senior center.”

He huffed a laugh, and that shy little smile of his—god, it destroyed you.

“I mean it,” he said quietly, “even if you joke your way out of it.”

You reached over, cupped his cheek again. “I know you do,” you whispered. “And I love you back, you old fossil.”

He laughed for real that time—head tilted back, the kind of laugh that cracked through all the walls he’d built. And it made you smile so big your cheeks ached.

That memory still sits warm in your chest—etched there like sunlight caught in glass.

You think about it sometimes. The weight of him beneath you, the kiss that lingered on your lips for hours after, the way his voice cracked when he told you what you meant to him. How you called him a fossil to hide the way your heart was splitting open inside your ribcage.

And now?

Now you’re in the kitchen with him, barefoot and sleepy-eyed on a Sunday morning. The radio’s playing something soft and old—something he probably heard first on vinyl. You’re standing at the stove, flipping pancakes while he hovers beside you, clearly pretending not to be watching them like a hawk.

He’s wearing a T-shirt that’s faded to hell and a pair of sweats low on his hips. You’ve got one of his flannels buttoned over your pajamas. The sleeves are way too long. He tried to roll them up for you earlier but got distracted kissing your shoulder halfway through.

Domestic bliss, Barnes-style.

You pass him the next pancake on the stack and bump his hip with yours.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you say. “Because these pancakes are borderline tragic.”

“They’re not tragic,” he replies, grinning as he takes a bite. “They’re… rustic.”

You give him a look.

He shrugs, chewing. “I like ‘em a little burnt. Adds character.”

You snort and turn back to the pan.

There’s a pause—quiet but easy—until his voice breaks it again. Low. Soft.

“I wanna marry you one day, you know?”

The spatula freezes in your hand.

You blink, heart skipping, and glance over your shoulder at him.

He’s looking at you like he’s thinking about saying it again, just to make sure you heard him right. His eyes are clear. Calm. No panic. No second-guessing. Just… love. Simple and steady.

“I mean it,” he says. “I don’t know when. I’m not gonna rush it. But I do. I think about it all the time.”

You stare at him for a second, and then your lips stretch into the stupidest, softest smile.

You turn back to the stove and flip the pancake onto the plate.

“Well, good,” you say. “Because if you didn’t marry me, I’d have to haunt you for eternity. Like, aggressively. I’d knock shit off your shelves.”

He chuckles behind you, then steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His lips brush your temple.

“You already haunt me,” he murmurs. “Just… in a really nice way.”

His arms stay wrapped around you for a long moment after he says it—forehead resting against the side of your head, his body warm against your back. The scent of syrup and coffee hangs in the air, but all you can feel is him.

„I think I’m ready, doll.” He continues, firmly and with determination in his voice.

You set the spatula down gently, not because you’re finished cooking but because suddenly—this is more important.

You turn in his arms, hands slipping up his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart under your palms. His eyes meet yours. They’re soft. Honest. A little nervous. But not afraid.

“You know we don’t have to,” you say, voice quiet. “Not today. Not ever, if you’re not ready. I love you exactly like this.”

His hands come up to cradle your face—gentle, almost reverent. His thumb traces your cheek.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. That old ache, the one that never quite leaves. But it’s softer now. “But I want to.”

Your breath catches.

“I’ve been scared for a long time,” he admits. “Scared that I’d mess this up, or hurt you, or—hell, that I wouldn’t remember how to be with someone like that. But the truth is… I think I just didn’t believe I deserved that kind of love.”

You swallow, eyes stinging.

“And now?” you whisper.

“Now I do,” he says. “Because of you.”

He leans in and kisses you then—slow, deep, tender. No hesitation. No trembling hands. Just Bucky. All of him.

When he pulls back, you’re already smiling, breathless and dazed.

“God,” you murmur, forehead pressed to his, “you say stuff like that and I get why girls in the 40s were all over you.”

He grins, a little crooked. “Yeah, well… guess I’ve still got it.”

“Barely,” you tease. “You made a grunting noise getting off the couch last night.”

He groans. “Why would you bring that up now?”

“Because I love you,” you say sweetly.

He’s laughing when he kisses you again—and this time, his hands wander a little. One settles at your lower back, pulling you closer. The other slides into your hair, gentle but firm.

The kiss deepens, lazy but loaded, and it starts to hum between you—want. Warm and steady and mutual.

His lips trail to your jaw, barely there kisses—soft, unhurried.

But then he pauses, nose brushing your cheek. His voice is low, warm, still a little breathless from the kiss. “Let me take you out tonight, huh?”

You blink, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Someplace nice. Fancy. White tablecloths, cloth napkins, the whole deal. I’ll put on that stupid tie you like, even if it’s choking me the whole night.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Bucky…”

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb trailing down your jaw. His gaze is steady now, sure. “I wanna do this right,” he murmurs. “You’re my girl. A lady. You should be treated like one.”

God, you’re melting.

You’re not sure if it’s the way he says it—like it’s the most obvious thing in the world—or the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already undressing you in his mind but still wants to kiss your hand first and open every damn door along the way.

“Okay,” you whisper, your smile blooming full and wide. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

His grin is all boyish charm now—relieved, excited, maybe even a little smug. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, looping your arms around his neck. “Only if I get to wear something ridiculous and make you all flustered.”

His brows lift, amused. “Doll, you could show up in a trash bag and I’d still forget how to breathe.”

You laugh, full and bright, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. He catches you before you pull away, stealing another kiss—this one slower, deeper. Like he’s already thinking about later. About what this night could be.

You pull back just enough to whisper, “You’re gonna spoil me, Bucky Barnes.”

His lips curve as he presses his forehead to yours.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

———

The restaurant is dimly lit and elegant, all low murmurs and soft clinks of silverware. Candlelight dances on the white tablecloth between you, casting gold on Bucky’s jaw—strong, clean-shaven, way too handsome for a man who claims he “doesn’t clean up well.”

He does. He really, really does.

That tie he promised to wear? Yeah, it’s perfectly knotted, navy blue to match his eyes. And the sleeves of his button-up? Rolled just enough to show a hint of his forearms.

And Bucky?

Bucky’s a goner.

He’s been staring at you since you walked into the room. Like, actually speechless. The moment you stepped out of the bedroom tonight in your dress—tight in all the right places, maybe a little backless, maybe with a slit high enough to kill a man—he made a sound. A tiny, quiet, reverent “fuck” that he probably didn’t mean to say out loud.

You’d just smiled and said, “Told you I’d make you flustered.”

Now, over an hour into dinner, he still hasn’t recovered.

“You cold, doll?” he asks, already sliding his hand across the table toward yours.

You shake your head. “Nope. Perfectly warm.”

He nods, but his hand doesn’t go back to his wine glass. It lingers, then slowly drifts down… under the table.

And then you feel it—his palm resting gently on your bare thigh. Not groping. Not demanding. Just there. Warm. Intentional.

Your eyes flick to him, and he’s sipping his drink like he didn’t just set your entire bloodstream on fire.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning slightly over your plate, “this is a very respectable restaurant, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just gives you a slow, easy smile. Then leans in slightly, voice a notch lower now—just for you.

„I told you, I used to be a charmer.” He shrugs.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your skin, just above your knee now. It’s not obscene. Not yet. But it’s loaded. And the heat in his eyes tells you everything—he’s ready.

Maybe not to take you home and rip your clothes off (well… maybe that too), but to have you. Finally. Properly. To show you how much he wants you in every possible way.

And god, you’ve never felt so desired. Or so fucking loved.

———

The ride home is quiet.

Not tense. Not awkward. Just… charged. The kind of silence that hums under your skin, thick with everything that didn’t need to be said at dinner. Your hand rests on his thigh, his knuckles grazing your knee as he drives, and the whole way back you can feel his gaze flicking to you at every red light.

When he parks in front of your building, he kills the engine and just sits there a second. One hand on the steering wheel. The other finding yours.

He doesn’t say anything—he just looks at you.

And you nod.

Yeah. You’re ready, too.

Inside, everything is soft.

You kick off your shoes. He hangs up his coat. His tie is already loosened, and there’s a flush to his cheeks that’s not from the wine—it’s from you.

He steps toward you slowly, like he’s afraid if he rushes, you’ll vanish.

But you don’t. You stay right there.

And when his hands come up to rest gently on your waist, you melt into him without hesitation.

His voice is low, quiet. “You sure?”

You nod again, reaching up to cup his face. “I’m sure.”

He exhales, almost like relief. Like he’s been holding his breath for months and finally—finally—he can let go.

Then he kisses you.

God, it’s different now. It’s not frantic or messy. It’s not lust without thought.

It’s slow. Deep. He kisses you like he’s mapping your mouth, relearning how to love someone through touch. His hands stay respectful, still at your waist, not drifting, not rushing. Just there.

You kiss him back, soft and patient, running your fingers through his hair. He shudders when you tug gently—just enough to pull a little sound from him, something low in his chest that makes your knees wobble.

He pulls back, barely, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

His hands finally move then—one gliding up your back, the other brushing along your jaw. His metal fingers are warm from your skin, and when they graze your cheek, you lean into them like instinct.

“I wanna take my time,” he says, voice hoarse now. “Wanna make you feel good. Wanna make sure you know how much I—how much you mean to me.”

Your heart stutters.

“You do,” you whisper. “You already do.”

But you let him show you anyway.

He leans down, kisses your neck—slow and reverent—and then he starts walking you backward, one step at a time, toward the bedroom.

Your back hits the edge of the bed and Bucky pauses there, standing in front of you, breathing a little harder than he should be for someone who’s only kissed you.

But it’s not nerves anymore. Not fear. It’s want.

“C’mere,” you whisper, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

He steps in closer. Between your knees now. His hands find your thighs again, thumbs brushing along the fabric of your dress as if he’s still memorizing the shape of you.

He eases you back onto the bed like you’re made of glass—slow, steady, never breaking eye contact. His body follows, covering yours without pressing you down, one arm braced beside your head, the other tracing the line of your hip with reverence.

He kisses you again, slower than before. Softer. Less lips, more mouths—open and warm and lingering. You part your legs to cradle him, and the sigh that falls from his lips ghosts across your cheek like a prayer.

His skin is hot against yours. Muscle and scar and heat. You run your hands down his back, memorizing every dip, every edge. He shivers at your touch, exhales into your mouth like he’s trying not to fall apart just from being this close.

His fingers reach up to your shoulder, brushing the strap of your dress aside, and he looks at you like he’s asking for permission without even saying a word.

You nod once.

So he slips the strap down. Then the other. His touch is featherlight—almost hesitant—but his hands don’t tremble this time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath.

Your chest rises with the compliment. It’s not the first time he’s said it—but something about this moment… the way his eyes are locked on you, the way he swallows hard like he’s overwhelmed just seeing you… it hits different.

He tugs your dress down slowly, letting it fall to your waist, then lower, until you’re sitting there in nothing but your bra and panties. The air between you shifts—warmer now, heavier.

His hands brush your arms, your waist, your hips—everywhere but the places you want them most. But you let him go at his pace. You want him to feel in control.

“Can I…” he starts, fingers ghosting over your bra strap, “…take this off?”

You nod again. “Yeah. Please.”

So he does. Gently. Carefully. Like he’s unwrapping something precious.

When your bra falls away, his breath catches.

“Jesus,” he whispers, eyes roaming your chest like he’s never seen anything so perfect.

When he undresses you fully, he does it slowly, dragging fabric down your legs with both hands, his metal fingers brushing over your skin with a tenderness that almost makes you ache.

You lift your hands to the hem of his shirt. “Your turn, Sergeant.”

He huffs a breath, a little grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

You pull his shirt over his head, revealing the planes of his chest, the lines of scars, the metal arm, the years carved into him. You trace your fingers over the dog tags that still hang around his neck.

His skin is hot against yours. Muscle and scar and heat. You run your hands down his back, memorizing every dip, every edge. He shivers at your touch, exhales into your mouth like he’s trying not to fall apart just from being this close. His dog tags clink as they fall between you, cold against your bare skin.

He kisses you again, and this time when he settles between your thighs, you feel him fully—heavy and hard, pressing against you.

He settles there like he belongs there—shoulders broad between your thighs, hands gentle on your hips as he lowers himself, eyes never leaving yours.

Then he speaks—low, reverent.

“Let me taste you first, sweetheart. Make you feel good.”

And god, you don’t even have the breath to respond. You just nod, breath hitching, thighs already trembling beneath his touch.

He kisses the inside of your knee first. Then the other. Trails his lips upward, slow, soft, maddening. You can feel the warmth of his breath long before his mouth finds you—feel it ghost over your skin, spreading goosebumps down your spine.

His hands stay firm on your thighs, holding you open, holding you still. But his touch is tender, steady. There’s nothing rushed in the way he moves. Like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

And when his mouth finally finds you—lips parting, tongue tasting—

You gasp.

Quiet, breathy, uncontrollable. Your fingers twist in the sheets, one hand reaching instinctively for him. He groans against you when you thread your fingers into his hair, and the sound of it vibrates straight through you.

He’s slow at first. Careful. Testing. Tasting.

Learning you.

But he’s good at learning.

He watches you, listens to your breath, the way your body reacts—what makes your hips jerk, what makes your thighs tighten around his shoulders. His tongue strokes long and slow, then soft flicks, and when he hears the change in your breathing—there, that’s what makes your voice break—he stays right there.

He moans again, deeper this time, and the way he grips your hips tightens just slightly. Like he can’t take it. Like he’s the one unraveling just from the way you taste, the way you sound.

The dog tags still hang from his neck, cool against your skin. His hair’s messy from your fingers, jaw flexing as he works, as he buries his face deeper into you like a man starved.

And all you can do is feel.

The rise of pleasure. The way it blooms low and hot and thick in your belly. The burn of it, the ache. Every stroke of his tongue makes it worse. Makes it better.

Your thighs begin to tremble. Your back arches.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He devours you.

Not greedily. Worshipfully.

Like he’s not just tasting you—he’s loving you with his mouth. Showing you just how deeply he means it.

And when you finally come—soft and shaking, moaning into your hand, thighs trembling around his head—he stays with you. Rides it out. Holds you through it.

He only pulls away when your body begins to relax beneath him, when your hand goes soft in his hair, when your breath evens out in his ears.

Then he rises slowly, kisses your inner thigh once more, then your stomach, your ribs, your chest.

He kisses you like he’s grounding you.

And when he finally reaches your lips again, he just hovers there, noses brushing.

You smile.

He smiles back—soft, flushed, eyes dark with affection and want.

And then, finally, finally, he settles between your legs again—not to taste you this time, but to be with you. To love you. Completely.

His mouth brushes yours—soft, almost shy. But the hand that cups your face? That’s steady. Grounded. He strokes your cheek with his thumb like he’s feeling it all through his fingertips.

Your legs wrap around his hips without thinking.

And when his hips settle against yours, when you feel the hard press of him, your breath hitches all over again.

He groans quietly—deep in his throat. The sound of it is raw. Barely controlled.

You reach between you, fingertips ghosting over his length. He shudders—actually shudders—and buries his face in your neck like he’s ashamed of how badly he wants this. Wants you.

You guide him to you.

And he pauses. Just for a second.

His forehead presses to yours and his voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is low and hoarse.

“…You okay?”

You nod. Whisper, “Yes.”

When Bucky sinks into you, it’s slow—but the depth? It knocks the air from your lungs.

He presses in all the way, until you feel him everywhere, and he stays there for a second—deep, thick, pulsing inside you while his breath stutters against your mouth.

Your mouth parts. His name catches in your throat. The stretch is deep and full and perfect, and for a moment, all either of you can do is feel.

He stills at the bottom, buried inside you completely. His eyes flutter shut, jaw clenched, like he’s trying not to lose it already.

Then he pulls back just a a little.

You moan into his shoulder. Fingers gripping the sheets. He groans, too—but it’s quiet, choked, like it costs him to keep this slow.

You’re soaked. Warm and clenching around him. And he groans when you tighten, like the feel of you is almost too much.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You feel… baby, you feel so good.”

His hips roll—smooth and deliberate—and you arch beneath him with a soft moan. He starts to move then, slow but filthy, every thrust long and deep, like he wants to stay inside you as long as he can.

His hand grips your thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. The shift makes his next thrust hit deeper—you gasp, and Bucky curses low into your neck.

“Shit, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

The sounds between you are quiet but thick—breath and skin and need. The soft slap of his hips against yours. The low whimper you didn’t mean to let out when he hits that spot just right.

Your nails scrape his back, your heels press into him, needing more—more of his heat, his weight, the drag of him pulling out and sliding right back in, making you stretch and flutter and lose your rhythm

He makes you feel it—every thrust, every stroke, every trembling inhale.

You wrap your legs tighter around him, tilt your hips up, chasing the friction, and his rhythm stutters.

He’s panting now, buried in your chest, hips moving in slow, punishing strokes that leave you trembling.

Every sound you make—every whimper, gasp, broken moan—he drinks it in like it’s what keeps him going.

His hand finds yours above your head. He laces your fingers together. Holds you there.

Grounds himself in you.

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice all grit and heat, “so tight around me, fuck—feels like I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You can’t even speak.

Just nod. Moan. Cling to him.

Your body is burning, slick and hot and aching for release again, and he knows. He feels the way you tighten, the way you start chasing his thrusts, hips rolling up against him.

His pace stutters. Picks up. Just a little. Just enough.

“Gonna cum for me?” he pants, his lips at your jaw, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight, messy circles over your clit. “Yeah? Gonna fall apart on my cock, baby?”

You cry out—soft and desperate—and he loves it. Groans low, grinding into you just right, fucking you through it as your walls flutter and clench, dragging him toward the edge with you.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps, right against your ear, hips snapping a little harder now. “So fuckin’ perfect, holy shit—”

You’re spiraling again, thighs shaking, breath hitching—

And then you break.

Your whole body arches off the bed as you cum around him, gasping his name, your nails digging into his back.

He chokes on a moan and buries himself deep.

And follows you with a shudder that rocks through him—his hips stalling, cock twitching inside you as he spills with a low, broken growl.

“Fuck—oh my god, baby—”

He holds you tight through it. Hand in your hair. Face in your neck. Heart pounding against yours.

You’re still tangled up in each other, the sheets barely covering you, your head tucked beneath Bucky’s chin as you catch your breath.

Everything’s warm. His skin, his breath, the way his arms hold you like you’re something he earned.

You shift a little, snuggle closer. “Seriously, James?” you mutter, voice muffled against his chest. “You’re so fucking good. I can’t believe you were actually insecure you forgot how to have sex.”

He lets out a groan—somewhere between bashful and bashful-aggressive.

“Doll…”

“No, like—seriously.” You sit up just enough to look at him, eyes wide and dramatic now. “That was insane. Like, are you sure you haven’t been practicing with a pillow or something while I wasn’t around?”

“Absolutely not,” he mutters, one hand dragging over his face. His ears are pink. “Jesus Christ.”

You grin. He’s blushing. This gorgeous, 110-year-old supersoldier with arms the size of your thighs and a tongue that just rewired your soul is blushing.

“I mean, the way you—” You gesture vaguely at your lower half. “You knew exactly what to do.”

He looks like he might implode.

“Maybe it’s muscle memory,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Maybe I just got lucky.”

“Oh, baby,” you say, all fond and exasperated. You crawl back on top of him, straddling his stomach, hands on his flushed chest. “That wasn’t luck. That was talent.”

He groans again, letting his head fall back on the pillow—but his hands settle instinctively on your hips, keeping you there like he doesn’t actually want you to stop.

“Don’t do this to me,” he pleads, but you can see the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m genuinely impressed, Bucky,” you say, mock-serious now. “Like, maybe you should’ve been cocky about it.”

He shoots you a look. “I can’t tell If this is your way of mocking me or you really mean it.”

You giggle—hard. Collapse onto his chest and wrap your arms around his middle while he sighs dramatically.

But he’s smiling.

You nuzzle your face into his neck and soften, voice low now, honest.

“You were amazing,” you whisper. “Like… beyond. You didn’t just make me feel good, Buck. You made me feel loved.”

That gets him quiet.

One hand slips up your back. His metal one curls protectively around your waist. He kisses your temple like he can’t help it.

“Only ever wanted to make you feel that,” he murmurs.

And now you’re blushing.

You both lie there a while—grinning, tangled, all warm limbs and wandering fingers.

“…So, round two?” you say sweetly.

He barks a laugh, grabs you around the waist, and rolls you beneath him.

“Bet.”

⋆⁺₊✧ MASTERLIST

tags: @iamthatonefangirl @thatsbucknasty @buckytakethewheel @buckybarneswife125