#this was going to be a quick answer and then I got started and couldn’t stop lol

[firingstars]

locked in

— a sequel to match made

congressman!bucky x matchmaker!reader

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

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

word count: 15.2k

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

masterlist

You almost lost your fucking job. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s your secretary today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your thoughts, Congressman Barnes?”

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

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

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

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

You could test him. You could press it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, you were called back into work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not jealous of her perse. 

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

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

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

The time on the clock reads 1:44am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No the fuck he won’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But so did he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Bucky thought you were stupid.

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

An engagement ring. 

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

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

“Safety,” is all he answered with.

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

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

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

Marry him, you supposed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Must be nice–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This kind of thing was healing for him, too.

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

“Deal,” you grinned at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there a loan–”

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

“I do,” you answered instantly. 

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

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

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky chuckled against your neck, squeezing you against him. 

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

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

“You like the place then?”

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

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

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

“A penthouse,” you managed to correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The view is perfect, handsome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the smile on his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I thought of you.”

With the two of you living together now, it was easier for you both to see each other. You reveled in the fact you could fall asleep every night in his arms, even if you went to bed first. He didn’t want you waiting for him if he had an event that had him staying out late, but you would often wake up to him pulling you into his embrace.

In the mornings, Bucky would usually be the one to wake up and leave first. 

You no longer set an alarm on your phone. Bucky’s sweet kisses were your wake up call every morning. He wouldn’t leave until you kissed him back, no matter how long it took you to wake up. 

“Morning,” you would whisper to him.

“Morning,” he’d reply, kissing you one more time for good measure. “I made you breakfast. It’s on the table.”

“Wake me up earlier tomorrow so I can eat with you,” you whined to him, though you just rolled over on your side, closing your eyes again.

Bucky chuckled, leaning over your body to press a kiss to your temple. You sighed, letting the morning wash over you for just one more moment before you pushed up off the bed. You’d follow him downstairs, watch him grab his blazer off the seat of the dining table, and you’d tie his tie for him at the door.

“I’ll be home early tonight. I don’t have any events today,” you said, smoothing out the fabric on his chest.

“You’ve been coming home early every night,” he said, raising his eyebrow at you.

“So have you, Congressman. Almost like there’s something you’re running from. Something you’re avoiding at work?” you teased, smiling at him.

“No. Just trying to get home to you,” he hummed, smoothing out your bedhead with both hands before he held your face gently to kiss you one more time before he went off into the world.

This was your new daily morning routine. 

The trade off on coming home early meant that you still had to do work when you came home. Both of you. However, Bucky seemed to plan for that, which is why he had a room specifically made for a home office for the two of you. 

You two would spend your evenings there before dinner for a few hours, finishing up any work that you weren’t able to do at your respective offices. You two would be silently working on your own jobs.

You, researching your clients preferences and trying to match them up based on their profiles. You would also be looking up the best date spots, trying to keep up with the latest trends for dating, and making sure that you weren’t falling behind on anything else.

Bucky would be going through packets upon packets of different meetings that he would have attended. There were several different duties that he had acquired since you first started dating, and there were a lot of responsibilities that he had started shouldering. You were certain that he was also helping Sam on the side, though he couldn’t tell you full details as per usual. 

Usually, you would stop working when you heard Bucky stop working and open the door to the office. He normally ordered food for the two of you, and would go out to the lobby to pick it up, and bring it back for you two to eat.

It was your signal to put everything down, and relax with him for the rest of the night.

You heard him close his binder, heard the wheels of his chair roll backwards, but you didn’t hear the elevator open and close to signify his departure down. You shook it off– wondering if he just went off to the bathroom or something.

Then, you felt him behind you. 

Bucky’s chest was pressed against your back, enveloping you in his warmth. His hands were on your shoulders, and as always, the left side of your body was colder from the touch of his metal prosthetic. 

“Hi, handsome,” you said, a smile coming onto your face. “Is it time for dinner?”

“Almost. Delivery is on its way,” he answered you.

His hands slid down your shoulders, goosebumps rising on your bare skin as his hands moved all the way down to cover your own hands. He left his hands on top of yours, and you hummed, happy to feel him all over you for just a moment. Bucky’s head pressed against the side of yours, then he dropped his forehead into the crook of your neck.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, tilting your head to the side to give him more space to rest. He took it, burrowing deeper into you.

“Yeah. Just a little nervous,” he murmured into your skin, taking a breath. 

You were about to ask him what he was talking about, to turn around and look at him properly. Then, you felt his hands slide up just a little bit, resting now on your wrists instead of covering your hands completely. Except, there was a weight he left behind that wasn’t there before. Your eyes shifted downwards, and your breath caught in your throat at the ring he slipped onto your finger– the cool metal that he masked with the metal of his own arm.

Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes widened at the sparkling star on your finger. Bucky plucked this thing out of the fucking sky– he had to. There was no way. 

“Marry me, sweetheart?” he asked softly. There was a slight tremor to his voice that you caught. A slight shaking in his right hand that you could feel. 

You couldn’t repeat what you did at the restaurant, make him freak out with worry over your quiet shock and silence.

Your sudden jolt into standing surprised him, but he didn’t seem to mind when you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his lips, then his cheeks, his eyes– everywhere you could as tears were beginning to well up and spill over. You couldn’t help it. You felt Bucky’s anxiety release with each kiss, his hands resting on your waist to hold you against him.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smiling at you.

“Why would I ever say no to you?” you demanded, making him laugh. “Fuck– I thought you were going to propose to me at the restaurant when you asked me to move in with you!”

“The restaurant?” Bucky asked, blinking. “What– really?”

“Yes!” you nodded, wiping your tears away roughly. Bucky caught your hands, putting them down to your sides so he could wipe your tears away in a more gentle way with his thumbs.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, looking appalled. “Do you know how many times you have ranted to me about the fact you hate restaurant proposals? You hate planning them, and you hate watching them. Why would I ever propose to you in a restaurant?”

“If it was you, then I would have changed my mind about it right away!” you argued with him, stubborn. “If it was you, you could’ve proposed to me with a candy ring, and I still would have said yes! We can elope– I don’t need a fancy wedding or anything. I just– just you. I just want you, Bucky.”

You watched as his eyes softened for you as he looked all over your features. You were certain that you looked like a mess right now, but you were finding it harder to believe that with the way he was looking at you right now. He looked as if you were the one that created the universe, and solved all his problems. There was nothing but admiration, love, joy. These were eyes that only you had the privilege to see. 

A smile came onto his face, one that you adored. A smile that you were going to be able to have for the rest of your life.

“Well, I’m your fiancé now, but you’ve already had me from the beginning, doll,” he said, “I’ve had this ring for over a year now, actually.”

“A year?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to ask,” he admitted, a bit sheepish. “And just… right now. It felt right.”

“Me working in the same room as you felt right?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at your blatant sarcasm. Except, he’s still smiling. He never gives you a real attitude. He wouldn’t dare. He loves you too much to ever do that.

“The fact that we’re both able to do our own thing in silence, but still be together felt right. We don’t need to speak. We don’t need to be touching. Don’t get me wrong, I love all those things, but… When I looked over at you just now— I felt at peace. Peace that I never thought I was ever allowed to have. So yes, it felt right.”

You’re about to cry again. You’re about to start fucking ugly sobbing in your boyfriend– your fiancé’s arms. You have a thousand things to say, but you know none of them will make sense right now. So, you bury your face in his chest and hug him tight, his arms coming to hold you even closer to him. 

“I love you,” you settled with, your voice breaking slightly.

“I love you, too,” he chuckled in response.

You listened to his chest rumble with laughter under your ear, felt his head rest against the side of yours. He led your bodies in a gentle sway, rocking the two of you back and forth. He took in a breath, releasing it slowly in a contented way. 

Your mind is racing still, and you ask one single question– just one to get his opinion. 

“Where should we get married?” you whispered to him. 

Bucky’s quiet for a few moments. A few moments too long. You pull back from him to look at his face, finding a smile on his lips, and a small sparkle in his eyes.

“I have some friends that want to meet you. Do you think you’re up to traveling to Wakanda?”

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn let me know if you would like to join my general bucky taglist for whenever i post a fic!

[frankcastiglione]

come back to bed

a bucky barnes x reader fic

warnings: rated T for quick spicy moment - nothing graphic or explicit; no use of y/n; gender neutral reader; also reader has glasses because i never see fic w/ that!; post thunderbolts*; some angst and a lot of domestic/comfort/fluffy cozy time

word count: 1.4k

summary: you wake in the night to find your husband bucky isn't in bed with you, but he's asleep on the floor.

a/n: i haven't written something in months; and i haven't posted anything in almost a year oof; im a brand new bucky girlie (i know i know late to the party) so i hope this is ok!!!! first time writing him! thank you to my partner in crime for support w/ this @bobertreynolds !!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When you open your eyes, you can tell it’s the middle of the night.

It doesn’t stop you from reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing your glasses, and tapping your cell phone to see the time. You wince from the brightness; you forgot to turn it down before you went to bed.

The lockscreen of your sweet husband Bucky kissing your cheek makes you smile. The screen goes black, and you forgot to look at the time. Tapping your phone again, you groan to yourself. It’s 4am.

At least you still have a few more hours to sleep, but why are you up in the middle of the night?

You put your phone and glasses back on the nightstand and roll over to find Bucky isn’t in bed.

The bathroom light is off, so he’s not there. You wonder if he got up to get a drink.

Leaving your cozy nest, you leave your bedroom, and head down the hall. There’s a faint glow coming from the living room. He’s up, watching TV.

When you appear in the doorway, his attention turns to you.

“Did I wake you?” is his immediate response. He reaches for the remote as if to turn the volume down, but you can barely hear it as it is.

“Are you ok?” you ask him walking towards the couch. Bucky outstretches his arms for you, and you take his hand. He pulls you onto his lap. Your legs drape across his thighs, and you curl into his chest. Your fingers smooth over the ribbed texture of his tank top, and you trace the chain of his dog tags. His metal arm is cradling your back and it’s cold through your pajama top, and he whispers an apology when you shiver. His lips press to your temple and his right hand smooths up and down your legs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers finally, his nose pressing to your hair – breathing deeply. He takes in another breath, and you cuddle closer into him. He’s such a calm presence, and you feel yourself starting to fade.

When you yawn, he whispers, “go back to bed.”

“What about you?” you ask him through another yawn. You reach up to brush back a couple strands of his hair that had fallen to his forehead.

“I’ll join you in a little bit, get some rest.”

“Only if you carry me,” you giggle into his chest.

“Twist my arm,” he teases and slips his arm under your knees. His metal arm holds onto your back, and he stands easily. It makes your head spin a little bit at his super soldier strength, how you weigh next to nothing in his arms.

Bucky carries you down the hall, his lips pressing kisses to your temple the whole way there.

Gently he places you on your shared bed and pulls the covers up around you. His lips find yours in the dark and you kiss softly. Then deeply. You whimper into his mouth when your lips part.

“James,” you whine a little “I’m trying to go back to sleep,” you sigh.

“I can wear you out, if that would help,” he murmurs against your lips.

And that’s how you found yourself tangled in the sheets. Bucky’s lips and hands roam all over your skin. No part of you cares that you have work in the morning. You can’t get enough of him.

And wear you out he did. Your alarm wakes you in the morning. But it’s the smell of coffee that coaxes you out of bed. That means he’s still here. He makes the coffee for you. It doesn’t have any effect on him. He might drink a cup with you, but he’s never made it just for himself.

“Hi,” you smile at him when you reach the kitchen.

“Hi back,” he replies. He greets you with a soft kiss to your brow. He’s dressed for the day already, and you’re thankful for these small moments before he leaves.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Some,” he tells you. There’s a little glimmer in his eye, clueing you in on the memory of last night. But you can still tell he’s tired.

You make small talk while you drink your coffee, and he heads out for the day. And you don’t think about it again until tonight.

He joins you in bed, same as always. And as if your subconscious knew, you woke up in the middle of the night again.

The bed’s empty. Again.

You head to the living room again. The TV is on, but it’s muted. In the glow from the screen, you can see your sweet husband Bucky is asleep on the floor. A couch pillow is under his head, and a couple throw blankets are on the floor and covering his legs – partially. It looks like he has kicked some of them off. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his brow and his bare chest. It already hurts to see him on the floor, but that really breaks your heart.

You know everything, he has told you all that you wanted to know. You know about his past. About the nightmares. Your heart aches that it seems like they’re back.

You don’t want to disturb him, and as you turn to leave you hear his voice. Quiet and somber.

“I’m awake.”

You go to him then. You’re quick to sit down on the floor by his head. You comb your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. His eyes close. His sigh is heavy.

“How long have they been back?” you whisper, still petting his hair.

“Few days,” he opens his eyes and looks up at you. There’s sorrow in them. As if he feels guilty he’s having nightmares. “I didn’t want to worry you. So, I came out here.”

“Worry me,” you smooth the back of your fingers across his cheek. The bristles from his beard tickles your skin.

“The void,” he tells you. You remember. This wasn’t long ago. He’d told you what he’d seen. Things he’s tried to forget. He doesn’t have to say anymore now for you to understand.

You lean down and press a kiss on his forehead. You start to stand, and he reaches for you. A silent plea not to leave. You’re not sure how many people have seen him like this you think. You’re glad you’re one of them.

“I’ll be back I have to get something,” you start so smile softly.

You return with pillows and blankets from your bed. You can barely see over the bundle you grabbed, but you know your way down the hall.

“What are you doing?” he huffs out in amusement.

“I’m going to join you on the floor obviously.”

“Sweetheart,” he shakes his head. His brows furrow. “You won’t be comfortable.”

“And you are?”

“At least,” he pauses “take the couch.”

You nod, but you drop all the blanket bundle onto the floor. You get to work on making him a big pile of blankets and quilts and a comforter you pulled from the closet.

“Humor me,” you tell him. He smiles at that, and he gives you a quiet “thank you.”

You lay on the couch with your blanket, and he lays on the makeshift bed on the floor next to you. You laid all the blankets out parallel to the couch and as close as you could get it. So, when you lay on the couch, your hand can touch him.

You lay so that you can stroke his skin. Whatever you can reach. It’s soothing to you both and you can hear his breathing begin to steady and even out.

You feel yourself drifting off to sleep. Having him close and knowing he’s ok allowing you to fall asleep.

When you wake, you’re in your bed. You shake your head a little, exasperated at him. Of course he couldn’t let you sleep on the couch; he wanted you to be comfortable. It was comfortable enough, but that didn’t matter you wanted to be near him.

You’re about to get up to go back to him, but you can hear his steady breathing next to you. You roll over and bump into his shoulder. He hums a little in his sleep, and he stirs.

You hear him take a deep breath. You feel bad he’s awake, but you take this opportunity to slip closer to him and put your arm across him. Your head rests on his chest, and he quietly pulls you in closer.

Bucky murmurs a quiet, “thank you,” before falling back asleep with you by his side.

[demothers-empty-blog]

Du bist Perfekt

I recently got this ask stating they’ve been feeling quite insecure about their body as of late. That’s okay. We all have off days, we are our harshest judges. The best thing we can do when the going gets tough is reach out and try to see things from a different perspective. Hopefully, this way, you might see yourself in a better light.

I love you, and you are loved.

The dress you’ve been eyeing doesn’t fit again. God, what would it take for you to gain a little bit of weight? Not much, just enough for the fabric to stop hanging off your shoulders, maybe give it something to cling on.

You hate this sticky feeling in your chest. Staring in the mirror provided in the stall, you try to make it work. Maybe if you pin this here… no, no, that won’t do. Maybe like this? Or like that?

You pinch the ends of the dress, making it tighter around your waist and chest area, but you’re left unsatisfied with the outcome.

A sigh leaves your lips, frustration is such an ugly feeling. You don’t want to cry but it’s coming, those burning tears. It doesn’t stem from sadness, doesn’t feel as relieving. It’s blunt, you feel stuck, like nothing’s changing.

You yearn for natural curves, something to add to your figure, maybe you wouldn’t feel as invisible.

Envy is an evil little worm, the thought that pops in your head is an unwelcome guest.

“Intrusive thoughts are not you,” you affirm, quickly wiping away the few tears that managed to slip halfway down your cheeks.

You’re tired of baggy hoodies and jeans that need belts or else you’ll be flashing every passing soul on the street with your pants around your ankles.

“Schatz?” You hear a voice calling from beyond the stall.

You must’ve taken too long. König’s sense of timing is, well, jarring sometimes.

You swing the dress over the door, “It doesn’t fit…” you mutter, voice almost undetectable. König doesn’t miss the disappointment in your lowered tone.

Your pain is his, he’s disappointed with you and it chips away at his heart. König wants you to shine like he knows you can.

Today was an unsuccessful trip for clothes but your boyfriend did not allow the day to end with a frown on your face. He guides you out of the store and to your surprise, he actually managed to find his way past the many stores scattered throughout the mall.

And found the ice cream place.

A little treat wouldn’t hurt. He presses a kiss to your cheek and your lips automatically curl up into a smile. “There’s my girl,” he says with a pleasant rumble in his chest.

Once home, König lets you settle yourself on his lap while he lets some show drone on in the background. Neither of you are really listening.

“I really liked that dress…” you finally say, not realizing you’d voiced your thoughts out loud until König responded.

“Couldn’t get it?” He asks, cautious. You give a shake of your head.

“…didn’t fit.”

König laughs and you shoot him a mean glare. His eyes widen exactly like he does when there’s been a misunderstanding.

“Nein—Nein, my love. I am not making fun,” he’s quick to say, hastily pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I am simply… erm, was ist das Wort? Relating.”

You feel him shift awkwardly on the couch and you fall further into his lap. König rests his head over yours, wrapping his arms around you tight. It’s lovely, this warm feeling. He engulfs you in this hug and you’ve never felt safer.

He just wishes he can protect you from your mind too, because who better to relate than the anxious king himself?

“Don’t overthink,” you hear him say from above. “We can struggle to find clothes together.”

There is a brief pause in the conversation, both of you needing time to gather your thoughts.

“…do you like you?” He asks.

“I like me.” You answer, “I just… wish I was a bit different is all.”

It was his turn to let out a sigh. It’s another beat of silence before he speaks again. “I suppose, it depends on how you feel, mein Schatz. Do you want to bulk, we can start a meal plan?”

The thought of eating more than you should makes you a smidge nauseous. You want to enjoy your meals, not eat as a chore.

“Burgh… no thank you.”

The conversation fizzles out and you two end up watching a bit of the show. It was okay, it’d be better if you didn’t hear commentary from yours truly every five minutes.

It’s a damn lie that König doesn’t like to yap or keep things short, that man is passionate about his rambling.

When he opens his mouth again, you cringe internally and brace yourself for another rant but instead, König was still thinking about your earlier conversation.

“You know that I love you?” He starts, making sure you’re listening carefully by tilting your head up to meet his face full of concern and a deep love words fail to describe.

“Ich liebe dich. Doesn’t matter when, or what size you come in. Won’t change the fact that I love you. I don’t want you being uncomfortable with yourself. I want you to thrive. The way I see it… you have to lean into your strengths. You are nimble, elusive… graceful. I can never be able to disappear into a crowd or squeeze myself in and out of tight spots.”

He almost seemed like he longed to be like you, be invisible for once. For him, it was a good thing. No attention, no eyes on him, no judgment.

But comparison is the thief of joy.

König is glad you are different. The world would be quite dull if we were all the same.

“Be you, Schatz. It’s who I fell for.”

[skyward-floored]

if someone DID show up to try and claim Hyrule..... how would that go? (IAU)

imagine one of the villains tries to claim custody—

- hero-of-the-wolf

You figured out my rabbit hole XD I was wondering more or less the exact same thing, which is why I was annoyed at getting nowhere in my efforts in TRYING TO LOOK THAT THING UP

Anyway. Since Hyrule is actually adopted, I think it would be a lot more difficult to try and claim custody, but for drama’s sake let’s say it isn’t 😏

The only family he even vaguely remembers is his mother, and she gave him up for very specific reasons. I don’t think she would show up and want to take him back, seeing how content and safe it is where he is now, but she might visit sometimes. If she’s alive, anyway. More extended relatives (if there are any) would probably try harder to get him back, since they’d want him for all the wrong reasons.

I’m sure in the end Time and Malon would come out victorious since it’s obvious Hyrule is thriving and he has no love for these new people, but it’d be a fight. More stress heaped upon their poor family 😅

Now if a villain tried it...

Let’s say it’s somebody Hyrule lived with for only a bit, like from that gang he was stuck with for a couple months before being adopted. They want the healing kid back, so they track him down, get somebody who looks juuuust similar enough to Hyrule, forge a few documents, and show up with the authorities with a sob story about their poor dear son who was unrightly taken away from them.

Hyrule of course, is several shades lighter upon seeing this guy, and when asked by Legend if he’s actually related to him, Hyrule immediately says no. That doesn’t stop this guy though, and unfortunately he was thorough with his phony documents. He takes Hyrule away and they can’t do a thing to stop him.

(Dramatic scene where Hyrule gets pulled away even though he’s insisting he doesn’t want to go with this guy, and he’s clinging to Time and Malon and begging them not to let them take him, but they can’t, they have to just watch as Hyrule’s dragged away crying)

They’re all frantic to get Hyrule back, and the whole thing is beyond suspicious. Time smells a rat, Malon is on the warpath, and the moment they show Impa the documents and she realizes they’re fake, they’re going after Hyrule. Problem is he’s sort of disappeared, since the guys who got him skipped town the moment they could.

It probably doesn’t take longer than a week, but it still takes way too long to track him down, and they’re all disasters by the time they finally find him. Most if not all of the other boys go sneak along with them when they finally figure out where he is, and they have to fight to get him back and get him out and it’s just a whole complicated thing.

And the moment they find him they hug him to death and Time swears this is never going to happen again.

[foldingfittedsheets]

For reasons known only to adolescent girls my friend Kate and I started communicating with extremely loud calls of, “Ka-kaw!” at some point during high school.

When trying to locate each other on the quad in lieu of cell phones we made do with good old fashioned screeching. The first call was always a lower tone. When one of us heard the cry we’d immediately echo it back at a higher pitch like dinosaurs playing Marco Polo.

This was probably obnoxious for all our classmates but man did we zero in on each other right quick. It was great. I never had to look for her in a huge crowd I just had to unleash my lack of social decorum in sonic waves. My only defense was that we only used it for out of doors. We weren’t monsters.

It served us extremely well the one time we went skiing together. She was a newer skier and got off the ski lift before I did after a stroke of bad luck and poor planning on our parts. By the time I had my skis on the snow I couldn’t see her. Worried, I took off down the mountain, not spotting her.

I planted my skis when I realized I must have passed her somehow. She couldn’t have made the same time as me. I threw my head back and shrieked, “Ka-kaw!!”

The sound cut across the cold thin air, sharp and carrying. To my delight and the surprise of several snowboarders going past me there was an answering “Ka-kaw!!!” from further up the mountain, reverberating joyously.

I’ve had this turkey post pinged several times, I can only say that I’m glad my friend and I aren’t the only bird girls out there.

[ama3003]

In the Middle

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: Being caught in the middle is always hard.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like mid to late 20s.

Also double whammy with these fics. Also thank you those who requested some fics. I'm getting on them right now. Keep em coming!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“I cannot believe this dude,” Sam says, pacing the living room like it personally offended him. His hands are moving almost as fast as his mouth. “I tell him Ross wants me to rebuild the Avengers, right? I open up—I mean really open up. I tell him I’m not sure I’m the guy for it. That maybe Steve made a mistake giving me the shield.”

He stops mid-step and points dramatically in the air, like he's building up his case.

“And you know what Bucky says? ‘No, he didn’t.’ That’s it. No discussion. Just—‘No, he didn’t.’ Point. Blank. Period. And I'm not gonna lie, that's all I needed to hear."

You open your mouth to say something, but Sam’s already spinning toward you.

“And I believed him! I believed him because I thought he was my best friend.”

"Hey!" you cut in, brows raised.

Sam waves you off. “Nah, nah—don’t ‘hey’ me. You know you’re like my sister. Ultimate mega best friend status and all that, but not the point right now. Lemme vent about your ugly boyfriend real quick.”

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” Sam claps once, then starts pacing again. “Then I find out there’s already a ‘New Avengers’—capital N, capital A—already up and running. And guess who’s right in the middle of it? Bucky! Like I wasn’t gonna find out!”

He stops again, staring at you like it’s your fault. “You know what I call that? Betrayal.” He jabs the air for emphasis. “Straight-up betrayal.”

You’re sitting on the sofa, letting him work through it. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Bucky had called not ten minutes ago to talk about—of all things—the copyright on the Avengers name.

Now Sam wants to sue them.

“Fourteen months,” Sam says, voice rising, “of back-and-forth with this man and his ‘new family.’ You remember what we went through? What he went through? Guess what? We were his family first. And now he’s calling me like I’m the one stepping on toes? Like I’m in the wrong for trying to do what Ross asked me to do?”

“He told you to back off?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Sam gives you a long-suffering look. “He wants me to give him the rights of the name."

"So it didn't end well..." You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Y/N… if I’m venting like this, how do you think the call went?”

You try to offer something. “Can’t you just… I don’t know. Combine the teams? Be the MegaVengers or something? Steve literally said ‘Avengers, assemble’ and there were like a thousand people who showed up. We all kind of worked together then.”

Sam looks horrified. “No. No combining. It’s not about numbers—it’s about principle. That man knew what this meant to me. And now he’s trying to sidestep it like it’s nothing.”

He crosses his arms and looks at you with purpose. “You need to talk to him. Get him to step back.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

You meant it. You’ve known Sam for years—he was your ride-or-die, your day-one, the brother you got to choose. But through Sam, you met Bucky. And he became your favorite person. You were in between your best friend and the love of your life.

You learned about the ‘New Avengers’ team at the same time Sam did. The two of you had stared at the screen in disbelief.

But after hours of yelling at Bucky—tears, arguments, explanations—you got it. You understood that he hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. That Valentina made moves he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t betrayed you… not intentionally.

Still, the line between intention and impact? That’s where Sam lived.

He stares at you for a moment, then reaches into his jacket and hands you a folded sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” you ask, skimming it. Then you stop. Your eyes widen.

“I want you to join my team,” he says simply. “The new Avengers.”

Your jaw drops. “Sam…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly. “You really think I’d build a team without you? Come on. We’ve never not been on a team together.”

“Sam, I… I can’t sign this,” you say, handing the paper back. “You know I can’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can. You should. Y/N, I’ve already started recruiting. I’ve got a plan, but I need my right hand. I need you.”

You stand, walking toward him. “And I can’t go against Bucky.”

He exhales sharply, then softens. “Just… think about it, okay? I don’t need a yes right now. Just don’t say no yet.”

“Sam…”

“Think about it,” he says again, looking at his watch. “Ugh—venting session’s over. Gotta go pitch Ross on the plan. Wish me luck.”

He leans in, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, "Please think about it," and walks out the door.

You sit back down, staring at the paper. Then you run a hand through your hair, heart pounding.

A few quiet moments pass.

Then you grab your bag and head straight for the other tower.

*****

“James Buchanan Barnes—you are in so much trouble.”

Your voice echoed through the tower as you dropped your bag with a thud. The team—scattered around the lounge doing everything from eating chips to watching TV—immediately snapped to attention.

A chorus of "Ooooooh!" broke out like a middle school lunchroom.

Bucky stood up fast, hands already in the air like he was facing down a SWAT team. “Okay, doll, don’t be mad.”

You marched forward, hands on your hips. “Don’t be mad? You asked Sam to drop the Avengers name.”

“He’s suing us!” Bucky shot back, already defensive. “We had the name first! Val got the jump on it—we just made it official.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn teenager. Behind him, his teammates exchanged exasperated looks, a few shaking their heads like, here we go again.

“Are you both five?” you snapped. “You need to talk. Face to face. Not through lawyers. Not through phones. Like actual adults.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Bucky muttered. “And honestly, I don’t want to see him either.”

He tried to hold his glare, but it faltered when he looked at you. He could see it written all over your face: this was tearing you up. And he hated that he’d played a part in it.

“I saw Sam today,” you said quietly. “He asked me to join his team.”

The room fell completely silent. Even Yelena put down her snack.

Bucky blinked. “And… what’d you say?”

“I told him no. For now. But he asked me to think about it.”

Bucky scoffed like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Think about it? What’s there to think about? You’re not joining them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Every single person in the room physically cringed. Even Red Guardian mouthed oh no.

“You’re not serious right now,” you said, voice low and dangerous. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

“I’m saying Sam’s being irrational,” Bucky argued, digging his own grave. “He’s suing us, Y/N. You can’t join them. That’s not how this works.”

You stepped toward him, fire in your eyes. “He’s not being irrational. He’s hurt, Bucky. He thinks you betrayed him. And the truth? Even if it wasn’t on purpose—you kind of did.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I get it,” you added, softer now. “He shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit. It’s messy. But this—this whole thing—is a disaster. And you’re both too stubborn to fix it.”

Bucky slowly reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I never wanted to put you in the middle of this. I just... I won’t give up on this team.”

You let him hold you, but your heart was heavy. “I know,” you whispered, then gave him a small kiss. “But I can’t keep being the bridge between you two.”

He pulled back, looking at you. “Then don’t be. Move in with me. You said you were thinking about it. And hell, you could just join us too. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stepped back, blinking. “Are you seriously asking me to join your team right after I told you Sam asked me the same thing? Are you kidding me, Bucky?”

“Not cool,” Yelena muttered, earning a death glare from Bucky.

Then your phone rang—loud and dramatic. Mariah Carey’s voice filled the room. You groaned and answered.

“What, Sam?”

“Figured you were over there,” he said. “So I’ll keep it short. Ross and I have a few new recruits saying yes already. We might fast-track things. So I need an answer. ASAP.”

“You gave me thirty minutes—”

“Thirty minutes for what?” Bucky leaned in, practically pressing his ear to your phone.

“Would you stop?” you muttered, pushing him back.

“Is that Barnes?” Sam asked over the line. “Yo, Barnes—fuck you.”

Bucky blinked. “What did he just say?”

You sighed. “He said—”

“I said fuck you,” Sam shouted, louder this time.

You snapped.

“That’s it!” you barked, stepping between the two of them. “Both of you, shut up.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“I am so done being in the middle of your pissing contest,” you said, voice shaking now. “You used to be a family. We used to be a family. And you two are tearing it apart like a couple of overgrown toddlers.”

Bucky looked like he’d been slapped. Sam was silent on the other end.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you added. “You both say you love me, you both trust me—but you’re trying to make me pick between you. And I won’t. I won’t.”

Everyone was still, barely breathing.

Then Sam, faint over the phone: “Wait… Did Barnes ask you to join the FAKEngers?”

“We’re the real Avengers, for the record,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh my god,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’m done. Until you both grow up and get your shit together, I’m out. I’m not picking sides.”

You turned, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.

“Wait—what do you mean?” Bucky called, chasing after you.

You turned back, pointing between him and your phone. “I love you, Bucky. And Sam—you’re my brother. But if you two can’t stop acting like enemies, then you don’t get to have me caught in the crossfire.”

And with that, you hung up the call and walked out.

Back in the room, Walker slowly picked up the paper. “Ouch,” he said, wincing. “Don’t you just hate when they walk away?”

Yelena smacked him in the head. “You’re not helping.”

***********

It had been a few days since everything exploded—and both Sam and Bucky were unraveling in their own ways.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it: the quiet ache where you used to be. The texts left on read. The silence that said more than any shouting match ever could.

Eventually, they both found themselves doing the same thing—sitting alone, staring at their phones, thumbs hovering over each other's names.

Bucky sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and hit the contact.

Sam’s phone lit up. He stared at the screen for a long second before finally answering.

“Barnes,” Sam said flatly.

“Wilson,” Bucky replied, just as dry.

A beat.

Then Bucky exhaled. “I miss her.”

Sam’s voice was quieter this time. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another pause.

“We gotta fix this,” Bucky said. “This whole thing… it’s not worth losing her over.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed. “We should talk. In person. Try to settle this."

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”

“Alright.”

“Cool.”

“…Fine.”

“…Fine.”

They hung up.

No apologies yet. Not out loud.

But it was a start.

Maybe this whole MegaVengers idea wasn’t so bad after all.

[maskedbyghost]

You were facing the wall.

Arms tucked close to your chest, your back turned toward the door, and a blanket pulled up to your chin even though it wasn’t cold. Your eyes were wide open. You weren’t even trying to sleep. The light from the hallway bled under the crack in the door, and every time it shifted, your breath caught, half-hoping, half-dreading that it was him.

He’d left without another word. You’d told him to sleep on the couch, and he didn’t argue. Just looked at you for a moment, his lips pressed into that hard line he always got when he was trying not to say something he’d regret. And then he walked out.

That was almost an hour ago.

You blinked slowly, eyes stinging. You hated fighting with him. Hated the way it left your chest tight and your mind buzzing. You hated the silence afterward even more. And this time… you weren’t even sure who was more in the wrong.

The fight started with something stupid. It usually did. You’d asked him why he hadn’t texted back when you messaged him earlier in the day—just a casual check-in, nothing serious. He said he’d been busy. You said you understood, but something about your tone made it obvious you didn’t. And then he said, “It’s not always about you,” and you froze.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, like you’d been a burden instead of someone he missed. Like he didn’t have space for you in his head that day, and you were wrong for noticing it.

You’d snapped and told him if he didn’t want to talk to you, he could’ve just said that. Told him you weren’t going to beg him for attention. He looked at you like he wanted to speak but didn’t, and you’d finally said it.... go sleep on the couch, Simon, because you didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t hurt more.

And he left.

Now you were here, pretending the pillow was more comfortable than his chest, replaying the words in your head until they lost all their meaning. You hadn’t even told him goodnight. And he hadn’t told you he loved you, not like he always did before bed.

Your throat tightened. You blinked at the wall again, trying to will yourself not to cry, not now when you’d already said your piece, already told him to leave. You didn’t want to be the one to break first. But still, your chest ached in that way that only came when something between you felt wrong.

A floorboard creaked somewhere outside the bedroom. Then silence came, a pause just long enough to make you question if you’d even heard anything at all.

And then—

The door creaked open slowly.

You stayed still. You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to seem too eager, didn’t want him to think you’d just forget everything because he came back. But your heart betrayed you, picking up speed the moment you heard his quiet footsteps on the carpet. Then the bed dipped behind you, before his arm wrapped around your waist, fast like he was afraid you’d push him away if he didn’t do it quick.

You didn’t.

“I know you’re awake,” he said quietly, his breath brushing against the back of your neck.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“I thought about what you said.” His voice was low and soft. “And I thought about what I said. And I didn’t come back to fight. I just... I needed you to hear this.”

He paused, exhaling slowly.

“I fucked up,” he admitted. “I was tired and distracted, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just lookin’ for me and I made you feel like you were too much.”

Your eyes burned. Still, you didn’t speak.

“I never want you to feel that way,” he murmured. “Not ever. Not when you text me, not when you talk to me, not when you just exist near me. You’re not a burden. You’re… you’re the best part of my day, and I treated you like you weren’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You felt his hand squeeze your side gently, like he was grounding himself just as much as he was trying to comfort you.

“I meant what I said before I left,” he added, “but I meant it wrong. It’s not always about you, but it should be. You’re my person. I should’ve answered you. I should’ve checked in. You have every right to need me.”

You blinked hard, finally managing to whisper, “I wasn’t trying to fight.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “I know, love. You were just tryin’ to connect. And I shut down on you. I let shit get in my head and I pushed you out. I won’t do that again.”

You turned slowly, finally facing him. His eyes met yours in the dim light, and god, he looked wrecked.

“I just missed you,” you whispered. “That’s all.”

He reached up and cupped your face gently. “I missed you too. More than I can say. And I don’t want to end a single fuckin’ day with you wonderin’ if I care. I do. So much.”

You leaned in, tucking your face against his neck. His arms wrapped around you fully now, pulling you in close, holding you tight like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, before his lips pressed against your hair.

“I’m not goin’ back to the couch,” he said softly. “Even if you ask again. I’ll sleep on the floor next to you before I ever leave you like that again.”

That made you laugh, just a little.

“Sorry I got mean,” you mumbled.

He smiled into your hair. “You weren’t mean. You were hurt. And I made you feel that way. I deserved it.”

You looked up at him, eyes searching his face. “You’re really good at this. Talking about it. Most guys just shut down.”

“I used to,” he admitted. “Didn’t fix a damn thing. I’d rather talk and hold you than be right.”

You snorted. “You were wrong though.”

He grinned. “I know. Fully aware of it.”

You finally let your body relax fully against him, tension leaving piece by piece as he kissed your forehead and whispered, “Still love you, even when we fight. Especially then.”

“I love you too,” you murmured.

And you meant it. Even when it was hard. Even when things got messy. Because he came back. Because he chose to come back and say the things that mattered. Not everyone did.

But Simon did. And that was enough.

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

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

[with-my-calamitous-love]

your arms are reaching / your eager heart is throbbing

k. bakugou, s. todoroki, i. midoriya x f! reader

how he reacts after learning his pretty girl struggles to get orgasms ꕥ smut 18+, timeskip characters, please read responsibly.

for the girls (like yours truly) who unfortunately struggle with this. don’t worry! communication! you deserve to cum!!!

song: couldn’t make it any harder

katsuki bakugou

- as everyone already knows, he will take any sort of test or opposition and stomp it into the ground. he’s the best, the greatest. not only is this another chance to prove how infuriatingly talented it is, but a chance to get you screaming his name and aching for him.

- the very first time he goes down on you, he’s so cocky and sure he’ll make you feel amazing. he lifts his head from your thighs and finds your face hasn’t moved an inch. “you gonna cum?” “uhm… no.” “WHAT!?”

- once you explain it to him, he’s seeing it as a challenge

- he finds communication so sexy. though 90% of the time he seems like a jackass who never listens, he’s far more perceptive than anyone could imagine. he learns not only your words but your body, the signs that you’re enjoying it or when you’re loosening up to him. as much as it is a fun challenge for him, his determination proliferates once he sees the frustrated tears boil over in your eyes.

- “calm down, babe. i’ve got you.”

he’s laying behind you, sideways on the bed while one strong arm lifts your leg up. his cock slowly pistons in and out of your pussy at a tortuous pace, his free hand rubbing circles on your clit while he has you feeling every inch of him. he’s fingered you for close to an hour before finally deciding you were wet enough to take him, all of him.

“hows this?” his voice is gruff in your ear. you know, by the scratch in his throat, that holding back is killing him. that if it were up to him, he’s have your face in the pillows wrecking your insides. but this isn’t about him. its about you, making your brain melt and toes curl from pleasure.

theres a hot coil in your stomach, about to snap at any moment. your nails dig into the sheets, clinging to anything, knowing that it could be his back you’re scratching up. you want to tell him to let go, to start fucking you rough and passionate the way he has always been, but you also know that this is the longest and most potent pleasure session you’ve had in a long time. you feel yourself gushing around his cock, sucking him in greedily. you’re buzzing, body warm with satisfaction but a lingering need to feel him ravage you.

“you can go faster.” you grit your teeth, looking back at him over shoulder. he shifts to move on top of you, placing a kiss to your cheek and forehead before reinserting himself with little resistance. your legs wrap around his legs like a magnet, whatever was left of them not reduced to jelly.

“you sure?” red eyes glint with a flicker of momentary doubt. he knows you feel good, but he’s determined to make you feel amazing. “tell me what you like, baby.”

he begins moving his hips again, faster this time, and your back arcs like the london bridge.

“like that!” you’re quick to savour it, and he fucking smirks. he feels you cumming around him, an sweet, blissful orgasm tearing through you like a bullet through paper. but he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it and promising 3 mode.

“whatever you want, baby.”

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

shouto todoroki

- maybe its because he knows a thing or two about the absence of love and genuineness in places it should exist, but he tends to know when you lie. especially if its to protect his feelings in the form of forced moans or highs.

- he’s only began fingering you, noticing that your moans are off, and he’ll immediately withdraw. he’ll blink, confused, before returning to his normal, blunt self: “you don’t like it, darling?”

- he’ll stare, gears turning in his head while you ramble to come up with an answer. he’s difficult to lie to, seeing the way he tilts his head like a god damn puppy when he knows something is amiss.

- after you finally tell him, he’s silent for a few moments right before: “well, why didn’t you say so?”

- “i didn’t want to be difficult.”

- “it’s difficult to not love you.”

shouto has stamina, thats a no brainer. he’s been trained since day 1 to endure most things. so staying on his knees, head buried between your thighs isn’t exactly hard for him.

one of your legs stays hooked over his shoulder while the other is pinned down by his hand. you can’t remember the last time he’s actually lifted his head to breathe. he’d find a new way to take in oxygen if it meant keeping you pink and needy for him, the way he has you know.

his tongue moves in a messy pattern, swirling around and in between your slit before his lips move up to that delicate bundle of nerves, wrapping around the bud and sucking all the sweet nectar. his eyes are closed, a sort of meditation for him while you melt into the sheets.

“shouto!” his name comes out like a mantra. he wants to smile, to respond, but his lips are preoccupied with spelling out each japanese logographic character on your pussy.

so instead, he smiles mentally while moving his head up and down. you’ve never actually squirted before, but you were pretty confident this would be the day.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

izuku midoriya

- izuku possesses endless patience that extends with both his arms for you. he has only ever wanted to put a smile on your face, even if that smile is sometimes an o shape and eyes rolling back.

- he is incredibly understanding, not a trace of judgement in those green eyes. he’ll simply hold your hand, with all the respect and the world, and say: “let me help you, baby.”

- that gentleness is thrown at the window as he morphs into a complete demon, pounding into you with such force you’re sure you’ll break the bed.

“fuck! izuku! shit, uhm- you’re going so fast!” you blurt out, holding his back for stability. he’s bullying your pussy with his cock, reasoning that if he was going to make you cum, he’d do it right.

“i’ve got you, love.” he mutters into your ear, lip wrapping around your nipple while his squeezes your other tit. his pace doesn’t dare slow down, stars bursting behind your eyelids as every inch of him sends shivers of pleasure down your body. he somehow still manages to whisper the most tooth-rotting sweet nothings into your ear while he single handedly orchestrates that delicious skin slapping noise.

his pelvis rubbed against your already sensitive clit, your pussy glistening with sticky juices that he salivates just thinking about. if he wasn’t fucking you with his cock, it’d be with his mouth.

he cups your face with one hand, groaning as you squeeze even tighter. “you gonna cum, sweetheart?” unable to speak, you nod profusely. he fucks you through countless more through the rest of the night.

[rmview]

cold shoulders, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader  ( masterlist )

summary — how the stray kids boys react when you give them the cold shoulder after an argument and don’t forgive easily!

contents — angst, hurt, ignoring.

bang ˠ chan

chan wasn’t used to you giving him the cold shoulder. not like this. sure — you’d gotten mad at him before, bickered over small things, had moments where you huffed and turned away when he got too bossy or distant. but this? this silence was heavier. this was you not replying to his texts. not looking at him when he spoke. moving past him in the apartment like he was invisible. it killed him. 

the fight had been over something stupid. some late night at the studio when you’d begged him to come home, just one evening, just one dinner together after weeks of him being locked up in those four walls with nothing but music and stress weighing on his shoulders. and instead of agreeing, instead of apologizing, he’d snapped. told you you were being clingy. that he didn’t have time to babysit feelings when deadlines were crushing him. 

the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. but his pride, tired and overworked and frustrated, wouldn’t let him back down. 

now here he was — two days later — watching you move around the kitchen, headphones in, ignoring the way his gaze followed your every step. he left your favorite drink by your side of the bed. it stayed untouched. ordered takeout from that place you loved. you barely touched the food. every attempt he made to bridge the space between you, you quietly shut down. 

but chan wasn’t the type to give up. not when it came to you. he hovered in the doorway that night, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, hair a mess from restless fingers. “y/n,” he called softly, voice rough with the apology he couldn’t quite force out yet. 

you didn’t turn around. 

“i know you’re mad… and you should be,” he sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “i was a dick. i let stress get to my head and said shit i didn’t mean. you didn’t deserve that.” 

nothing. 

chan bit his lip, stepping closer. “i hate this, you know. us… not talking. it’s driving me insane.” when you didn’t respond, still scrolling through your phone, he sighed and sank onto the couch across from you, resting his head in his hands. “i miss you,” he mumbled into his palms. 

that made you pause. just for a second. but you didn’t say anything, didn’t soften. and honestly? he understood. because this wasn’t about a quick sorry and moving on. this was about trust. about how you’d begged for a little time, a little space in his life that wasn’t buried under pressure, and he’d brushed you aside like you didn’t matter. 

so, for the first time in a long time, bang chan decided to wait. no grand speech. no half-assed jokes to make you smile. just him, sitting quietly, hoping you’d let him earn your forgiveness the hard way. and if it took days, weeks — hell, months — he wasn’t going anywhere. because losing you, even for a second, was worse than any deadline. 

felix ˠ

felix had never seen you like this. 

you’d always been soft with him. even when you were frustrated, even when you rolled your eyes at his teasing or swatted his arm when he clung to you like an overgrown puppy, you never… iced him out. but after the fight last night — if you could even call it a fight — you’d shut down. completely. 

he stood outside your room for what felt like forever, his hand hovering near the door, chewing on his lip as he debated knocking for the hundredth time. the light from under the door flickered with your tv, shadows moving. he knew you were awake. knew you’d heard him when he came in earlier, when he called your name softly, voice heavy with regret. but you hadn’t answered. felix wasn’t used to this kind of distance. 

it had started over something small — it always did. he’d made a joke. some careless, teasing remark about how you were “too sensitive,” when you opened up about something that had been bothering you. he hadn’t meant it to sting, but the moment your expression fell, the guilt had hit him like a brick wall. and instead of apologizing properly, he’d awkwardly laughed it off, hoping you’d do the same. 

but you didn’t. you went quiet. and now, hours later, you still hadn’t said a word. 

felix paced the hallway, glancing at the door every few seconds. his chest hurt in that tight, awful way it did when things felt wrong. when people he cared about pulled away. he hated conflict. hated when the air between him and someone he loved felt heavy. 

so he grabbed his phone, sent a message. 

i’m sorry, angel. i messed up. can we talk? 

read. no reply. 

he sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of your door. “y/n,” he whispered, voice cracking. “please don’t hate me.” 

still nothing. 

felix sank to the floor, back against the wall, fingers picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. he scrolled through your shared photos, stupid videos you’d taken of him half-asleep on the couch, goofy selfies he’d demanded after a coffee run, little snapshots of a relationship that had been his safe place. and now it felt like the walls were crumbling. 

he stayed there for what felt like hours, the house eerily silent except for the faint hum of your tv. he didn’t try to force his way in. didn’t flood you with texts or beg you to come out. felix wasn’t that type. he knew sometimes people needed space. but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. 

before heading back to his room, he slid a note under your door — his handwriting messy and rushed. 

i know i hurt you. i’ll wait. however long it takes. i just… i need you to know you mean everything to me. i’ll do better, i promise.

and then he left the hallway in silence, hoping you’d read it. hoping one day you’d believe it. because losing you over one stupid, thoughtless moment? that was the kind of thing felix knew he’d never forgive himself for. 

lee ˠ know 

lee know wasn’t used to being ignored. especially not by you. 

you’d always been the person who called him out, pushed past his walls when no one else dared to. the one who teased him right back when he got sarcastic, who softened him with a smile when his words were sharp. but now… now you wouldn’t even look at him, and it was all his fault. 

the fight had started ugly. tension building all week, small frustrations piling up until he said something he shouldn’t have. something cruel. defensive. his voice had been cold when he’d spat, “maybe if you weren’t always acting like you know everything, we wouldn’t be fighting all the damn time.” 

and the second he saw the way your face fell — the way you’d swallowed hard, biting your lip like you were forcing yourself not to break — his heart had dropped straight to his stomach. especially since you didn’t yell back. didn’t cry. you went silent. and that silence hurt worse than any words you could’ve thrown at him. 

now, hours later, you’d locked yourself in your room, your phone untouched on the counter. every time he passed by your door, the knot in his stomach tightened. the part of him that always needed to win, to have the last word, crumbled under the weight of how badly he’d messed up. 

lee know paced the living room, restless. he thought about leaving — giving you space, like maybe that would help — but he couldn’t do it. not with the way your silence haunted the house. not with the memory of your eyes flickering, just for a second, like he was someone you didn’t recognize anymore. 

“y/n,” he called softly, standing outside your door, voice rough with regret. “i didn’t mean it.” 

nothing. 

he let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair. “i’m… i’m bad at this, okay? at saying how i feel. and when i get scared, or—” he cut himself off, scowling at how pathetic he sounded. “i push people away. but i don’t wanna push you away.” 

silence. the kind that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to fix. 

lee know leaned his forehead against the door. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his pride cracking wide open. “for being a dick. for not knowing how to handle someone who actually… cares about me.” 

he stayed there, listening to the quiet hum of your music inside. he could picture you lying on the bed, headphones in, pretending you didn’t hear him. and honestly, maybe he deserved it. deserved to stew in it a little. but that didn’t stop the urge to fix it. 

“look,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “i don’t expect you to forgive me right now. hell, i don’t know if you ever will. but i’m not gonna pretend like it doesn’t matter to me. because it does.” 

his fingers brushed against the doorknob before he pulled away. “i’ll wait,” he said, softer now. “and when you’re ready to yell at me or cuss me out or whatever… i’ll be here.” 

and then he left, the hollow ache in his chest heavier than it had been in years. because losing you? that wasn’t something lee know could stomach. 

hyun ˠ jin 

hyunjin wasn’t good at waiting. you hadn’t said a word to him since the fight. not a glance, not a muttered complaint, not a teasing shove. the silence was brutal — worse than any shouting match you’d ever had, worse than when you used to push each other’s buttons just to see who’d crack first. but this time, it was different, because he’d gone too far. 

the words still echoed in his head, laced with heat and spite. he’d been tired. stressed. the comeback preparations were gnawing at his nerves, and the last thing he wanted was to drag you into it. but you’d called him out — like you always did when he started spiraling — and instead of leaning on you, he shoved you away. 

“maybe it’s easier if you just stay out of my life,” he’d snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. 

the moment the words left his mouth, he felt it. that gut-wrenching regret, the instant knowledge that he didn’t mean it — not for a second. but it was too late. he watched the light drain from your face, watched your jaw clench like you were holding back tears. and then you left, the soft click of the door behind you feeling louder than any slammed one. 

now, hours later, the apartment was too quiet. the lack of your presence gnawed at him. hyunjin sat on the couch, a sketchbook in his lap, though his pencil hadn’t moved in ages. he kept glancing at his phone, willing it to light up with your name. an angry text. a scathing message. anything. but nothing came. 

“y/n,” he muttered to himself, scrubbing a hand down his face. “god, i’m such an idiot.” 

he finally got up, heart pounding, and padded toward your room. the door was cracked open, but you weren’t inside. the bed still made, the window slightly ajar. he bit his lip, guilt settling heavier in his chest. “can we… can we talk?” he asked softly, though the room stayed empty. 

hyunjin sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “i don’t know why i always do this. push people away when i’m hurting. you didn’t deserve that. you didn’t deserve any of it.” 

he blinked hard, his throat tight. the sketchbook in his hands felt heavier than ever. he flipped it open, revealing the latest page — a half-finished sketch of you. quietly beautiful, eyes crinkled in laughter like the way you used to look at him. 

“i keep trying to pretend i’m okay on my own,” he continued, voice breaking a little. “but the truth is… i’m not. not without you.” 

the silence felt suffocating. he left the sketchbook on your bed, open to that page, and stepped back. he didn’t expect you to forgive him right away. honestly, he wasn’t even sure if you’d come back tonight. yet he still hoped.

“whenever you’re ready,” hyunjin whispered, backing out of the room. “i’ll be here, waiting.” and for once, he meant to wait. 

jeong ˠ in 

jeongin knew the second the words left his mouth that he’d regret them. 

but in the heat of the moment — heart pounding, frustration thick in his chest — he hadn’t cared. he just wanted to win the argument. he wanted you to stop looking at him with that wounded expression, to stop making him feel like the bad guy. 

“i don’t even know why i bother with you sometimes,” he’d muttered bitterly, storming out before he could see the way your face crumpled. and now, he wished he hadn’t. because it had been two days. two entire days. 

you’d ignored his texts, left his calls unanswered, even avoided the group chat the two of you usually spammed with memes and inside jokes. at the dorm, he caught himself glancing at your contact every few minutes, wondering if maybe you’d just decide to yell at him and get it over with. anything would’ve been better than this complete, aching silence. 

jeongin hated this. hated not hearing your laugh. hated knowing he was the reason you weren’t smiling. he sat alone on the rooftop that night, hoodie pulled up, fiddling with his phone while his stomach churned. the city lights blurred below him, and every notification made his heart stutter — hoping, praying it was you. but it never was. 

“damn it,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. he remembered the way you always brought him snacks after a long practice. the way you’d mock him for being dramatic but still hug him when he was down. the little things he took for granted until now. and now? he might’ve lost you for good because of his stupid temper. 

he scrolled through your old messages, fingers trembling a little when he reached a picture you’d sent a week ago — you and him at the arcade, grinning like idiots with matching plushies on your heads. his throat burned. 

“i didn’t mean it, y/n,” he whispered into the night. “i was angry. and scared. and stupid.” he bit his lip, hesitating before typing out yet another message. 

i miss you. i’m sorry.

he stared at the words, thumb hovering over the send button, before eventually locking his phone without sending it. because he knew sorry wouldn’t be enough this time. not right away. but jeongin wasn’t giving up. 

tomorrow, he’d wait outside your place with your favorite pastries. he’d sit in front of your door if he had to, leave notes, beg your forgiveness with every cheesy rom-com move he could think of. because losing you wasn’t an option. not to him. 

“i’ll fix this,” he promised quietly to the empty sky. “no matter what it takes.” 

han ˠ

han wasn’t used to you ignoring him. you were the one person who never made him feel like he was “too much.” the one who laughed at his dumb jokes, let him ramble at three a.m., and knew how to calm his overthinking when it spun out of control. but now… the silence was unbearable. 

he could still hear his own voice from that night, sharp and reckless in the heat of the argument. “you always do this! acting like you’re perfect when you’re just as messed up as the rest of us. maybe i need someone who isn’t always breathing down my neck.” 

the minute it came out, he regretted it. your face had fallen — not angry, just quietly devastated. and that hurt worse than if you’d screamed. yet instead of apologizing, han did what he always did when he didn’t know how to handle emotions: he ran. left before you could reply, thinking he’d cool off, come back, and fix it later. 

except later never came, because now you weren’t replying. not to his spam messages. not to the voice notes he left you at midnight. not to the random memes or his half-baked apologies typed and deleted a hundred times. 

even when he tried casually showing up outside your building with bubble tea like it was just another day, your roommate told him you didn’t want to see him. and han… han was spiraling. 

“idiot,” he cursed himself, pacing his room for the tenth time that night. his phone buzzed with group chat nonsense, and he barely glanced at it. his world felt a little too quiet without you in it. 

he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of everything sank in. you made him better. you kept him grounded when his brain turned against him. you were the only one who understood that when han cracked a joke, it sometimes meant he was falling apart underneath. and now? he might’ve ruined that. 

“i miss you,” he whispered into the emptiness of his room. his chest ached when he scrolled to your contact, thumb trembling as he typed. 

i get it if you don’t wanna talk. but please… can you just tell me if you’re okay? that’s all i need.

he sent it this time. didn’t care if it made him look desperate, because han jisung would rather be a fool in love than lose you forever. 

tomorrow, if you didn’t reply, he’d show up anyway. bring your favorite snacks, stand outside your door like a lovesick puppy, and refuse to leave until you opened it. he didn’t know how to be okay without you. and maybe he didn’t deserve you, but he wasn’t going to give up. not this time. 

seung ˠ min 

seungmin never expected you to forgive him easily. he knew you. you didn’t play games. if something hurt, you wouldn’t pretend it didn’t. but this… this silence hurt more than he was prepared for. he could still hear the words he’d thrown that night, laced with frustration and pride. “if you can’t handle being with someone like me, maybe you shouldn’t be with me at all.” 

he didn’t mean it. god, he didn’t mean it. it was the kind of thing you said in a moment where your pride bruised before your heart could catch up. you’d been calling him out for shutting down when he was stressed, for acting like he didn’t care. and instead of explaining that he cared too much, seungmin pushed back. 

it wasn’t his style to beg for forgiveness. he thought time and space would cool things down, that maybe in a day or two you’d send a dry text like, ‘you’re still an asshole.’ 

but nothing came. no good morning text. no sarcastic comeback in the group chat. no midnight video call asking if he ate. seungmin felt the emptiness in ways he didn’t know how to name. the apartment was too quiet without your teasing remarks. the coffee he made tasted wrong without your constant complaint that it was “too bitter, like your personality.” even the ridiculous variety shows you forced him to watch alone felt dull. 

he found himself checking his phone every few minutes, not even pretending it was for anything else. days passed like this. and though his pride tried to convince him it was fine, his heart knew better. you weren’t ignoring him to win a fight. you were hurt and he was the one who did it. 

seungmin sat on his couch one evening, your favorite snack in a bag beside him — he’d instinctively grabbed it on his grocery run. without thinking, he opened his messages. 

i’m not good at this. but i’m sorry. i said something i didn’t mean because i was scared you’d leave first. i get it if you don’t want to talk to me now, but… i miss you. and i’ll wait.

he sent it before his overthinking could stop him. then he stared at the screen. waited. hoped. even if you didn’t forgive him soon, seungmin promised himself he’d show up. in his own quiet, stubborn, seungmin way — one snack, one dry text, one poorly hidden soft moment at a time. because you mattered more than his pride ever could. 

chang ˠ bin 

changbin could deal with shouting. hell, he preferred it. if you screamed at him, told him he was an idiot, threw a pillow in his face and called him names — at least it meant you still cared enough to be mad. but this? this silence? it was killing him. 

it had started after that stupid fight. something small and dumb at first — he came home late from practice without texting, you were already upset from a bad day, words escalated, tempers flared. and in the heat of it, he’d let frustration speak for him. 

“if being with me’s such a burden, maybe you shouldn’t be.” the second it left his mouth, changbin wanted to snatch the words out of the air and swallow them whole. 

but your face… the way it fell, the way your eyes glossed over, like you physically felt those words hit you — he knew he fucked up. and now, three days later, you hadn’t answered his texts. you didn’t pick up his calls. he even sent you a voice note because you always teased him about how he sounded in them — but even that, left on read. 

when you crossed paths at the company building by accident, you didn’t spare him a glance. didn’t even acknowledge his presence. that crushed him more than he thought possible. 

in public, changbin still smiled, still cracked jokes with the boys, but they could see something was off. he was quieter. distracted. constantly checking his phone like a man waiting on a miracle. 

back home, your absence was everywhere. the sweatshirt you left on his chair. the playlist you made still queued on his speaker. your favorite mug untouched on the shelf. he missed you so bad it made his chest ache. 

one night, unable to take it anymore, changbin grabbed his keys and headed to your apartment. his hand shook when he knocked, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his ribcage. 

you opened the door, expression guarded, arms crossed like a barrier between you and the storm he brought. 

“i know you don’t wanna hear from me,” changbin started, voice rough. “and you don’t owe me anything. but… i had no right to say what i did. i was pissed, and i took it out on you, and that’s not okay.” 

you stayed silent, but your eyes glistened. 

“i miss you. everything about you. even your nagging, even your bad taste in tv shows. i miss you so much it hurts.” he took a breath, chest tight. “i’m not here to beg. i’m here to tell you i’m sorry. and… that no matter how long it takes, i’ll be waiting for you to forgive me. ‘cause you’re it for me.” 

your gaze faltered for a second, and in that tiny crack, changbin let hope slip in. he didn’t know when — or if — you’d let him back in. but he’d wait. because some people are worth it, and for changbin, you always would be. 

notes: aww poor guys xp but anon wanted them to suffer so that’s all they’ll do this fic xD no part 2!

[princessbrunette]

hi princess! I was just thinking about shy!reader ending rafe nudes for the first time 🫣 can u pls write abt it

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he wasn’t expecting it. he thought he’d have to work harder for you to open up like that.

it was toppers turn to swing, the group of them playing golf at the country club. rafe scowls in the sun, staring across the hills in thought knowing his younger friend often took ages to line up and get a good swing in. just as he was wondering what you would be up to right about now, lifting his wrist to check the time — his phone dings with a text and he reaches into his pocket, eyes lighting up in intrigue upon seeing it was your name on the screen, with one attachment.

he clicks on the picture and freezes.

it’s a selfie, you sat infront of the mirror in your bedroom. however, you look askew — clearly hot and flustered with your dress disheveled, one sleeve hanging off your shoulder nearly exposing your tit and the hem pulled up around your waist. you’ve got no panties on, legs open with your knees pointing up and feet flat to the floor and in the image you’re spreading your sloppy, wet cunt with your fingers, a mess of your own arousal coating you. the image is paired with a simple caption — ‘please come to my house i miss u :(’

now you were shy, like — hardcore shy. shit, it took you a while to even let rafe touch on you and fuck you without getting overwhelmed and wanting to cry everytime he looked at you. he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“holy shit. hooooly shit.” he drawls, beginning to pace a little, staring at the image and zooming in. topper gets distracted, turning his head.

“whats up?” he asks as rafe types a quick ‘Give me 15 mins baby’ into his keyboard. rafe glances up, lips parted at his two friends, staring at him for answers.

“shit uh, nah… nah don’t worry.”

he pockets his phone, looking to start packing up his stuff.

“nah c’mon man, what happened?” kelce comes towards him with a friendly grin and rafe lightly shoves him back by the shoulder, walking past to the golf buggy.

“i said don’t worry, alright? i uh, gotta roll though. see you guys around.” rafe punctuates his sentence with a scoffed chuckle of disbelief, swinging his golf bag over his shoulder.

“did… did something happen?” topper shakes his head.

“look, i gotta go see my girl alright, said she needs me. sending me pictures of her pussy all spread out n’shit. respectfully, m’not spending another minute with you suckers.” rafe holds up his hands, biting the bait and telling them anyway. he couldn’t help himself, at the end of the day; a boy.

kelce laughs in shock and toppers eyebrows raise, eyes widening as he says your name in questioning confirmation.

“yeah, who the fuck else?” rafe collects his last club from the buggy, slotting it into the bag.

“what— she’s like, the sweetest girl i know. super shy though, am i wrong?” topper seems in just as much as disbelief as rafe, who shrugs, beginning to walk backwards away from his friends.

“so i thought.” rafe calls out with a smirk, arms wide by his side before he spins around to make his way swiftly to your house to show him how much he appreciated your little text message gift.

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[urcoolgf]

BEACH DAY

pairing. bf¡rafe && reader

content. fluff

summary. you && rafe take a day trip to his favorite beach, && you have an unexpected visitor…

“baby we gotta go! c’mon,” rafe quickly called to you from your shared bedroom. he had been waiting for you to finish getting ready for the past 20 minutes, and he was starting to get impatient.

“hold on, i’m almost done!,” you answered back.

“jesus it’s just the beach—no makeup, no doing the hair—just a swimsuit,” he whispered to himself. as he put the last of his own things into your bag that sat on the bed.

“okay, sorry, sorry! i’m done,” you rushed out of the bathroom with your hairbrush, hair clip, some hair ties, your favorite sunscreen, and some other things rafe couldn’t identify crammed in your hands.

“baby, it’s just the beach, we’ll be back tonight. do you really need all that?”

“yes! because once my hair gets wet i’ll have to redo it, and i need my stuff! so, unless you wanna look like you’re dating a lion, i suggest you don’t complain,” you replied while shoving your things into the same bag on the bed.

“alright, alright! bring your stuff, but we gotta go,” rafe laughed while picking up the bag that had gained about 5 pounds after dumping your things into it.

the two of you made your way out to his jeep—he had already taken the roof and doors off in preparation for your beach day, which only made you more excited. after you hopped into the passenger seat, rafe placed the bag on your lap so that nothing would fall out on the ride there.

“got it sweetheart?,” he asked, his smirk still made your knees go weak even after all this time, and even if you’re sitting. once he got into the driver’s seat and started the car, he immediately handed you the aux cord because he knew you loved picking music—especially during the summer. so, naturally you click over to your summer playlist and hit shuffle; Dreams by Fleetwood Mac begins to blast through the speakers and out into the hot air.

as you’re singing your heart out on the drive to the beach, rafe can’t help but steal glances at you—completely at peace, in your most natural and beautiful state, totally comfortable in the passenger seat of his car—he loved you like this. his fingers tapped against the wheel to the familiar beat, it was one of your favorites, so of course, rafe knew it by heart.

many upbeat songs later, you arrived at rafe’s favorite beach. this one was never really crowded, and had perfect clear water, and beautiful clean sand. he suspected this was because it was hidden.

“um… pretty sure this isn’t the beach, rafe,” you say as you stare at the forest on the other side of the windshield.

“just trust me, yeah?,” he smiled, turning off the car, getting out, and moving towards your side to help you out. once you were both out of the car, and rafe had taken the bag from you because of course he wouldn’t let you carry it, you began to follow him through the wooded area. there was a faint path, but rafe still had to clear some branches for you first.

once you made it to the edge of the woods, the bright blue water was revealed, and the sun’s reflection off the sand almost blinded you.

“rafe… this is beautiful! where has this place been my whole life?,” you said running out into the warm sand.

“where is everyone?,” you ask, almost excitedly.

“no one really knows about this place—that’s what makes it so special,” he smiled at you. and you just couldn’t help but run over to him as he placed the bag on the sand and unexpectedly jump into his arms. he caught you anyways, hands under your legs that wrapped around him as you grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him into a sweet kiss. once you pulled away, you put your arms around his neck and held him tight, nestling your head into the crook of his neck.

“it’s perfect, baby,” you whispered against his neck, your hot breath driving rafe crazy. he placed you down softly, and with a quick kiss on your forehead you were ready to get into the ocean. you quickly took off your shorts and baby tee that covered your bikini while rafe just stared—eyes moving from your face, down your body, and back to your face.

“what? something on my face?,” you asked, running your hands over your cheeks and lips.

“no. jus’ love you,” he replied with a soft, almost shy, smile. he then pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest you would never really get used to seeing. the faint ab lines that adorned his stomach, and soft biceps had you practically drooling—no matter how many times you had seen it before—thankfully, he wasn’t paying attention to where your gaze was falling. rafe grabbed his phone and speaker, putting your summer playlist on shuffle—it made your heart melt.

“you have my playlist saved?,” you asked softly.

“‘course i do, baby. wouldn’t be a beach trip without it, hm?,”

I Will Wait by Mumford & Sons begins blasting through the speaker as rafe tosses his phone onto the towels he had set up, and you swear you’ve never been happier than in this exact moment.

you begin running towards the water—and even though you got a head start—rafe catches up to you and picks you and tosses your torso over his shoulder, carrying you into the warm water as you’re squealing for him to put you down.

“it’s not even cold, sweetheart! feels nice doesn’t it?,” he said, finally releasing you into the gravity of the water.

“feels perfect. i love you, rafe cameron,” you say quietly, grabbing back onto his shoulders for support and intimacy, one could argue.

“i love you more, baby,” he pulls you in and kisses you—it’s intoxicating and you can feel the world around you stop.

—

you had been tanning for awhile now—rafe reading some book he brought with him—when suddenly, you feel a softness against your leg. startled, you quickly move your leg away and look back.

“oh my gosh! rafe, it’s a kitty!,” you said excitedly, while moving to sit up. rafe looks up to see your eyes widen and a big smile appear on your face.

“would you look at that? hey, little buddy,” he said as you began petting the cat’s soft fur. no tag, no owner? you thought as rafe moved onto your towel, reaching his hand out gently for the cat to smell.

“you think he’s a stray?,” you ask, concerned—but rafe can tell you’re secretly hopeful he is.

“maybe? i mean… he’s got no collar,” he answered hesitantly, knowing where this was going.

—

as rafe drove you both back home from the beach after watching the sunset, the bag that sat in your lap on the way there had been discarded to the floor and replaced with the small animal.

Love Grows by Edison Lighthouse playing softly through the stereo as you gently pet the sleeping kitty.

“so what should we name him?,” you turned toward rafe with a big smile on your face as he shook his head with a smirk.

“i cannot believe i let you talk me into keeping him…”

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© URCOOLGF. est. 2025

[straows]

Too perfect.

—in which, Gojo doesn’t want people to know you’re dating him because it’ll fuck up his rep.

A/n: I've been absent for a while, but I think I'll have a few more works coming up soon. Remember to hit up the inbox and request- literally any prompt or any idea, because my brain juice is empty. Dw tho, bc my friend bought shrooms.

part two>>

Gojo Satoru is 50% nerd and 50% dork. All wrapped up in pale, lanky guy that’s way too tall for his own good.

He wasn’t popular in the normal popular sense. No he was popular among the group of dorks he hung out with.

The kind of guys that were perpetually virgins. The kind of guys that make fun of regular popular kids, taking everyone at face value and assuming they have no problems of their own.

You were one of those popular girls. You weren’t mean. You weren’t loud and obnoxious. No, you were kind and sweet and so pretty it hurt to be around you.

You were the kind of person that had all kinds of friends. You didn’t stick with just one group. You were friends with the sports kids, the theatre kids, the band kids, the fucking chess club, hell you even befriended the goth kids that think popularity is just another form of conformism.

Everybody loved you.

And Gojo was not an exception.

From the moment he saw you walk in late to the first fucking lecture of the semester. All pretty in simple fitted longsleeve and a simple pleated skirt that went mid thigh, a jacket only zipped barely halfway keeping you warm.

“I’m so sorry!” You’d apologize to the professor, who just rolled his eyes and waved you off because it was too early and he was only a few years older than you.

(Live laugh love young professors who dgaf)

And the entire time, his eyes never left you. Gojo was sat in the back, his weird little buddies on either side of him. His glasses pushed too far up, hard messy and his sweat shirt sat awkwardly on his body.

It was like he physically couldn’t look away. Not from the way you’d laugh awkwardly and sit down at a random spot. Regardless of who was next to you, you’d say hi and talk with the neighbor.

You two couldn’t be more different.

Which made the current situation, even weirder.

“Oh fuck,” Gojo mumbled against your lips, hands pawing at your hips, large and squeezing as they slid down to your ass.

One hand cupping his jaw, the other pressed against his chest, nails digging in each time he’d grunt into the kiss.

What was supposed to be a study session, ended up with you on his lap, thighs bracketing his hips and his lips swollen from how he was kissing you.

“We- we should be s-studying—“ Gojo would pant and moan lowly each time your hips grinded against the tent he’d pitched in his pants.

“We’ve been studying, let’s take a break.” You’d murmur against his jaw, pressing kisses down to his shoulder before biting down teasingly.

It started there. And after that night, it only snowballed into a secret relationship.

You were both absolutely head over heels for each other. The first month or so, was perfect. Absolutely amazing.

Sneaking around was fun, and it gave you both an adrenaline rush— you’d kiss when nobody was looking, sneakily hold hands, run off to go hook up in some single bathroom, or hell you’d even snuck him into your dorm more times than you could count.

But it got old.

It got old quick.

“Baby, do we really have to do this whole sneaking around thing?” You whined, slipping back on your clothes.

“Yes.” Gojo didn’t waste a second to answer, his answer firm and sure.

His quick answer hard your heart aching. At first, you’d thought he’d wanted to keep it secret for you, but no.

“Come on, you’ve gotta leave before anyone sees you.” Gojo was hurrying you out the door, but the moment he’d had you out in the hallway, one of his buddies was standing right beside the door.

Blinking slow, surprised to see one of the most popular girls leaving his friends room wasn’t what he was expecting. “Gojo?”

Gojo stared down at him, like he got caught red handed. “Uhh— I was tutoring her.”

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, I’m—“ you went to shake the guys hand but he just gave you a disgusted glare that had you blinking in surprise.

“Dude why are you even tutoring her? Isn’t it just a waste of time? Not like she’ll even retain any of it.”

Oh. That was really mean. You looked back up at Gojo, expecting him to back you up, but all he did was push you further out into the hallway.

“Yeah, probably was a waste of time.” Gojo was quick to agree with his buddy.

“…” You just stood there for a long moment. “I thought… that you liked me?” You whispered, looking at the ground and sounding so hurt and fragile it had the air knocked out of Gojo’s lungs.

“What are you babbling about? Go do your make up or some shit and get outta our flat.” The guy was waving you off and walking into Gojo’s dorm.

That was the final straw, because the dam broke and tears started to flow. You tried to speak but all that came out was a pathetic little squeak. Your throat tightened and burned, and you were embarrassed. So fucking embarrassed.

Quickly, you turned on your heel and walked down that hallway as fast as you possibly could without breaking into a sprint.

Gojo just watched. He watched with his heart in stomach as you ran off. Running a hand over his face, he groaned. He fucked up— so bad. Knowing he’d hurt you like that made him sick.

But with his friend in his dorm, he just sighed and walked back inside, hoping that his buddy couldn’t smell your perfume still on his sheets.

That night, you went back to your dorm. And cried. Cried so fucking hard that when your roommate got home she thought your dog died.

You cried. And cried. And cried. All night, and stayed cuddled up with your best friend.

And then the day after that, was silence.

Rubbing his eyes, still groggy from the literal three hours he got from sleep, Gojo sat down in his seat. His eyes automatically landing on the back of your head.

He’d tried calling you, maybe 80+ times, sent god knows how many texts. And every single one of them got left on delivered. No call was answered, and hell— he even sent an email just in case.

But all he got was radio silence.

And the entirety of the lecture, he didn’t write down a single note. Hell he didn’t even get out his fucking computer so he could even type.

His eyes were glued to the back of your head. He hardly blinked. He knew he had to talk to you after this class. He wanted to apologize and try to fix whatever he’d broken as quickly as possible.

So when that bell rang, he simply got up, and waited for you outside the door.

But when you came out, you didn’t even look at him. Eyes still a little red and swollen from crying the night before.

“Hey— wait, can we talk?” He grabbed your wrist gently, not expecting you to immediately tug it out of his grip like you did.

“No.” It was a firm, short answer.

Gojo blinked, not used to hearing you talk to him like that. “Please, I really wanna apologize about what happened last n-“

“Gojo. Leave me alone.” You shot him a glare, your bottom lip threatening to quiver as you felt that familiar tightness in your throat, that burn that meant one thing and one thing only— you wanted to cry again.

He couldn’t handle it. It physically hurt to see you like this— to see you literally repulsed by his touch.

“Please! I need to explain— and- and make it up to you—“

“I don’t want anything to do with you! You made it clear that I embarrass you. You let your asshole friend walk all over me and you literally said we studied when we’d just fucked!” You were yelling now.

It was so out of character for you, that literally the hallway stilled and even the profesor stuck his head out the door so he could watch.

“I mean— is that really all you want from me? Just to fuck and then push me out? You said you like me! A lot!” Tears ran down your cheeks and you felt humiliated.

“I do! I like you so much- and I don’t only want you for sex! God— no that isn’t what I want at all,” gojo was struggling to find the words, and all the eyes now on them didn’t make it any better.

“You didn’t want it at all? So what, was this just a point you were trying to make?” Your voice was softer, and you couldn’t have felt more hurt— hell you couldn’t have felt more used than you did now.

“No! God no, please can we just talk in private and—“

“I hate you. I hate you so much, I can’t believe I was in love with you.” You were crying now. Hands trying to wipe your eyes but the tears didn’t stop.

“You were in love with me? You love me?” Gojo’s voice was whisper now, eyes wide and breathless.

“Not anymore.” With one last glare, you pushed past him and walked down the hallway.

He didn’t move. Just stood there. Feeling a sense of loss that he couldn’t even put into words. His shoulders dropped and he just kind of stared at the spot you once stood at.

[sinner-as-saint]

here forever

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Dating a superhero was no joke. And as noble as Bucky’s job was, it was just as dangerous and unpredictable. Which is why ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’d been training you in his free time. Teaching you how to defend yourself if ever he wasn’t around to protect you, or if ever his enemies came after you. Although you weren’t perfect at combat yet, you were almost certain you could get out of a tricky situation if you ever found yourself in one. But you were soon proven wrong. And your only option was to hope and pray that Bucky finds you in time. 

Themes: smut, fluff, mentions of kidnapping and death, boyfriend!bucky to the rescue, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mean!dom!bucky, aftercare, biker!bucky (except i made him wear a helmet because safety), mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

a/n: short, quick lil fic because I know we’re all hungry

It had been two hours since these strange men had so easily abducted you off the streets. 

It was a regular day, you were leaving yoga class and were on your way to pick up a smoothie. A treat you always got yourself after each workout class. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Bucky’s incessant messages asking about your location. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to let your guard down, not even on busy streets – one of the first lessons Bucky taught you just weeks after your first date with him. But you couldn’t help looking down and frowning at your phone. Your bag, purse and phone in your hands. Always have your hands free when walking alone, even on busy streets – the second thing he taught you. 

Always be ready. Always be ready. Always be fucking ready. 

But you had messed up that morning. Bucky’s messages were starting to worry you. He had been away since last night, and as usual, never gave you too many details about his job. But all you knew was that before he left, he’d asked you to try and not go out if you could. Your apartment was safe. He had eyes all over that building. Cameras, security guards, it was the safest place you could be. 

‘Where are you? Why aren’t you home?’

Seconds later: 

‘I told you not to go out. It’s not safe right now. Call me.’ 

Then some missed calls which you couldn’t answer because you were in class at the time. Then messages one after the other: 

‘Go straight home.’ 

‘Is your class over?’ 

‘Go home and wait for me. Don’t open the door for anyone else.’ 

‘Baby I’m so serious right now, go home.’ 

And you were midway through typing an answer to reply to him. To tell him not to worry. To tell him that yes your class was over, and everything was okay and you would call him as soon as you got home. 

But you never got the chance to reply to his messages. 

It all happened too fast. One moment you were looking down, all your focus on your phone and boyfriend, and the next, you were being grabbed and shoved into a dark truck. You barely even got a scream out before the doors were shut and a tape sealed your mouth, ropes snaking around your wrists and ankles. 

And just like that, in less than a full minute, you were taken. 

And here you were now. 

In the back of that same truck which had been driving for about two hours, maybe more. Getting further and further away from the city you lived in, and into more and more unknown areas. 

Fuck! You had messed up. 

You should’ve checked your phone while you were still inside the building. You shouldn’t have been texting on the streets. You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Bucky had been saying for weeks that he suspected people had eyes on him, and consequently you because you two spent a lot of time together. 

He was right of course. He always was. You should’ve listened. You should’ve stayed at home, at least until he got back later today. 

A tear slid down your face, like it had been for the past hours. You silently cried, thinking about all the potential circumstances you could end up finding yourself in. You couldn’t even tell who were the men who kidnapped you because they all wore masks and hadn’t said a single word in the past hours. 

They were armed. And the truck seemed bulletproof. And they kept driving. Nothing said about wanting a ransom, nothing about why they had taken you, or whether they were using you as bait to get Bucky’s attention. Surely they were. 

And a few minutes later, when you heard the familiar roar of a familiar bike, you knew they had his full attention. 

Bucky was here. 

But they hadn’t noticed yet. And you didn’t want them to. So you tried to get all their attention on you by wiggling in the backseat, acting like you were trying to get more comfortable. The two armed men right in front of you just glanced at you and your tied limbs and let you be. 

You noticed the guy in the passenger seat didn’t even bother looking at you. The driver looked into the rearview mirror but quickly looked away and ahead. 

They still hadn’t heard the faint, steady roar of Bucky’s bike. 

Perfect. 

By the time Bucky would get close enough to attack, he would catch them by surprise. And it would be too late for them to react and defend themselves. 

So you kept moving, grunting in annoyance extra loudly just to mask the sound of Bucky’s bike as it got closer and closer– 

A loud gunshot exploded near you. For a moment nothing made sense. 

Then you realised the truck was no longer steady, it was tilted on one side. Bucky had shot one or more of the tires. You sighed in relief, while the men in the vehicle panicked. Muffled voices spoke all at once, one of them telling the driver to drive faster. 

Another, one of the men who was armed in front of you, lowered the window and popped his head and gun out, trying to find whoever was around but it was too late. 

You turned your head and managed to catch a glimpse of him through the rear windshield. Amongst the smoke and dirt flying, there he was. Mounted on his mean bike like a fierce general riding his beast into battle. Except this general wasn’t backed by soldiers. He was alone. 

But army or not, he was still Bucky Barnes. All black bike, black helmet, full biker gear, metal arm catching the sunlight. Guns strapped to his body. He looked like Death. 

A sob shook your body as you ducked and hid under the seats as much as you could as Bucky rain down bullets like hellfire upon the vehicle. He knew it was bulletproof, but you were certain he was doing it just to get the men to use their weapons and waste their bullets on him as fast as possible. 

The loud noises made it seem like your brain was vibrating, your heart was racing, and your ears were hurting with how loud the guns and shouts were. But Bucky was here, and all would be well now. 

A few seconds later, the truck began zig-zagging. You assumed it must be because the driver got shot. More shouts and bullets later, the truck came to a sudden stop. Like it collided with something that was strong enough to stop it even at that speed. 

But there was nothing on the empty streets you had been on. Nothing except… Bucky. 

An eerie silence followed. Then footsteps. The men in the truck had all been shot you realised upon smelling the scent of blood and gunpowder. 

You couldn’t get yourself up, not with your limbs still tied but you tried your best. And you were barely up when you heard the sound of metal literally tearing apart. You managed to peek from the back seat and Bucky had torn off one of the doors. The entire door off the side of the truck. 

You couldn’t call for him, but you kicked the back of one of the seats hard enough to get his attention. 

The moment his ocean blue eyes met your teary ones, you couldn’t help but start crying. Hot, burning tears streaming down your face as Bucky almost tore apart the entire truck to get to you. The moment he grabbed you and pulled you out into the open air, it was only his arm around you keeping you up. 

“I’ve got you,” He whispered over and over again, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated continuously as he carefully peeled the tape off your lips and cupped your face in his hands, looking at you intently to look for injuries while he wiped your tears away. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking more panicked and worried than ever. “Baby, answer me. Did they hurt you? Inject you with anything? Touch you?” 

You shook your head, wanting nothing more than to just be able to take a deep breath, now safe in his arms. Only when you went to wrap your shaky arms around him, he stopped you. Keeping you at arms’ length and away from him. 

That worried, soft look in his eyes turned cold. Even under the afternoon sun, you shivered under his gaze. 

“What the fuck did I tell you before I left, huh?” He snarled. “I told you to stay inside, don’t leave the building. Didn’t I say that?” 

You sniffled, nodding. “I just went to my weekly class, and–,” 

He cut you off, hissing, “And look what happened!” He was almost screaming in your face, “You’re so lucky I got here in time. You’re so fucking lucky I have a tracker in that bag of yours. Otherwise it would’ve taken me days to get to you! Days!” 

You trembled, knowing he was right. Bucky dealt with dangerous people. He knew why he asked you to be cautious. 

Bucky leaned closer to you, looking down at you with no warmth. “These aren’t the villains you read about in your silly, little fucking books.” His voice sounded menacing, freezing. “These are actual, dangerous people. They wouldn’t have waited for you to charm your way out. They would’ve killed you!” He yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I was replying to your texts and–,” 

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him. “That when I tell you it’s not safe out there, you stay put. You stay inside and wait for me.” He growled. “You could’ve been killed today! And who would have had to live with that, huh? Who would’ve had to live with the disappointment that he couldn’t keep you safe? That he brought you into this shitty life and couldn’t even keep you alive?” He bellowed. “Who would’ve had to look your family in the eyes and tell them he lost you? Me! That’s who!” 

More tears, and a whimper escaped your lips. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. You had never seen this side of him. He let go of your face like it burned to touch you. 

He looked around, at the torn apart truck. At the bodies. The bullets on the ground. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. He reached into the truck and grabbed your things. Your bag and all that you had on you when you were taken. Your phone wasn’t here though, they must’ve thrown it out onto the streets while they took you. 

Bucky said, “We need to get out of here. Come.” 

He didn’t turn around to see if you were following, he knew you would. Once he got on his bike, he handed you his jacket and helmet. You put both on without questioning where you were going. 

Once sat behind him, your arms hesitantly around his torso, he turned to the side and said, “City’s not safe right now. We’ll spend the night at a motel nearby.” 

And that was all he said for the next few hours. 

– 

By the time you two made it to the motel – which was much, much more decent and clean than you had imagined – the sun was already setting. The place was quiet. A few voices conversing here and there, ACs humming as ACs do, cars coming in and out frequently given there was a gas station nearby, and a burger joint on the other side of the street. 

Bucky got you two a room for the night, and didn’t say a word to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the room. 

It was a decent room. Bed, bedside tables, TV, sofas. The usual. 

You didn’t notice Bucky had packed a bag as well. You hadn’t been paying much attention anyway. He placed his much bigger bag on the bed and pulled out a few things. Some belonging to you, you noticed. Toothbrush, soaps, clean clothes. 

He handed a bunch of things to you and said, “Go shower.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. Guess he was still angry at you. 

You didn’t argue. You just took the things and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in there for a good half an hour. 

When you stepped out of the shower, feeling clean finally, you noticed Bucky wasn’t in the room. And the weather outside had changed. You could hear the faint thunder approaching. Surely by tonight there would be a storm. 

But where had Bucky gone? 

You put your clothes away in your bag, and with no phone you had no choice but to turn the TV on. You got in bed, a few minutes into watching some random documentary when Bucky walked in with food. 

You gave him a look, wondering if he would talk to you now. But all he said as he placed the bags filled with food on the bed was, “It’s none of your fancy green smoothies and healthy wraps, but it’ll have to do for now. I’m going to shower.” 

Then he disappeared. 

You were still upset, but then hunger took over and you pawed at the bags like a raccoon. You found milkshakes, fries, and burgers. And you ate while you wondered how long Bucky would keep being angry at you. 

You were halfway through your second burger when Bucky walked out of the shower. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet, dark hair pushed back, droplets of water still dripping down his chest and abs. 

You swallowed your food before you choked, then looked away, acting as if the documentary on the TV was much more interesting to look at compared to your half naked boyfriend. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, and you noticed he was carrying a first-aid kit in his hands. 

You shook your head. 

“Nothing? No scratches, nothing?” He asked again. 

You shrugged, “Just a small cut. It’ll heal. Nothing serious.” 

He walked over to your side of the bed, and said, “Show me.” 

You didn’t want to argue so you placed your food aside, lifted your shirt and showed him the minuscule cut on your ribs. “It’s not–,” 

But he cut you off by placing the kit down and looking for some cotton and disinfectant. 

It burned as he cleaned in and put a little bandaid over it. It hurt even more when he didn’t kiss it after like he usually does whenever he tends to your cuts and wounds. 

You didn’t say a word though. And soon, you both finished your food in silence with only the TV and the approaching storm as noise in the background. 

The thunder got louder and louder as you both got into bed. That weird silent treatment continued, and by now you were annoyed as well. You’d admit, it was your fault for being so careless when he’d told you to be cautious. But didn’t he see that you needed him now? 

Couldn’t he see you wanted to be held? And kissed? And comforted? 

You frowned in the dark. The lights from outside came through the blinds and lit the room up a little bit. As did the lightning. You were the only one tossing and turning you noticed, Bucky was asleep it seemed. 

But the thunder, the new bed, the fear and stress from earlier, it was all keeping you from falling asleep. Plus, it was a little embarrassing to admit, but you liked being held while you fell asleep. But Bucky wasn’t even talking to you, and wrapping your own arms around yourself wasn’t working. 

Another hour went by. Now the heavy rain finally came, along with a proper thunder storm. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You turned to face Bucky and he had his eyes shut, facing you. Not a single item of clothing on his body, except for a thin sheet covering him from the waist down. You sighed, frowning a little in annoyance still but you couldn’t help but scoot closer to him, seeking his warmth and embrace. 

First you pressed into him, to see if he would stir or wake up. He didn’t. So you got bolder and took his metal arm and placed it around you, waiting again. He didn’t move. So you went to wrap your arms around him, and once you did, you heard his sleepy voice saying, “Oh, what’s this? Now you need me?” 

You froze, trying to see if you could pretend you were asleep already. He didn’t buy it. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

You sighed. “It’s the thunder.” You said, nuzzling his warm neck. 

“And you need daddy to protect you now, little bunny?” He mocked. “But when I try to tell you what to do to keep you safe you never listen.” 

You noticed he kept his arm around you, pulling you more into him even as he chided you. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It won’t happen again.” 

He hummed. “It better not.” 

You were quiet for a second or two, then said, “You were so mean to me earlier.” 

“I have to be.” He said sternly. “You never listen. You don’t take your training seriously, you think you’re ready to fight your way out, baby, but you’re not. All I asked you to do was not to leave that apartment until I got there. But you couldn’t help but be a brat, could you?” 

You squirmed in shame. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” 

“Well,” He said, sounding sassy as he pulled you closer, “I am pissed. Deal with it.” 

You had had enough. You slipped out of his arms, “Stay here and brood then,” You tried to get out of bed, “I’ll sleep on one of the sofas–” 

Bucky didn’t let you. A loud thunder boomed right above as he pulled you back into bed and climbed on top of you. “Stop being fucking difficult.” He hissed. 

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. Beard scratching your face, his long hair tickling the sides of your face. 

His kiss was rough and it hurt in the best way. Bucky pulled away for a brief moment, squeezed your cheeks so you couldn’t close your mouth. “Brat.” Glaring down at you, he spat in your mouth before kissing you again. 

Your brain felt like it was floating. His kiss was hot. And messy. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “Needy little brat. Can’t ever do as you’re told, can you? You almost got fucking killed today, but you don’t care about that. Do you? Huh?” 

You were quiet. Your brain was too foggy with lust to function. 

“Why are you quiet? No bratty words for daddy?” He asked, sliding his rough hands up and down your parted thighs. You spread them even more the moment he touched you and he smirked when he noticed it. “Go on, tell me to stop. Tell me to let you go.” He taunted, knowing full well you would never do that. 

All you did was whimper as he touched you mindlessly, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. 

“You’re gonna listen from now on.” He stated. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll lock you in that apartment if I have to. But from now on, if I tell you it’s not safe out there, you do not leave that house. You hear me, princess?” 

Silence. Which earned you a slap on the thigh. You yelped in pain before glaring at him. “Fine,” You said, “Yes, I hear you. I’ll be good.” You whined. 

“Of course you will,” He said, his metal hand pinned you down on the bed by wrapping around your neck to keep you in place, while his other hand wrapped around his cock. Pumping it once, twice while holding your stare. “‘Cause I’ll have you over my knee and spank that little butt raw if you don’t.” 

You whimpered and squirmed because of how badly you needed him inside you. “I will. I’ll be so good,” You begged, “Buck, please.” 

Bucky wasted no time sliding inside of you. Giving you no time to even think, he moved in and out of you in a way that had you moaning out loud, not caring that the walls might be thin. 

The storm got louder somehow, thunder rumbling and lightning lighting up the room every now and then. The rain got heavier, silencing the rest of the world as Bucky fucked you. His body weight pressing down onto you in a way that made you never want to be anywhere else. 

It didn’t matter that you were in a small motel room, so far away from home. It didn’t matter that danger could still be lurking around. Nothing mattered, not when he held your stare as he fucked you hard and fast, barely giving you time to breathe right. 

He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Look how you behave the moment you have some cock in you. Is that all my baby wanted? Daddy’s cock? Hmm? Is this why you’ve been pouting for the past few hours?” He chuckled, spreading your thighs even more, “I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” He cooed, fucking into you deeper somehow. “I’ve been so mean by telling you just where you messed up and how bad things could’ve gotten if I didn’t reach you in time. I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” He mocked you, scoffing, “Is that why your pussy is strangling my cock, baby? Because daddy’s so mean to you, is he?”

You could feel your face getting hotter as your walls clenched around him over and over again, as he sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you out, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. 

“Is this what you wanted, little bunny?” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Is this enough to make you behave from now on, baby?” 

You moaned at how perfect his warm body felt on top of yours, his weight pressing down on you. His stubble tickled your skin as he kissed your face and bit on your lip. Your legs trembled as his thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body grew, familiar, tight and hot.

The storm, the streetlights, and every little bit of light allowed you to see how Bucky looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “I killed for you today.” He whispered, “I saved you, and this is what I get? Attitude? A bratty girl? Not even a thank you,” He scoffed, “Not even a ‘thank you for saving me daddy’, nothing.” The cold cruelty in his voice only made you clench around him harder. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, making you moan even louder. “Dirty little slut. Look at you, all cock drunk.” He scoffed, giving you yet another messy kiss. “Are you gonna be good from now on?” 

“Yes,” You whined, not recognising your voice because of how desperate you sounded. Then again, only he could make you sound this way. You whimpered, unable to say anything else because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. 

Fuck, you needed this. So much. You whined again when his hand let go of your throat, fingers trailing down your squirming body until his metal fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly. 

“Yeah?” He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke. “You’re gonna be my good girl and listen to me?” 

You nodded, tears streaming down your face again. The exhaustion from earlier, the day you had survived. It was all too much. “Please…” You whimpered, squirming and unable to hold back anymore. You needed to come so bad. Your thoughts were a mess. 

“Good girl.” 

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. You came undone all around him. Moaning, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him even harder than earlier. 

Bucky kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under him. “That’s it, babygirl. Come for daddy.” 

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, growly voice. He groaned until he came undone as well. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, his thrusts slowing down, his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

—

You vaguely remember his cleaning the two of you. He let you rest for a minute, but then it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So he flipped you around, straddled you and began massaging your worn out body. 

He rubbed his rough hands all over your back, down your hips, and thighs. It was quiet for a while. Just the rain, the thunder, and the sound of Bucky breathing. 

Then you heard his gentle voice. “I can’t lose you. Not you.” He whispered, like he was saying it to himself, “Not you, baby.” 

Your heart throbbed and pinched.  

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your spine, all while massaging your body. “I don’t like being mean to you.” He kissed his way up again, nuzzling your ear and whispering, “Earlier today,” He spoke softly, “When I watched the tracker show me how fast you were getting further and further away, thinking about how they must’ve grabbed you. How easily, how quickly they took you, I–,” His voice cracked. 

You couldn’t help the tears anymore, “I’m sorry.” You tried to turn over and face him but he gently pushed you back down on the bed. 

“Shh,” He shut you up. “Just let me take care of you.” His hands touched you everywhere. Soft touches soothing the spots he’d grabbed harshly earlier. “You scared me, baby.” He kissed around the cut on your side. “For a moment I thought I’d never see you again.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffled, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll train harder, I’ll be better. I won’t let my guard down, ever.” 

He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. “You’re perfect.” He stated. “We’ll work on training you better. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you. Always.” 

You gave him a teary smile and sheepishly said, “Thank you for saving me.” 

Bucky laughed softly, nuzzling your neck again, kissing your skin like he couldn’t get enough. “I would burn this entire world down if anyone tries to take you from me again.” 

You laid your head back down on the pillow, laughing softly. Thinking he was joking. 

He wasn’t.

[classyrbf]

STILL IN LOVE! #12 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…only to realize it’s much more complicated than you led on

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce, mentions of jail, blood, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

series masterlist

As soon as you stepped back inside the house you immediately made your way over to the bedroom to grab your phone. Your head was still spinning from what just happened. Your heart was pounding so fast you could hear it in your ears. The thought of Toji going to jail made you anxious, scared. You two finally started off on the right foot, making little progress each day and you didn’t want to tell the kids that their father was in jail. Hell, you didn’t even know how long he’d be in jail for this kind of shit. You didn’t have the money to bail him out, whatever the cost may be. But you had an idea of who might.

Quickly, you called Gojo. The phone rang while you chewed on your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down nervously while you waited. “Hello?” It was like a weight lifted off of your shoulders upon hearing his voice.

“Gojo, thank god you fucking answered,” you sighed.

“Y/n? Oh no…what’d he do this time? Better be worth you waking me up for,” he yawned.

You let out a soft chuckle before explaining, “he’s in jail, or is gonna end up in jail—”

“Hold up, what?” Gojo jumped up, brows furrowing at your words.

“To make a long story short, my ex boyfriend came over this morning while toji was here, he said some shit toji didn’t like and toji beat the shit outta him. Cops were called and they dragged both of them away and said toji will most likely go to jail,” you explained, biting the inside of your cheek.

“And I’m guessing you need me to bail him out? Yeah?”

“Yes…Gojo, please. Me and Toji…we were doing good and the kids and it’s just—”

“Listen, call Shoko to pick the kids up after school and I’ll be over in a little bit,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Toji sat in the chair, hands laying flat on the desk as he waited in the dingy questioning room. He felt like some big time criminal, considering what happened. He was annoyed, having to go through this whole process over a simple fight. “People are pussies,” he muttered to himself. Nanami should’ve kept his mouth shut, especially about the kids. He should’ve left when you asked him to and instead he kept on going.

All Toji could think about was you, wondering if you were disappointed in him, upset or even at your breaking point with him. He promised he wouldn’t mess up his chance, and yet here is sitting in a police station with the high probability of being put behind bars. He impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, the buzzing sound of the overhead fluorescent lights making his head pound. The slight cut on lip still stung everytime he licked his lips, a faint taste of blood on his tongue.

A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts, a police officer walking in and flashing a quick, fake smile at Toji. “Alright, Mr…Fushiguro.” The man took a seat across from Toji and it couldn’t help but make his eye twitch.

“When can I leave?” Were the first words that came out of his mouth. “I need to see my wife and kids.”

The officer chuckled, shaking his head. “Not until we get your side of the story. We already questioned Mr. Nanami, and we got your wife’s—ex wife’s side as well, so you’re next. Mind telling me what happened from beginning to end?” The officer clicked the blue pen his had in his hand, flipping the next page in his notepad.

“I woke up, made breakfast for my wife and shortly after she woke up as well. We talked for a little, didn’t even get to sit down and eat before the doorbell rang. She answered it and I looked over to see it was her ex boyfriend at the door,” he mumbles, not once shifting his gaze.

“You say she’s your wife and you say Mr. Nanami is he ex boyfriend. But he says that you two are divorced,” the officer adds.

“We are but we plan on working things out, so she’s my wife.” The officer nods are Toji’s words, scribbling it down on the white paper. “I walk over to the door and stand behind her, and they’re having a conversation about their relationship. She told they broke up—he broke up with her because of me and our relationship. Fair enough. She respected it and realized that maybe me and her should work stuff out because of our kids—”

“So why exactly did he show up?” The officer cocks his head to the side.

“To apologize and get her back. Why else would he be there? She didn’t want to and that’s when shit hit the fan.” Toji shrugged.

“By ‘shit hit the fan’ you mean when started saying nasty comments? Your wife said he began belittling her, talking about your kids and your relationship? Am I correct?” His brows raise, the tip of the pen to his paper.

“She asked him to leave, and he wouldn’t. He was saying stuff about how are relationship wouldn’t last and how I only wanted to keep her around for…sex. Then he brought up my kids, and that’s when I knocked his ass to floor. Sound bout right?” Toji blinked, completely uninterested.

“You say she asked him to leave and he wouldn’t?” The officer glances up at him for a quick second.

“Yeah,” toji responds.

“Just one more question, you don’t live there right?” The officer folded his hands in front of him.

Toji hesitated to answer. He knew if he said no, they’d probably charge him, but he said yeah, he’d be lying but he probably won’t get charged due to fact Nanami was most likely trespassing. “I do. Been living there for about a month.”

“Alright, that’s all I needed to know. Be back in few.” The chair screeched against the floor as the officer stood and walked out the room.

With a roll of Toji’s eyes he let out a scoff. “Fucking pigs.”

You paced back and forth in the living room, nervously biting at your nails, anticipating the moment Gojo knocked on the door. You couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like the universe had placed some kind of curse on you. Was it so hard to have one good day? Apparently so. The sound of knocking pulled you from your thoughts, wasting no time to unlock the door where you were met with Gojo himself, in sweatpants, a hoodie, and his hair disheveled. It was weird not seeing him dress up for once.

“Gojo.” You quickly hugged him.

“Hey, hey.” He hugged back, stepping into your house. “So, what the fuck happened? Did he seriously get arrested?” He shook his head in confusion.

You let out a deep sigh, just the thought of talking about it made you feel tired, annoyed, upset. You weren’t sure what you were. “Yes? I mean, they dragged both of them away, but Toji hit first.” You plopped down on the couch, holding your head in your hands. “He’s most likely going to jail.”

“He is going to jail,” Gojo corrected. “If they find out he doesn’t live here, and that he swung first…jail time!” Gojo sat beside you. “Depends on how much your ex boyfriend is willing to tell.” He glanced at you.

You groaned in annoyance, falling back onto the plush cushions. “Okay, but he was talking about our kids and saying all shit to me and—”

“You think cops give a shit? All they care about is sending whoever to jail. Toji or whatever his name is. And knowing Toji’s record with the police, he’s not making it out of this one.” Gojo reached into his pocket pulling out a piece of candy. “Want some?”

You glared at him, blinking. Was he serious? “Did you seriously bring candy?” You asked, looking at the piece of taffy he held between his fingers.

“Yeah, I had a whole bag of ‘em. Anyway, you want it?” He held it out to you.

“Gojo, can we please focus right now? What if he gets let off without a warning? That’s good right?” Someway somehow you’re hoping that’s the best possible outcome in this situation.

“Well, then excellent. Wait, did he like bash his face in? Or how bad are we talking?” Gojo narrowed his eyes.

“Gojo, I don’t know! For fucks sake!” You rose to your feet, stress levels rising higher. “How do we even know he’s in jail? He’s probably locked up as we speak!” You were panicking and you weren’t exactly why. Gojo said he’d bail him out for you, so coming up with money wasn’t a problem. It’s the fact that you felt like this was entirely your fault. Your relationship with Kento and your relationship with Toji, everything came crashing down. As a grown woman with two kids, you’d think you’d know better and know how to confront your own feelings without getting others involved but apparently that was impossible for you.

Though, it’s not like you expect Kento to show up on your doorstep this morning wanting to take you back. You felt horrible. He was a good man, sweet and kind, and you, you were still stuck on your ex husband and clearly that hurt him. You were sorry for that, you take responsibility that. But that gave him no excuse to bring your kids into this. Everything about this was so fucked up. Even more than before.

“Listen, relax. They’ll allow him some phone calls if they do lock him up. He will most likely call you, and you’ll spill the great news to him! No problem!” Gojo shrugged it off, reaching into his pocket to pull out another piece of taffy.

“It’s been like three hours already.” You huff.

“Then he’s probably locked up,” he casually said, popping the candy into his mouth.

“Can you take this seriously for one second?” You you take a deep breath, finding the inner strength not to yell and cuss Gojo out just because you were extremely overwhelmed.

“I am! Listen, you know he’s been in jail before! He’s fine!” Gojo swatted his hand, brushing off the situation like it was so casual.

“Yeah, with you! When you two got into that stupid ass bar fight and Shoko and Geto called me at three in the fucking morning!” Your nostrils flared, rolling your eyes at the man in front of you.

“No need to dwell on the past—wait, is that—”

“What?” You looked at Gojo, eyes wide.

“Is that your phone?” He stands up.

You run towards your bedroom, nearly tripping over your own feet as the sound of your phone ringing grew louder. “Fuck where is it?” Your eyes scanned over your dresser and nightstand before you standing tearing your blankets off of the bed. Your phone flew to the floor and you quickly grabbed it, seeing it was an unsaved number. Fuck.

“Hello? Toji?” Your voice shook as you spoke. You could hear slight breathing on the other end.

“Baby…”

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[4mrplumi]

crow choir: seven minutes

min. one - the egg (batfam x neglected!reader)

ms. 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08

the world’s become buttery and thick, only bits of your vision slipping through drooping eyes, the otherwise strong smell of wet cement and bad paint strangely muted, and somebody crying weakly near your legs. 

you hate this bathtub. been meaning to get it checked for weeks, there must be a crack or something, letting mold grow through the bits. but rent’s so hard already… and you guys don’t even use this for anything. the shower works just fine.

your side starts to hurt, it’s difficult to put a hand on it, the action taking too, too much effort. you want to say something, tell whoever’s crying to shut up, but your words die in your throat, coming out like a whimper. the person starts crying louder. gosh… what’s wrong with her?

on the dirty, tub base, your phone pings, the screen lighting up to a picture too bright for your eyes to register it. you stare at it, hoping it’ll dull out, let you catch a sneak of what’s showed up so suddenly. the girl near your legs hiccups, picking up your phone to check. you don’t feel uneasy. she’s done this before, you can tell. you wait patiently, for her to talk, talk for you and to you.

she stifled a sob, voice dry from crying. “it’s your brother,” she mewled, tapping on the message, “he’s sent a voice mail. do i play it?” you can’t say yes. and your eyes are so, so heavy. you wait for her to understand. so she understands, a long, painted nail tapping at the screen.

geez. this phone’s audio’s terrible. you can barely hear a thing through the buzzing. the guy’s voice is terrible too, airy but squeaky, long drawling words that he says too quick. or is that your ears?

“hey (name)! it’s tim,” it’s tim, “it’s been… a while, since we talked-” a while, “any of us talked, um, with you, actually,” with you, in particular, “me and the others were wondering, y’know, with dick coming to visit this weekend, do you want to-” the audio buzzes out for a second, and comes back quickly,

“-hang out?”

your mouth, that’s been a little open this whole time, for breathing, closes quietly. you can’t answer, to him, or the way the girl near your legs seems to let out a pitiful whine of a noise, seemingly sadder about this than you.

tim… your brother… brothers? want to hang out. you look at your hand, now motionless at your side, and try to flex fingers that won’t move. they’re kind of mean aren’t they? calling you to hang out the one time you can’t. you take a breath, a wheeze, a sorry attempt by your throat to push in mucky, no-good air. you should tell them that you can’t hang out, not this weekend. you look at the girl, the edges of her image blurred, difficult to look at. but they become sharp, and clear for a fraction of a second, and she’s looking back at you, eyes pink and puffy.

your voice, your throat, so difficult to use only a second before, is a little lighter. you can say something. something, but… you have to be fast. blink once, “you’ve got to leave,” you murmur, the girl’s head jutting up sharply, “turn the tap on when you go,” her lip wobbles, you feel bad for making her cry, “none of your stuff should be in this apartment.” she nods. you consider, raising a brow with some difficulty, the muscles in your face falling asleep.

“get rid of that old hag downstairs,” the girl gasps, you hiss at her to shut up, “he doesn’t get to know you were here.” everything will be fine. you’re just a little sad you couldn’t hang out with your family, only just a little, since they were so mean and you didn’t much like them. still. 

you look at your phone, the girl gets up and turns the tap on, water starts wetting your hair. you’d like to hang out, even if they were mean the whole time, just once. you thought you had more time, really, much more time. water starts pooling at your body, your back turning wet and cold. the girl, your friend, looks down at you, sad. she says something, sorry? i love you? i’ll miss you? you ruined my life? you don’t know. tim’s voice plays again in your head, as water blankets your body, still not too close to your head. 

why’d he ask to hang out, the one time you couldn’t? the water’s at your chin. so mean. water covers your face, kissing your head. you’re not scared of drowning. you’ve already stopped breathing. you wish you had one more minute. the blurry colours of the girl leave the bathroom in a rush, muted sounds of clattering and wailing coming from outside the bathroom door. one more minute.

the world goes dark.

people say gotham is a city of secrets, but that’s not true at all. people know, they gossip, they sneer and giggle behind their fingers. there are no secrets in gotham, only things left undiscovered. 

like that prickly pair of kids on the second floor of ms. jone’s place. people whisper that they only share the same last name, and their mother. bastard children looping their arms together and trying to make ends meet. but that’s all they know. everything else is undiscovered.

they don’t know about the older girl selling bad booze and messy powders for scrap money, using it on the little food they could afford, skipping over bills and all-that-nonsense. they don’t know how the younger kid’s almost eight, and still hasn’t started to talk, eerily quiet for most of the day, making troubled noises only in their sleep. they don’t know about (name)’s big sister wiping their tears and singing them terrible lullabies, after yelling herself hoarse and going into hysterics wild enough to call for a month at arkham. no one hears, no one discovers.

they only know that the lady living in that house got into bad trouble last year, went missing with not a single person reporting her absence. her kids didn’t have anyone come for them, but who cares? the eldest was of age, there are far more unfortunate children in gotham. they’ll manage. 

they discover you in november, small hands curled around limp, cold fingers poking out of the tub. the polluted waters of gotham did good for once, you couldn’t see her glassy eyes or swelling lips, her face submerged in water. the cops had picked up your sleeping body, only one of them shaken from discovering you. “odd smell” complaints were hardly issues for the GCPD, gotham smelt like muck. isn’t it so lucky that the one time they bother, there’s something to feel bad about? the smell of flesh? of bad water?

just like they were surprised when they discovered you, you were surprised to discover you weren’t at home anymore, your fingers curled around some stranger police officer’s sleeve. you’d let go of it sharply, eyeing her suspiciously. your sister said the cops weren’t good, that they’d taken her friends and would take her too. did you do something bad? is that why you’re here? you can’t help it; your chin wobbles.

you were left a secret, discovered, but not understood. the police couldn’t get you to talk, not with candy you’d refused or gentle voices unfit for their jobs. the foster homes you’d been put in- perhaps made you quieter, more bitter. you’d snatch away toys the other children tried to take from you, and got relocated quite a lot on complaints of “violent behaviour”. they tried, your caretakers, your “siblings”, the secretariats with their uneasy and frankly irritated smiles, really did try to get you to settle. but you never really did. a poet might’ve been kinder and called you a jumble of rogue waves, with a storm in you that never really seemed to calm. everyone else thought you were a freak.

you can only imagine the desk-lady’s surprise, when she told you your father, your real father, was coming to pick you up, and all those waves suddenly ebbed away. eery, she whispered to her colleagues later, i’d expected surprise, shock, happiness or even anger, but the kid went still! yeah, you must’ve been a freak.

bruce wayne did not come to pick you up, to nearly no one’s surprise. the man was so dreadfully busy, it’d be alot to expect him to come pick up his child! no, the butler came instead, letting you eye his graying hair and polished suit with some level of blunt distaste. but still, you said nothing. you said nothing the whole car-ride, nothing when you hesitantly took the man’s hand and waddled up to the manor in uneven, uneasy steps, nothing when you entered the large, large, empty house.

everything made your head spin. from the too-high ceilings, the too-long corridors, the too-strong scent of something, and bright lights that seemed to engulf you. this was a complete one-eighty from your previous living conditions, and probably sent you into more shock than finding our about your dad.

right, your dad. you’d asked you sister about him once, assuming she’d know. she always knew just about everything, she’d know your dad too, right? 

she didn’t. she’d pinched your cheeks and shoved a spoon of gray oats into your mouth, her voice a mocking sing-song; “my father doesn’t come get me because he can’t,” she’d said, “your father doesn’t get you because he doesn’t want you!” 

so why’d he want you now? maybe he didn’t- that’s why he didn’t pick you up, or show his face even after you’d sat in the living room for nearly two hours, waiting. the butler, his name was “alfred” as you learnt a little later, careened you to your room, leaving you to your few things and many questions left unasked. 

this was your life. would be- your life, for years to come. company served by a desk, a bed, a cupboard and a window in place of your father, your brothers, and your sister. you’re not sure what was so irredeemable, so different, so other about you, that you couldn’t ever manage to sit with them without stiffening in the tension.

they could accept assassins and circus boys, but maybe, you were just too ordinary to fit in with them. it was easier to stay in your room, easier to take up a dozen after-school responsibilities, than it was to stay at home and have to listen to conversations you weren’t privy to. this is just how it is, you’d gone without a fight, it’s just how it’s meant to be.

bruce did speak to you, quite a few times after you’d come to the manor. he’d asked how your mother was, initiating a long stare-off that ended with him nodding and leaving. the next conversations were just as awkward, miserable and weird. strained discussions about your old homes, stories about your mom you really didn’t care about, promises of events where you’d get to know your family, and maybe other children your age. you despised him, really, you did.

but this is how it’s meant to be. you assume, accept, this is your new life, this is punishment. for what? who knows. there are far more unfortunate children in gotham, you can’t complain, you accept this new life. this punishment; your brothers’ eyes turning away from your dark, gleaming ones, your sister pursing her lips and avoiding you quietly, all while you try to manage some behaviour of yours, some atmosphere around you that you don't know how to get rid of, barely even know exists. this is punishment, you have to accept it.

the first minute passes quietly.

˖ 𑣲 a/n: much has happened since i last uploaded anything on tumblr, my writing style too, definitely. i guess this marks the official discontinuation of the original crow choir series, which despite the love it got and the ideas i initially had for it, were really draining me, and going nowhere. thank you to everyone who's supported my writing, and for 600 followers ❤️ stay safe and well!

tag list: @lettucel0ver @marsmabe @alishii @1abi @c4xcocoa @bbmgirll @sirenetheblogger @privatebumblebee

[misserabella]

bloody and needy

just thinking about spencer being the kind of MAN that doesn’t care about blood. you want period sex? you’ve got it. that’s it. that’s the prompt.

cw: +18, minors dni!, period sex, blood duh, spencer being a service king, praising, lots of pet names and dirty talk, breeding kink, overstimulation, creampie, allusion to a second round…

it’s all a blur. you don’t exactly remember how or when spencer took off your clothes, but you’re laying completely naked over a couple of towels on your shared bed as his large fingers pump into your squeezing cunt.

“fuck.” and you’re moaning, cause it feels so fucking good you want to cry. it’s been over a week since you two have had sex, since he’d been away for a case, and just when he was finally coming back home and you hoped you’d finally get some release, that time of the month tagged along. so there you were, horny, desperate, and bleeding. but your boyfriend doesn’t care about blood. ‘it’s natural.’ he’s told you before. ‘tell me what you need and i’ll give it to you.’

so here you were now, legs spread as he adds another finger, your own in his hair tugging at the feeling of him stretching you so nicely… spencer kissed and sucked at your neck, his cock throbbing at the sweet sounds you’re making and the squelches that come from your cunt as he pumps in and out.

“spencer…”

“god baby, you’re so pretty like this…” he muttered, needy to be inside but waiting for you to give him the go ahead. his hand is a mess of crimson but he pays no mind to it.

“need you.” you breathe out, your back arching as his lips latched to your nipples.

“yeah? you need me?” he lapped at one of them and you nodded, whimpering. “should i take my fingers out then?” you nodded once again, but still whined at the loss of pleasure. “i know, i know baby. so needy for me.” he was quick to make work of his clothes, throwing them aside with your own and positioning himself in between your legs.

your hips and legs trembled when the tip of his cock teased you, and his tongue wetted his lips at the sight of the face you made when it bumped against your clit. “so sensitive huh?” he smiled and you nodded, eyes hazy.

“feels so good…”

“im gonna make you feel better, angel.” he said as he pushed inside with one single thrust, what made you scream. “fuck. you’re so warm…” he gritted his teeth as he started to move, leaving kisses on your neck. “so wet for me. you feel like heaven, love. so good for me.” he praised as he fucked into you, your legs surrounding his hips and your nails digging on his back. “you needed this, hm? baby? you needed me to fuck you, huh? my poor pretty girl. i’ve always told you that you just need to ask and i’ll give you anything.” your cheeks blushed, and you whined. “see what being a good girl and speaking up gets you, baby?” he pecked your lips and you moaned at a partially harsher thrust. “like that?”

“harder.” you desperately asked and he complied, fucking into you at the same speed yet harsher. you couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers falling from your lips. “spence…”

“i know angel, you’re so sensitive, doing so good for me…” one of his hands found your clit, circling it. “you can cum, pretty girl.” you moaned, your back arching. it was almost too much, until the overstimulation faded and you were grinding against his touch and cock in a daze. “jesus. if you could see yourself right now baby, so fucking hot… gonna make me cum so hard…” you whimpered at the thought. “yeah? you want me to cum for you baby?” you nodded. “where?”

“inside. cum inside please.” you babbled, your whole body tensing at the approaching of your orgasm. spencer groaned.

“you want me to fill this pretty pussy? make a mess out of it?” you cried and hiccuped in answer, muttering a ‘yes’ that almost made him bust in the spot. “want me to get you round and pretty for me?”

“yes! please, spencer, please…!” you begged and he moaned.

“i’m gonna cum baby, gonna fill you up so much it’ll be dripping out of you for a week.” that made you unravel, the tight band in you stomach snapping as you screamed in release, moaning his name over and over. “fuck, angel, fuck.” he groaned as he felt you clench, and after three stuttering thrusts, he spilled everything inside of you, kissing you sloppily as he fucked the two of you through it.

after the two of you came down, he caressed your cheek. “you okay, baby?”

“more than okay.” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but do the same.

“i’m gonna go find something to clean us up, okay?”

yoy looked down to find his thighs and v line along with his lower stomach stained in your blood. it only made you throb and him hiss.

“or maybe not.” he replied as he felt you starting to rock your hips against his already hardening cock.

“maybe not.”

-

❤️🩸i’m on my period, SO WHAT