#wilson is also here and says nothing

[shots-of-whiskey-and-wilson]

idk i think this pretty much encapsulates house in a nutshell

[teardropwolf]

Something incredibly self indulgent today

[firingstars]

locked in

— a sequel to match made

congressman!bucky x matchmaker!reader

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

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

word count: 15.2k

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

masterlist

You almost lost your fucking job. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s your secretary today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your thoughts, Congressman Barnes?”

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

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

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

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

You could test him. You could press it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, you were called back into work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not jealous of her perse. 

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

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

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

The time on the clock reads 1:44am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No the fuck he won’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But so did he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Bucky thought you were stupid.

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

An engagement ring. 

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

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

“Safety,” is all he answered with.

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

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

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

Marry him, you supposed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Must be nice–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This kind of thing was healing for him, too.

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

“Deal,” you grinned at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there a loan–”

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

“I do,” you answered instantly. 

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

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

“Okay,” you breathed, nodding. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky chuckled against your neck, squeezing you against him. 

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

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

“You like the place then?”

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

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

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

“A penthouse,” you managed to correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The view is perfect, handsome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning,” you would whisper to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was your new daily morning routine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, you felt him behind you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A year?” you whispered, eyes wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist

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[barnesonly]

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x empath!reader

summary: You escaped Hydra. You got him back. Now, you’re free — learning how to live, how to love, how to be whole again. The world is quiet for once… but healing isn’t easy. Still, with James by your side, maybe softness isn’t something to fear.

word count: 2660

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: the original series contains dark themes which may be referred in the one-shot. read at your own discretion. hurt/comfort, trauma bonding, established relationship, curse words, smut; oral (f receiving), praising.

Sam’s BBQ — oneshot continuation of my “Little Dove” series although can be read on its own.

A/N: This happens before the very ending of “Little Dove”. Just after they got together and Dove finally met Sam in better circumstances. I said I’ll write a oneshot of this fic when I reached 1k followers so… here is the first one — cause yeah, I am definitely going to write more about them in the future. I just cannot let them go, they’re like my babies. Anyways I hope you’ll enjoy this! Also extra points If you noticed the changed banner (you definitely did) and the pairing title 🤭

You stare at the closet like it’s personally offended you.

Clothes are scattered on the bed. Jeans. Two dresses. One too casual, the other too much. You stand there in your socks, arms crossed, biting at the inside of your cheek.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.

It’s just a barbecue.

Just Sam Wilson.

Just other normal people.

Your chest tightens at the thought. The clink of silverware. Laughter that isn’t cruel. Children running around without fear in their eyes. People asking where you’re from, what you do, what you like. And you — with no answers, no practiced smiles, no idea how to be in this world.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and bury your face in your hands.

God. Why did you say yes?

You’re still spiraling when you hear soft footsteps behind you. Then the mattress dips beside you, and James’s hand gently covers yours.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Talk to me.”

You don’t lift your head right away. Your voice is muffled. “I shouldn’t go.”

He leans a little closer. “Why?”

“I don’t belong there.” The words come out too fast. “I don’t have friends, I don’t know how to talk to people, and Sam—he already met me once and it was awkward, and what if I say something wrong or weird or just stand there like a broken lamp?”

James exhales slowly. His thumb brushes the back of your hand. “First of all, Sam liked you. He told me so.”

You finally glance at him. “He pitied me.”

“No,” James says, gently but firmly. “He didn’t. You came looking for me. He respected it.”

You almost smile, just a flicker. “I was desperate to find you.”

“Exactly,” he says, lips quirking. “Very charming.”

Your face drops back into your hands, groaning softly. “James…”

He shifts, kneeling in front of you now so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You’re not a broken lamp,” he says. “You’re not weird. You’re just… still healing. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

You blink at him, heart fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

“I don’t know how to be normal,” you whisper.

His expression softens. “Who cares if you’re normal?”

“You do. You’ll bring me around your friends and they’ll think—”

“I’ll bring you,” he interrupts, voice low and warm, “because I want you there. With me.”

You swallow hard. Your fingers curl in your lap.

“You don’t have to talk much,” he adds, like he knows exactly where your thoughts are heading. “Just stay close. Let them get to know this version of you — the one I see every day.”

You look at him, really look, and realize he means it. So you take a breath. Then another. And you nod.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw.

“Good,” he murmurs, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Because I already told Sarah you’re coming. She said she’s saving you a seat.”

You blink, startled. “She what?”

James smirks. “You’re part of the crew now, Dove. Better get used to it.”

You roll your eyes and let out a tiny laugh — shaky but real.

And when he helps you up and stands behind you as you try on another outfit, his hands resting gently on your waist, you start to believe — just a little — that maybe you can belong.

———

The car hums beneath you, windows rolled down just enough to let in the warm breeze. The sky’s turning golden, sun dipping low like it’s in no hurry to set. You watch the trees blur past outside, arms folded, fingers tapping your elbow in a steady rhythm.

You’re chewing the inside of your cheek again.

James glances at you from the driver’s seat. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. He’s wearing that slightly-worn navy shirt you like — the sleeves pushed up — and sunglasses he definitely doesn’t need anymore now that the sun’s behind the clouds. But you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t either. Not yet.

Instead, his fingers nudge your knee gently.

“You okay?”

You hesitate. Then shrug. “Nervous.”

“You already said that three times before we left,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure you’re not secretly going for a record?”

You shoot him a look. “I might be.”

He chuckles. The sound settles something inside you.

“I just… don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Dove.” His voice is warm, firm. “You couldn’t. Even if you tried.”

“You say that now,” you mutter, looking out the window again. “Wait until I freeze mid-conversation and forget what a fork is.”

James snorts. “Then I’ll remind you. Politely. Like, ‘Hey, babe, this is a fork. It’s for eating, not stabbing.’”

A laugh escapes you, unbidden.

He glances at you again — and smiles, wide and real this time, like it physically lifts the weight off his chest to hear you laugh like that.

“You’re doing great,” he says. “Really. Just… be yourself.”

You pause. Then glance over, a little unsure.

“And if I forget who that is?”

James’ fingers reach for yours, threading together easily, like they’ve done it a thousand times.

“Then I’ll remind you of her, too.”

You swallow hard.

The wind picks up just slightly, brushing your hair against your cheek. The sky’s turning a shade softer now. Golden-orange sun rays spilling across the hood of the car.

You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t let go.

And for the first time all day, you start to believe — maybe tonight will be okay.

———

The smell of grilled corn and barbecue sauce hits you before you even step out of the car.

Laughter echoes from the backyard — kids running, adults chatting over iced tea and beers, the crackle of meat hitting the grill. It’s warm, loud, alive. The kind of normal James once thought he’d never get back.

As you step out, you smooth the fabric of your dress — nothing fancy, just simple and comfortable, but James looked at you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen before you left.

He leads you toward the backyard, his hand hovering at the small of your back like he needs to be touching you somehow.

“Heyyy!” Sam’s voice rises above the music and chatter as he spots the two of you stepping into the backyard. He’s by the grill, spatula in hand, wearing an apron that says ‘Grill Sergeant’ like he’s proud of it.

You try not to shrink under the sudden attention, but James squeezes your hand gently, grounding you. It’s you who speaks first.

“Hi again,” you say, offering a nervous smile. “We met that one time at the center. You, uh—“

“Oh, I remember.” Sam blinks — then breaks into a grin.

He looks at James now, eyebrows lifting with mock suspicion. “So this why you’ve been ghosting me all week.”

James rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been ghosting—”

“Don’t care,” Sam cuts in, already setting down the spatula and walking over. “C’mere.”

You’re caught off guard when he pulls you into a hug — warm, quick, and surprisingly comforting.

“Anyone who can put up with Bucky officially gets a gold star,” he says as he lets you go.

You laugh, your nerves loosening just a little.

Then Sarah appears behind him, towel slung over one shoulder and a lemonade in her hand. She eyes the two of you, then smiles.

“You’re Dove, right? Heard plenty about you.”

“Oh God,” James mutters behind you.

Sarah gives him a look. “Relax. It was all sweet. Except the part where Sam said you’re way out of his league.”

You let out an embarrassed laugh, covering your face. James just mumbles something under his breath and wraps an arm loosely around your waist — like it’s second nature now. Like he’s proud to have you beside him.

And just like that, the tension melts.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of warmth and laughter. James softens in ways you don’t often get to see — especially when the kids tug on his hand and beg him to join their game of tag. He loses. On purpose. You can tell.

You help Sarah in the kitchen for a while, slicing watermelon and listening to stories about Sam’s terrible teenage fashion choices. And all the while, you catch glimpses of James through the window — the way he smiles at the kids, the way he sits in the grass with his knees up and lets the sun hit his face like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

As golden light spills across the yard and the grill dies down, you find yourself curled up beside him on the porch swing. His arm is draped over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest.

Sam walks over with a plate stacked with grilled peaches and homemade vanilla ice cream.

“You’re officially invited to every cookout from now on,” he says, handing you a spoon.

You smile, soft and certain.

“I’ll come to all of them,” you murmur, glancing up at James, “if he’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything but he presses a kiss to your temple — slow, tender — and that says more than enough.

———

The apartment door clicks shut behind you, the quiet settling like a blanket. You kick off your shoes and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

James watches you from the doorway, his keys still in hand.

You glance over your shoulder. “That was… actually really nice.”

He raises a brow, teasing. “What? You thought I was setting you up for emotional ambush?”

You laugh, sinking onto the couch. “I thought I’d say something wrong. Or not say enough. Or be too weird, or awkward, or—” You wave your hand vaguely. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect to feel… welcome.”

James moves slowly, setting the keys down, walking over. “I told you they’d like you.”

“They didn’t just like me,” you say softly. “They were kind. Like, genuinely kind.”

His hand touches your hair, brushing it behind your ear. “Of course they were. You’re impossible not to love.”

You blink up at him — startled, a little breathless — and before you can respond, he’s crouching down in front of you, resting his arms on your knees.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” he murmurs. “How easy it is to care about you. How strong you are. How much light you bring into places that should’ve broken you.”

Your throat tightens.

“I watched you today,” he goes on, voice lower now, rougher. “You laughed. You talked to Sarah like you’d known her for years. You helped the kids with lemonade and smiled like the world hadn’t tried to take everything from you.”

You’re blinking fast now, trying not to cry. But he doesn’t stop.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “And god—” His head dips slightly, forehead brushing your knee. “I’m so glad I get to call you mine.”

You reach for him before you even think, fingers sliding into his hair. He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours — soft, unwavering.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. “Always.”

His breath catches like the words physically struck him. Like they cracked something open inside him that he’d kept locked away for far too long.

James doesn’t say anything right away. He just stays there, on his knees before you, eyes fixed on yours like you’ve become the only thing in the world he believes in.

His eyes flicker, something molten pooling in their depths — and still, he doesn’t rush. He leans forward slowly, lips brushing against your knee, then higher. A trail of warm, aching kisses up your thigh, just beneath the hem of your dress.

Your breath catches as he lifts it gently, fingertips ghosting along the edge of your panties.

You don’t stop him. You can’t. You don’t want him to stop.

Your chest rises and falls in rhythm with his, shallow, uneven. You’re breathless already and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

His fingers graze your thighs, warm and steady despite the tremble in his breath. You feel him press the softest kiss just above your knee, then another, higher. The fabric of your dress bunches around your hips as he eases it upward, baring you inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something fragile.

“Can I?” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, like you’re something sacred.

You nod, already breathless. “Yes. Please.”

James leans in, pressing one last kiss against the inside of your thigh before carefully pulling your panties down. He’s methodical about it — almost ceremonial — sliding them past your knees, down your calves, letting them fall to the floor. He doesn’t break eye contact.

His mouth is soft against the inside of your thigh, and you feel it—how much this means to him. How much you mean to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice barely more than a breath. “I hope you know that.”

You reach down, card your fingers through his hair. He leans into your touch like it roots him, steadies him.

And then he’s kneeling fully between your legs, hands on your thighs, parting you just enough. You’re already warm, already wet, and he hasn’t even touched you yet — not really.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says, voice thick. “Every second of it. I want to worship you.”

You exhale shakily. “You already do.”

But he’s not satisfied with just words.

His hands slide under your thighs, pulling you gently closer. The skirt of your dress is bunched around your waist now, and he moans — low, broken — at the sight of you, glistening, waiting for him.

Then he looks up at you—eyes heavy, devoted—and lowers his mouth to you. It’s not frantic. It’s not about chasing release.

It’s about you.

His lips brush over you — soft, tentative. Then his tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with a featherlight touch. Your hips jerk, a soft gasp spilling from your lips.

“Shh,” he murmurs against you. “I’ve got you.”

And then he dives in.

Slow at first, savoring it. His tongue moves in long, deliberate strokes, tasting you like he’s starved for it — like nothing else exists but the way you sigh his name, the way your fingers tighten in his hair. He flicks his tongue just right, then suckles gently at your clit, and your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

“James,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Oh my god—”

He groans in response, the sound vibrating against you. He’s messy with it now, greedy, like he can’t get enough. But every movement still feels controlled — not rushed, not careless. He’s worshiping you exactly how he promised: with every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every moan he gives like a prayer.

Your back arches, a broken sound escaping your throat.

He grips your thighs tighter. “That’s it. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you. Always.”

Your orgasm hits like a wave — slow, then crashing. Your whole body clenches, your vision blurs, and you hear yourself cry out his name like it’s holy.

And even as you come down, he doesn’t let go right away — keeps kissing you, gentler now, like he’s soothing you through the aftershocks. His hands stroke your thighs, his mouth soft against your skin.

When he finally looks up, his face is flushed, his lips shiny, his eyes dark and full of something that looks like worship.

You’re still trembling when he leans in to kiss you — slow and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He holds your face in his hands like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

And when he pulls back, he whispers it again.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.”

tagging my little doves (tysm for ur love and support through the series, let me know If you still wanna be tagged in the oneshots! 🫶): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @storystorktwo @its-in-the-woods @blv3rd @starkglory @diabolicaldinosaur @elisha-chloe @miyababbby @cats-chaotic-mind @brooklynadoresdior @madsmikkelsonlvr101 @ifuckwithyouanyday @taqmari @syupakingcowbaby @iamthatonefangirl @schlattslonghairytoes @bloodmocha @lavenderslace

[underwhelmingalchemist]

So apparently the version of the "Isn't It Bromantic" interview that gets passed around isn't the full thing

So after seeing a tumblr post I can't find, about two and half hours of intensive internet digging, and one purchase from a sketchy second-hand site later (full story under the cut, I promise it's interesting, but also long), I got the physical magazine and scanned it

So here you go: the full "Isn't It Bromantic?" TV guide interview with Robert Sean Leonard and Hugh Laurie

Feel free to repost wherever you want- I want people to be able to find the full thing

SO, as for how I found it:

I saw this tumblr post forever ago that I can't find anymore because tumblr is just Like That with a cropped screenshot of an interview with Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard. In the interview, they're asked about the "bromance" between their two characters. Leonard makes an annoyed comment about how "everyone [is] obsessed with homosexuality", followed by the interview apologizing and Laurie immediately jumping in with, "No, no, let's talk about it. Wilson and House have an unusual relationship so you have to explore…" and the screenshot cuts off there. Cue funny comment from the OP about the interaction, roll credits.

Except, as these things tend to do, it ended up becoming a bit of a brain worm, and I wanted to find it again. But I couldn't find the tumblr post. I looked absolutely everywhere, and in the process of looking everywhere, I found what I thought was the original interview- a blog post with the full quote from the actor. I didn't think too much about it, I figured it was just a short quote given to a popular blog in 2008. There's a magazine cover above it, but I don't think too much about it, because I'm focusing on the quotes in the article instead of the rest of it.

So I send screenshots to a couple friends to make jokes, and it probably should have died there.

However, late at night I end up thinking about that interview again, because of course I did. I start to think about how it's weirdly formatted for, what I assumed at first reading, was just an entertainment news blog reaching out for comment and getting a response. So I pull up the screenshots of the article (because weirdly enough, the old-ass blog only loads on mobile) and look at it again.

This is when I realize that this isn't an original piece from a blog interviewing these two after reaching out for comment. This is a blog post quoting and commenting on a full interview from a magazine, which I had originally thought had just been the inspiration for the piece.

So naturally, I go looking for the magazine.

Luckily, the name of the magazine is displayed on the cover, and so is the title of its main piece. This should be easy to find, right?

Wrong.

This is an interview in a physical magazine. From 2008. October 13th, 2008, to be exact.

I know this exact date because searching the article title and magazine name leads me to an archive on the TV Guide website.

Of covers.

And nothing but covers.

I spend like forty-five minutes searching everywhere I can think of on the web. Internet Archive, the TV Guide website, any search result that comes up when I search any combination of the words "House" "Interview" "Bromantic" "Bromance" "TV Guide" "Archive" etc. Over and over, all that's coming up are that original blog post and the cover from the official gallery.

The only things I could find online were:

The cover and date of the issue on the TV Guide website

The original blog post that was screenshotted in the original tumblr post

Another blog post that had a much shorter version of the quote, references something Leonard says from later in the article, and makes a comment on the nature of his reaction to the term "bromance"

An entry on Leonard's IMDB page's "interview" list mentioning it in title only

And:

5. A single listing for the issue on what seemed to be a second-hand site that looked like it hadn't had its UI updated since the mid 2000's, with a listing with no date or additional information besides what issue it is.

This is the only listing anywhere. I checked every other second-hand site I could think of, and then some that only came up through google searches. There's not a single listing for that issue on any of them. There were plenty of listings of TV guide magazines, including one that seemed promising because it included issues from that year, but it was missing all of October.

It seemed like the only listing for this issue on the entire internet was this one copy on this one obscure website. For all I know, this was listed in 2008 and abandoned, and just never got marked inactive. It could also be a complete scam.

A few quick google searches show that that website seemed to be legit, albeit a bit loose on quality control (which makes sense, this website seemed like the kind of thing you'd have to use the Way Back Machine to access). It also had an option to pay via PayPal, which meant I could file a chargeback if need be.

It was $11.50 when you include shipping.

So at about half past midnight, I bought the listing.

Naturally, about an hour later, I manage to actually find a scan of the interview. I had to follow a link in the comments of a post on FanPop, taking me to an old wordpress blog, and I'm sitting in front of the damn interview at last.

But something doesn't make sense. Why would their cover story only be two pages of text that aren't even full pages, and why would it cut off so strangely? There was no concluding sentence or paragraph, even though it started with a fairly long lead-in. It also led right up to the edge of the page, which felt like there should be more to it. There were more images in the interview than text, and the fact that there are so many of them and they clearly did a whole photoshoot indicated that they had them on hand for a while. The silly string one, for instance, I imagine probably had to require a couple takes, which means cleaning off Wilson's hair and face, adjusting makeup, etc. for it. Meanwhile, the conversation itself seems like it could have taken ten minutes total. I could have been totally wrong and that was where the article ended, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there might be more.

So I hold tight. A couple days pass with no update, and then the PayPal purchase gets updated with a tracking number. Promising, but it could still be a scam. Whether or not I get the actual magazine becomes a source of anxiety for the next week.

Until today, when I get told it was delivered. And when I opened the envelope it was sent in: there it was.

When I tell you I was happy stimming in my bedroom just holding the damn issue in my own hands... And then opening it and finding out that I was right, there was a missing page... I was elated. I still am, just typing this.

So I spent half an hour getting my scanner to work, and I give you the above issues.

Like I said above, feel free to repost however and wherever you want. I want all this to mean something.

In the meantime, I have two more House-themed TV Guide magazines coming to try and get articles from.

[justanescapism]

House being secretly sweet would include...

A/N: I love House MD - still haven't finished it but I had to write something for him

Everyone knows House is an ass but when it comes to you he's as sweet as the people he claims to hate.

But nobody knows, not even you at first, he would do little things here and there but went unnoticed.

He'd bring you coffee when you had a tiring day or come to your defence with a difficult patient.

You'd just think he was trying to be a good partner at first, but can be selfish at times, and he hides behind his sarcasm so it's hard to tell when he means something sincerely.

Eventually, you start to catch moments where he would be staring at you but not in his usual annoyed manner but sweetly and somewhat lovingly.

From then on, you'd catch him doing other little things. Flowers would appear in your office, lunch - most likely stolen from WIlson - was always there when all the caferteria food looked disgusting, even some of your clinic hours were done by someone else.

You'd confront him, when you were alone, asking why he does all this stuff, and he feigns knowledge of what you mean. You point out that his name was on the clinic log. He'd smile, a goofy smile.

He'd be quiet but amused by your confusion. Finally explaining, he just thought you'd like it, and nothing else.

But you knew him, and could see through it.

Finally, after lots of probing from you, he'd say that he was scared to be openly sweet with you because of his reputation and also because he was scared people would be judgemental - not for his feelings but for yours.

You'd walk up to him and give him a sweet kiss, letting him know you don't care what people thing.

[aaronsrpgs]

The Tight 90

(This is a continuation or a fractal reviewing of what I've written about in The Worksheet Manifesto and The Quickstart, The Home Game.)

THE TIGHT 90 is a 90-minute RPG session. It riffs on the perfect length/density of a movie, and I think it's a term I learned/stole from will jobst.

WHY RUN SHORT GAMES?

Short games are easier to fit in a schedule. (We're all so fucking busy.)

Short games are easier to pay attention to. (We're all so fucking mentally ill.)

Short games focus on the good stuff and discard the bad stuff. (We're all so fucking tired.)

HOW RUN SHORT GAMES?

Tell everyone, "We're only going to play for 90 minutes. Because of that, I'm going to focus on the things that are most interesting and exciting for everyone at table, and I'm going to skip over everything else. I would appreciate it if you would do the same. If there's something you're really excited to do, tell the table! And if things are dragging, offer an alternative that moves the game along."

But then we actually have to do that. :( How?

SET SCENES AND STAKES

Don't start in a place where nothing is happening and ask your players "What do you?" Give them something to latch onto! Give them an immediate problem! Here are the first four pages of an issue of Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont, Dave Cockrum, et al:

In four pages we get a fatal problem, introductions, flashbacks on how they got here, and spotlights on everyone's powers. Awesome!

And while you don't have to have your players' characters falling out of the sky, at least start them at the dungeon entrance with a couple clear things to DO.

(For more on setting scenes and stakes, check out Primetime Adventures by Matt Wilson, which Sam Dunnewold was kind enough to run for me.)

Of course, if they're falling out of the sky or standing at a foreboding dungeon entrance, some player is bound to ask, "What do I have with me?" To which I say:

CUT THE BORING SHIT

Shopping? Don't do it! If someone would logically have something, they can have it. And if they try to exploit that, they're no fun to play with! Tell them no. (More on that later.)

Conversations on meandering horseback? Don't do it! Comic writer Chuck Dixon said that if Batman and Robin needed to have a heart-to-heart, they should never just stand around talking. They should have a heart-to-heart while training on top of a speeding train.

(The example was actually Nightwing and Robin, but I didn't want people to click away and look up who Nightwing was. Also, Dixon is a shitty guy! But at least in this, he was right.)

Basically, almost anything you can get out of a shopping scene or a campfire chat, you can get from everyone falling out of the sky or trying to escape a wildfire. ALL SCENES SHOULD PULL DOUBLE DUTY AS PLOT AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

BE GENEROUS WITH INFORMATION

Imagine a scene at a gaming table. The characters walk into a house in an empty town and ask what they see. The GM tells them to roll perception. The highest result is middling at best. The GM says, "You think you can see some blood." Someone else asks if they can roll investigation. They get a middle high result. The GM says, "There are some bullet casings on the floor and claw marks on the walls." Are the claw marks big? Roll perception again. Do they look like any local animals? Roll nature.

THIS SHIT SUCKS. It's a way to take 30 minutes to poorly tell the players that something interesting happened, and it doesn't give them anything to do after.

Instead, try this: the walls are splattered with blood and empty shell casings lie cold on the floor. The blood doesn't line up with what you know about bullet wounds, though; it lines up with the huge claw marks that tear the walls and floor. And blood drops continue in a line outside...

AND THEN if a player has a cool ability or is an investigator or druid or whatever, you get to write them a cool note that says, "These claw marks are bigger than any animal from around here. Maybe bigger than any animal you've ever seen."

Other examples:

The prince says he doesn't feel threatened by the king. He's clearly lying.

Moving stealthily, you make it to the general's bedroom, but it's clear that he has some sort of sensors or security system set up there.

As a wizard, you know they're casting some sort of summoning spell, and if at least half of the cultists aren't hurt or incapacitated in five minutes, the spell will succeed.

GIVE THE SESSION AN ENDING

It could be an exciting cliffhanger if you think everyone will be there next session to pick it up. But if you're not sure, end with a calm moment where the players have a clear next step. That way you can start next session with, "Last time you'd promised the Cult of Mirrors that you would lead them in war against the Skeleton Army. They're ready to go and ask you what your plan is."

FURTHER HOMEWORK

"How To End Things" by Jason Morningstar. On cutting scenes. Don't be fooled by the Patron link; it's free.

"Grand Experiments: West Marches" by Ben Robbins. The ur-text of running player-motivated sessions that don't require everyone to be there.

BUT WHAT IF!!!

What if rolling investigation rolls are vital to building tension in my mystery game? What if knowing the exact inventory and distance are vital to my high-stress dungeon game? What if campfire stories are my favorite part of our cozy travel game?

COOL! There are lots of resources out there for you, so this isn't for you. But maybe I could tempt you into considering a different style of game sometimes?

(Special thanks to @ladytabletop for supporting my Tight 90 obsession.)

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Mr. Mayor

✰ frank castle x fem!reader, matt murdock x fem!reader (platonic)

✰ summary: it always comes back to frank.

✰ warnings: language, violence, mentions of blood, dirty cops, wilson fisk (yuck), reader gets a bit sassy bc she's fed up, angst X 100.

✰ word count: 1.9k

✰ this is a two part series!! read the first part below!

part one

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

not my gif, credit to the owner!

A tense silence suffocated the two the moment you slammed through the door. Frank kicking a chair made Matt flinch. “Why did you bring her here?” Frank’s voice was dangerously low. His hands were on his desk, and his head hung low. “You thought she would be all smiles the moment she saw me?” He huffed a fake laugh and looked over at Matt. “You must be dumber than I thought.” 

Matt’s hands are on his hips as his mind recalls how broken your voice sounded. He’s not really listening to Frank, he never does, but especially now. He’s one more word away from crumbling, “I don’t know.” He was guilty. Matt knew that bringing you straight to the man who abandoned you wasn’t a great idea, yet he did it anyway. 

“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than ‘I don’t know,’ Red,” Frank’s voice booms. 

Matt’s head turned rapidly, his eyebrows scrunching in concentration. “Pretending not to hear me ain't gonna help you now–,” Matt shushes him.

Since the first day you and Matt met, his senses were always dialed onto you. He knew when you were about to enter the building to his apartment, five floors down. You two liked to joke that his senses were obsessed with you. The more time he spent with you, the more your ‘joke’ became real. 

Your rapid heartbeat has been drumming in Matt’s ear until it wasn’t. Your heartbeat slowed significantly and also hushed. “You think I’m an idiot? That’s fine, but we need to find (Y/N) now,” Matt is antsy; he’s ready to leave. Though the man in front of him was hesitant. “If you stay here, you’re abandoning her again. And a part of me knows that is the last thing you want to do,” he says sternly.

Pushing Matt out of the way, he heads for the door. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You knew your friendship with Matt came with obstacles. Long nights at the office and coffee runs were a given, but waking up in the backseat of a car was not on that list. The first thing you notice is that your hands and legs were tied, the rope began to dig into your skin, the friction making you wince. Whoever was in the front seat didn’t bother to cover your mouth with anything, making you sigh.

Your breath caught the attention of the man sitting in the passenger’s seat. His glance at your frame sparked a brief laugh, “She’s awake.” 

“Let him know we’ll be there in fifteen,” the other man driving responds. 

You can’t help but study the men in front of you, Matt unintentionally taught you this. They both sat straight, but the weight of the day was evident in their posture. Their hair was similar, and they dressed in casual clothing. Something caught your eye, something that made you shudder. The driver had a tattoo on his wrist, Frank’s symbol. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. 

They’ve taken your phone. So now there was nothing you could do but wait. The scariest part of it all was that you had no idea where you were. It could’ve been a few hours since you saw Frank and Matt, or it could’ve been a few days. 

It was dark out, the streetlights offering you the only light until you were blinded by a room of bright overhead lights. The ceilings were high in the building, the walls a pristine white. After parking, the two men pull you out of the car. They drag you to a table with two chairs, one on each side. The table was the last thing you noticed due to a private jet parked a few feet away from you. 

“If you think you’re gonna be able to escape, you’re fuckin’ stupid,” one of the men whispers in your ear as he begins to place you in the chair, cutting away your binds. Yanking your face away from his, you rub your wrists, trying to remedy the sting. 

It was only a few minutes before you saw who was supposed to be sitting across from you. “Mayor Fisk,” you announce, “I should be surprised, but in all honesty, I’m not.” You’ve never been more annoyed in your life. You’ve had enough of Fisk these past few years, and seeing him now was the cherry on top. If you weren’t upset already, you are now. 

“Miss (Y/L/N), I’m glad to see you’ve made it safe,” Fisk responds. He knew you didn’t have a choice. He knew exactly how to get on your nerves, and you hated him for it. 

A sarcastic huff of a laugh leaves your lips, “Oh, you mean those dirty cops you hired to snatch me off the street? Yeah, real safe.” 

Your mention of the cops made the air tense. Especially from the two who drove you here. “You’ve always had a good eye,” Fisk speaks just as his meal is put in front of him, “it makes me wonder why you haven’t joined Matt Murdock’s team. You seem like a good fit.” 

He picks up his fork and knife, waiting for you to respond. “It always comes back to Matt, especially with you,” you say, sitting back. You wanted to make him uncomfortable, he doesn’t deserve anything more. 

“Would you rather talk about Frank Castle then?” 

You’d rather die than show that Wilson Fisk had any sort of power over you, “Be my guest, Mr. Mayor.” 

“He left about a year ago,” he starts strong, but quickly corrects himself, “I’m sorry. He left you a year ago.” A short pause before he speaks again, “I’m not complaining, he was a liability with no way to wrangle him. He was a nuisance. But I know he was more than that for you.”

You cross your arms, “You’ve been keeping tabs on me? I’m flattered.” 

Fisk slams his fists on the table, causing the items on it to jump. You smirk, this is exactly what you were looking for. He stands up, pushing his chair behind him in the process before taking a breath, “We will speak again soon, Miss. (Y/L/N).” 

“God forbid you let Hector Ayala live, right?” you start, causing him to stop in his tracks. His fists squeeze together as he turns to look at you, “You and all these dirty fucking cops think you can just kill anyone who doesn’t bend the knee, and Hector Ayala was able to come out of his trial alive. Just to be shot point blank by someone who worships the nuisance you despise.”

Wilson Fisk’s stride catches up to you, grabbing you by the neck before muttering, “New York is my city, and I will do anything to protect it.” 

Your hands fly to his wrists, trying to catch a breath. “Your version of protecting a city that doesn’t even want you is pathetic,” you’re able to squeeze out before a few gunshots snap Fisk out of his violent trance. 

He drops you to the floor, leaving you to cough and gasp for air. You weren’t even given a chance to catch your breath before the two men from before dragged you back into the car. Even without talking, you could feel your throat becoming rough, it’s almost like you could feel the pressure still on your throat. 

The drive back was silent. This was the first moment of quiet that you had to think about the last few hours. You wish you could’ve just stayed home tonight. The car pulls up to a red light, the color flooding the entire cabin. “Gotta be at the station early tomorrow–,” the driver’s voice was cut off by the sound of glass breaking. 

Your eyes went wide at the sight of Frank pulling the man out of the car through the window. You knew that this was your opportunity to leave. Manually unlocking the door, you shove the car door open. It wasn’t long before you heard a voice calling out for you, footsteps following yours. 

You were never a good fighter; your words were often strong enough, so you ran. You ran until it took you to an alley, one similar to the one you were dragged into. The buildings alongside it made the walkway dark, too dark to see Matt in front of you. Two hands were placed on your shoulders, moving you behind him before he came face to face with the reason behind your panic. 

“Officer Powell,” he says, “good to see you again.”

“Murdock, get out of my way,” Powell pants. 

Matt folds his cane, putting it in his breast pocket, “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He springs into action. You haven’t seen Matt do any of this in a long time, but seeing him now, it was almost like he never gave it up. 

With one last punch, Matt knocks the cop unconscious. He’s panting when he turns back to you, readjusting his glasses. You can’t help but hug him when there’s a beat of silence, his arms wrapping around you. It’s going to be hard to build trust between the two of you again, but you needed a friend, and Matt was always going to be there. 

Pulling away, his fingers touch your neck, causing you to flinch. “I–I’m alright,” a broken string of words escapes out of your throat, your voice cracked and rough. “Where’s Frank?”

The two of you walk out of the dark alley to see Frank standing over your other abductor. You quickly run to Frank’s side only to see the mess he’s made. His fist is bloody, shaking due to the trauma. In his other hand, he carries a small pocket knife, blood painting the silver. 

The cop on the floor had his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, a certain tattoo carved off his skin. “Oh my god,” you whisper, your hand coming up to your mouth. You look back at Frank, his eyes blown wide. Even though a year has passed, you still know Frank’s mannerisms as if he never left. 

You approach him softly, “Frank?” 

You can see the moment he snaps out of it, his shoulders relax when he turns to you. “Sweetheart,” he cries, wrapping his arms around you. His hug catches you by surprise, your entire body is overwhelmed. Tears fall down your cheeks before you even realize it, just before you crumble. 

You sob in his arms, the different color street lights illuminating the scene in front of you. Exhaustion coursed through your veins as you slowly fell to your knees, Frank catching you before you hit the floor. 

Quiet voices passed between you before you felt a hand on your shoulder, giving you a comforting squeeze. You fell unconscious as Frank carried you back to his place. Only waking up when you felt him place you in his bed, “Lie with me, please.” 

He cradles your face, taking in the sight of you after so long. Taking off his shoes, he places himself next to you, “Rest, baby.”

You closed your eyes and had a dreamless sleep, only hoping that Frank next to  you wasn’t a sick joke your mind was playing on you, 

✰ author's note: HOOOO SHEEIT!! wrote this at work and i was so locked in LOL. this shit is angsty as ferk. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog!! ily!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Ooo hiii Can I please request TFAWS!Bucky x fem!reader where they met when she became his next door neighbor and they grew into been in a serious relationship for the past year and are now engaged. She recently moved into his apartment. She’s one of the few numbers he has on his phone besides Sam and Yori (he’d be excited to share *brag* this in therapy, that he did indeed add another number to his phone). She knows that he was the Winter Soldier and is 106 years old, she knows what he was brainwashed to do as a prisoner of Hydra, and she doesn’t love him any less💜 She understands that he didn’t have a choice. When he gets home from his therapy appointment he comes across his apartment completely ransacked and Y/n missing (there are signs that she’s hurt). She was taken by the Flag Smashers because they were looking for Bucky (because they want to stop him and Sam from looking into their activities), but instead found his fiancée. Poor Bucky would be completely beside himself, and so angry and so scared. Bucky and Sam would work as hard as they could to track her down, and when they find her (and fight off the Flag Smashers), they find her really injured and the Flag Smashers had injected her with the super serum. Bucky would take care of his injured and traumatized fiancée and helps her cope with all the changes the super serum brought and any powers she develops. Sam would also help too, like she would go with Bucky to visit Sam’s family in Louisiana and they’d throw the shield around together (teaching Y/n some of what they both know)🥺

You’re Ok. You’re Safe. » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Fiancée/TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Fiancée!Female Reader with Sam Wilson/Falcon/Captain America

Summary: You get kidnapped by the Flag Smashers to get Bucky and Sam to stop looking into their activities and when you get saved by Bucky and Sam, you get assured that you’re ok and safe.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst (not Bucky and Sam), language, neighbor!Bucky and neighbor!reader, enhanced!reader, kidnapping, blood/bruises, needles, hospitals, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the lovely descriptive request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Bucky was walking to his apartment after his therapy session. He was about to unlock his apartment when he heard someone groan loudly. He looked up and seen you struggling to open the door to your new apartment with a box in your hands. He also seen you when he left for his therapy session earlier.

“Ma’am, do you need help?” Bucky asks politely.

“Yes please.” You replied.

Bucky walked over to you and took the box from you. You unlocked the door to your apartment and walked inside with Bucky following behind you.

“You can set that box over there.” You say, pointing at the floor next to the couch.

Bucky nods and set the box down on the floor where you told him to put it.

“I’m Bucky by the way.” Bucky hand his hand out. “I live in the apartment next door to you.” He says.

“I’m Y/N and as you can tell, I’m your new neighbor.” You say with a small giggle, shaking his hand.

“Do you need help with anything else?” He offers.

“I have a few things in my car I need help to bring up here.” You say.

“Let’s get to it then.” He smiles.

You smiled back and walked out of the apartment to the parking garage with Bucky walking next to you.

“Have you lived here long?” You asked curiously, unlocking your car.

“Almost a year.” He says.

“Oh so you know you’re way around here then.” You say.

“More than you know.” He says.

You opened the car door and Bucky picked up a heavy box. He picked it up as if it weighed nothing.

“That might be heavy.” You say.

“It’s ok. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Bucky says.

As Bucky was helping you take the last few boxes to your apartment, you two got to know each other.

“No way! You were best friends with Captain America?!” You say, completely speechless.

“It’s true, doll face.” Bucky confirms.

“That’s the coolest thing ever.” You say.

Bucky smiles.

“Thank you for helping me with the last few boxes.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome, doll. I’m glad I could help.” Bucky smiles. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.” He says.

“Will do!” You smiled.

Bucky saw himself out and went to his own apartment. He unlocked the door and went inside, closing it behind him. He sighs and smiles happily to himself as he took off his jacket. Even though, you two just met today, Bucky has a strong feeling that you two are going to have an amazing relationship.

The next morning after Bucky finished getting ready for the day, he heard a knock on the door. Bucky furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. No one comes over to his apartment this early. He opened the door, smiling when he seen you.

“Good morning, doll.” Bucky smiles.

“Good morning, Bucky.” You smiled back. “I bought you a coffee as a thank you for helping me yesterday.” You say, handing him a coffee from Starbucks.

“You didn’t have to do that, but I won’t turn down coffee.” He says, taking it from you.

Bucky steps aside, allowing you to come inside. You looked around his apartment as you walked inside.

“Your apartment looks bigger than mine.” You say with a playful pout.

Bucky chuckles and led you to the living room. You two sat down on the couch, facing each other.

“Tell me about yourself.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee.

“What do you want to know, doll face?” Bucky asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Everything.” You say.

Bucky stiffened. He didn’t want to tell you about the horrible things he has endured throughout his life, but something about your tells him that you’re trusting.

“Ok umm…” He thought for a second. “I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. I was in the Army.” He tells you the good parts of himself. “And I umm…” He pauses and clears his throat.

“What is it, Bucky?” You asked softly.

“When I was in the Army, I fell off a train during a mission with Captain America and I lost my left arm.” He tells you, cringing at the horrible memory.

Bucky set his coffee down on the coffee table and took off his sweatshirt to show you his vibranium arm. You curiously reached a hand out to touch it, but then retracted it.

“You can touch it if you want.” He says.

You reached your hand out again, touching his vibranium arm. Your fingers traced the vibranium plates.

“Is this metal?” You asked curiously.

“It’s vibranium from Wakanda. I did have a metal arm before this one, but something happened to that one and that’s how I ended up with this one.” Bucky explains.

As you were admiring his vibranium arm, Bucky told you more about himself. The good and the bad.

“So you’re a Super Soldier like Captain America?” You asked, making sure you heard him right.

“Yes.” He confirms. “I’m also 106 years old.” He adds.

You stared at him and blinked.

“I honestly thought you were 42 years old.” You say.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Bucky smiles.

His smile faded away. The only thing he has left to tell you about himself is what HYDRA used him for.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” You asked.

“I uhh-” Bucky cleared his throat before saying anything. “These people called HYDRA turned me into an assassin and used me as a weapon.” He says.

“That’s horrible. That shouldn’t have happened to you.” You say.

You leaned over and hugged him. Bucky was caught off guard, but he hugged you back. He melted into your touch. He felt a warmth in his heart.

“Thank you for being so understanding.” Bucky almost whispers.

“You don’t have to thank me, Bucky. It’s part of my job as your friend to be understanding.” You say softly.

A smile grew on Bucky’s face.

“Do you want to go out for breakfast?” You asked. “I’m starving.” You say with a smile.

“Sounds good to me! There’s an amazing diner down the street.” Bucky says with a smile.

You smiled and stood up. So did Bucky.

“Can I have your number?” He asks.

“Of course!” You smiled.

Bucky got his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you.

“You have a flip phone?” You asked.

“Yes.” He says, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s cute.” You say with a smile.

You put your number in his phone and gave it back to him. You gave him your phone and he put his number in it. He struggled a bit since he’s never used a phone like yours before. You helped him and he got the hang of it. Bucky smiles to himself, knowing he has a new phone number in his phone.

———

“So I’ve been thinking.” Bucky starts.

“Uh oh.” You playfully teased.

Bucky playfully poked your side, making you squirm and giggle.

“As I was saying.” He starts again. “We’ve been together for almost a year and we’re engaged now. I was thinking that you should move in with me.” He says.

“You want me to live with you?” You asked.

“I would love it if you moved in with me.” He smiles.

You smiled and kissed his lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He says against your lips.

That same week, you moved your stuff over to Bucky’s apartment with his help.

“Is it ok if I redecorate your apartment?” You asked.

“I think you mean our apartment, doll.” Bucky politely corrects you. “And yes, you can.” He answers.

You squealed in excitement.

“I have to go to therapy.” He sighs. “I’ll see you later.” He says, pecking your lips softly.

“I love you, baby.” You murmured.

“I love you too, doll.” He whispers.

You started online shopping for things you might get to redecorate yours and Bucky’s apartment as Bucky left. You were so focused on what to get for the apartment that you didn’t hear anyone enter the apartment. You gasped when someone grabbed you from behind. A hand was put over your mouth so your screams were muffled. Whoever was kidnapping you, ransacked through yours and Bucky’s apartment. You didn’t know what they were looking for.

Meanwhile, Bucky was at his therapy appointment. For the first time, he had a smile on his face during his session.

“Do you want to explain the meaning behind your smile?” Dr. Raynor asks.

“I added another phone number to my phone.” Bucky happily tells her.

Dr. Raynor stared at Bucky, trying to figure out if he’s lying or not.

“Look if you don’t believe me.” He says, handing her his phone.

Dr. Raynor looked through his contact list. She saw the same two phone numbers, Sam’s and Yori’s. Her eyes came across your phone number.

“Want to tell me who Doll is?” She asks, giving his phone back to him.

“Her name is Y/N. She’s my fiancée.” Bucky smiles. “She moved in with me this week.” He adds.

“Congratulations, James.” Dr. Raynor says.

Dr. Raynor wrote down in the notebook that he’s in a serious relationship and you two are living together. Bucky rolled his eyes at the notebook.

“Does Y/N know about your history with HYDRA?” She asks.

“I told her the day we met and she’s very understanding about it.” He tells her.

Dr. Raynor took note of that.

“You’re making progress.” She says.

Bucky smiles when she said that. After his therapy session, he went home. When he opened the door to yours and his apartment, he was met by a mess throughout the whole apartment.

“What the hell?” Bucky mumbles to himself. “Doll, are you home?” He asks.

That’s when he seen a head shaped dent in the wall in the hallway that leads to the bedroom. He walked in the bedroom to see the window to the fire escape open. Bucky’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He quickly got his phone out of his pocket and called Sam.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Sam says.

“I need your help.” Bucky says frantically.

“I’m on my way.” He says.

It didn’t take long for Sam to get to yours and Bucky’s apartment. He knocked on the door and Bucky opened it in a hurry.

“What happened here?” Sam asks as he walked in the apartment to see a mess.

“Someone took Y/N.” Bucky says.

“Have you tried calling or texting her?” He asks.

“I texted her multiple times, but she didn’t text me back. She always texts me back right away.” He says.

That’s when Bucky’s phone started ringing. He looked at it to see your name. He immediately answered it.

“Doll, where are you?” Bucky asks.

“It’s not Doll.” Karli says.

Sam watched the color drain from Bucky’s face.

“Who is it?” Sam whispers.

“The Flag Smashers.” Bucky whispers back.

“Put it on speaker.” He whispers.

Bucky put his phone on speaker.

“Why do you have fiancée’s phone? Where is she?” Bucky asks.

“Don’t worry. She’s right here.” Karli looks at you. “We’re trying to get information out of her about yours and Wilson’s plans to stop us. She’s not telling us anything.” She says.

“I don’t know their plan!” You say for what it feels like the hundredth time.

That’s when you got smacked across the face. You cried out in pain. Bucky and Sam winced at the sound of the slap.

“I swear if you hurt her.” Bucky growls.

“You’ll what, Sergeant Barnes? You’ll go back to your Winter Soldier ways?” Karli says.

“It’s not the Winter Soldier who you have to worry about. It’s me you have to worry about.” He says.

“We’ll see about that.” She says before hanging up.

Anger was coursing through his veins. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and tried to keep himself from having a breakdown. Sam put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll get her back, man and I’ll help you.” Sam says.

“I can’t lose her, Sam.” Bucky says, his voice cracking.

“And you won’t. We’ll work together to save her.” He says.

Bucky looks at Sam for a second before nodding. They tracked down where the Flag Smasher taken you.

Meanwhile, you were tied to a chair in a building that looks like an abandoned factory. You were trying to get out of the ropes, but they were tied too tight.

“I’m gonna ask you again.” Karli said. “What is your fiancée’s and Wilson’s plan to take us down?” She asks for like the millionth time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You say.

Karli stares at you for a few seconds before motioning one of the other Flag Smasher’s over to her.

“Give it to her.” She tells him.

He nods. You watched as he opened a case and got a syringe out of it. Your eyes went wide. You tried to get out of the rope again, completely forgetting that they’re too tight to escape. Another Flag Smasher held you still and rolled your shirt sleeve up. Before you could protest, you were injected with whatever was in the syringe. You yelped when the needle pricked your skin.

“It shouldn’t take long for the Super Soldier serum to kick in. Let’s see what your fiancée will think of that.” Karli says.

Your breathing became uneven and tears were streaming down your face. You were scared of what the serum might do to you.

Not too long later, a loud noise echoed through the empty building. That’s when you heard familiar footsteps.

“Bucky!” You shouted as loud as you could, but you felt yourself getting weak.

Bucky followed the sound of your voice, finding you in the main room of the building. He found you tied to a chair. He noticed that’s there’s a bruise on your forehead and a cut on your lip. He also noticed the empty syringe on the floor next to the chair you’re tied up in.

“What the hell did you guys inject my fiancée with?!” Bucky growls.

“You of all people should know what was in that syringe, Barnes.” Karli says.

That was enough to tell him that they injected you with the Super Soldier serum. Bucky’s eyes went wide. Out of anger, Bucky started throwing punches at the Flag Smashers. Sam came in the room just in time before Bucky killed one of them.

“I’ll take care of them. You get Y/N.” Sam says.

Bucky nodded and immediately went over to you. He untied you from the chair and picked you up bridal style.

“Bucky?” You mumbled weakly.

“It’s me, babydoll.” Bucky coos. “You’re ok. You’re safe.” He says softly.

You smiled weakly before your head fell against his shoulder. That worried Bucky.

“Doll, I need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?” He murmurs softly.

“I-I can try.” You say weakly.

You were able to stay awake for a few minutes before passing out in your fiancée’s arms. Bucky got you help immediately.

Bucky sat by your hospital bed, not leaving your side for a second. Sam was there too. You’ve been sleeping for a few hours. Bucky was beyond scared for you.

“What if she doesn’t wake up, Sam?” Bucky says.

“Don’t think like that, man. She will.” Sam says softly.

Bucky broke down in tears. Sam put a comforting hand on his shoulder. You woke up a few minutes later. You squinted your eyes to adjust to the light in the room. You heard a monitor beeping and seen an IV in your hand. You looked around the room to gather your surroundings.

“Bucky.” Sam gently shook him.

Bucky lifted his head and looked at you. He felt relieved to see you awake.

“Thank god, you’re awake.” Bucky says.

“Where- Where am I?” You asked.

“You’re in the hospital.” He tells you. “How are you feeling?” He asks softly.

“I’m ok.” You say.

You readjusted yourself on the bed.

“What’s the last thing you remember before the Flag Smashers kidnapped you?” Sam asks.

“Someone grabbed me from behind and then they kept asking me about a plan you two have to stop them.” You tell them. “I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, but they didn’t believe me.” You say.

“It’s ok. You’re safe now.” Bucky says softly.

———

You got released from the hospital after a couple days. Bucky has been really helpful and hasn’t left your side. Sam has been helpful too.

“How’s Y/N feeling?” Sam asks.

“She’s doing fine.” Bucky says.

While Bucky and Sam were talking in the living room, you woke up from a nap. Everything was fine till you stood up. Your vision was blurry. You reached out for the wall, holding onto it as you walked to the living room. You managed to get to the end of the hallway before bumping into something, which caught Bucky’s and Sam’s attention. Bucky was quick to get to you. He picked you up and carried you to the couch, gently sitting you down on it.

“Are you ok, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

“I-I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” You say, breathing heavily.

“Babydoll, take some deep breaths.” He says softly.

You took some deep breaths like Bucky said and your breathing went back to normal. You closed your eyes for a moment before opening them back up. Bucky’s eyes went wide when he saw your eyes glowing.

“Sam…” Bucky says.

Sam looked in your eyes to see them glowing. His eyes went wide too. You started at the them in confusion, wondering why their eyes are wide.

“What? Why are you guys looking at me like that?” You asked confused.

“Doll, I’m going to say something, but I don’t want you to freak out, ok?” Bucky says.

You nodded.

“Your eyes are glowing.” He says.

“What do you mean my eyes are glowing?” You asked, feeling yourself beginning to panic.

“It could be the serum.” Sam chimes in.

“Serum?” You asked, looking from your fiancée to Sam.

“That’s what the Flag Smashers injected you with.” Bucky says.

At this point, you were on the verge of having a panic attack. You were scared of what else the serum might do to you.

“Breathe, doll.” He cupped your cheeks and got you to look in his eyes. “Focus on me.” He almost whispers.

You managed to get your breathing under control again. Staring in Bucky’s eyes helped a lot. Your eyes stopped glowing as you were calming down.

“There you go.” Bucky coos.

“Your eyes aren’t glowing anymore.” Sam says.

You finally felt relaxed, but you were still scared of what the serum might do to you. You tried to not to let it freak you out again.

“Does this mean I have powers?” You asked.

“Possibly, but we’ll figure it out as they develop and get through it together.” Bucky says.

You smiled and nodded.

———

A couple weeks later, your powers developed more. It’s nothing too extreme. The powers you developed is mind reading. Bucky and Sam’s called Wanda to know what to expect and she said nothing serious isn’t going to happen.

“Are you packed, doll?” Bucky asks, walking in the bedroom. “We have to leave in a little bit.” He says.

“Almost.” You replied.

Sam invited you and Bucky to go to Louisiana to visit his sister and nephews. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, sitting down next to you.

“What if people in Louisiana think I’m weird for having mind reading powers?” You say.

“You are not weird, babydoll. Yes, you have mind reading powers now, but that doesn’t make you any less of the woman I proposed to.” He says softly, holding your hands.

Bucky’s words made you smile. You leaned up and kissed him softly, smiling against his lips.

“Let get you finished packing.” He says.

Bucky helped you finish packing and got on the plane with Sam in time. You snuggled yourself against Bucky during the whole plane ride.

“You have a lovely home.” You complimented, looking around Sarah’s house.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Sarah smiles. “You’re right, Sam. She is sweet. She’s a keeper, Bucky.” She says.

“That’s why I proposed to her.” Bucky says happily and kissed your cheek.

You smiled at her calling you sweet.

“Uncle Sam!” Sam’s nephews came running in the room and gave him a hug.

“Hey guys!” Sam hugs them back. “I want you to meet my friends. This is Bucky and his fiancée Y/N.” He introduces you guys.

“Hi!” They smile up at you and Bucky.

“Hi!” You and Bucky smile back.

The next morning, you woke up on the couch, only to find out that Bucky wasn’t on the couch with you. You rubbed your eyes and sat up. You looked out the window to the backyard to see Bucky and Sam tossing the shield around. You got dressed and put your shoes on. You put on your -Bucky’s- sweatshirt before going outside.

“Sleeping beauty has woken from her slumber.” Sam jokes, making you giggle.

“Morning.” You say.

Bucky gave you a morning kiss.

“Do you want to toss the shield around with us?” Bucky asks.

“That sounds like fun.” You smiled.

Bucky secured the shield on your arm. You looked at it for a moment.

“Do I just throw it like a frisbee?” You asked.

“Yes and you catch it when it comes back to you.” Sam says.

You tossed it and it bounced off a couple trees before coming back to you. You caught it like Sam said.

“Woah, that was cool!” You say.

“You might be better with the shield than us, doll.” Bucky says.

You grinned happily and threw the shield again. It bounced off the trees and you caught it again. You squealed excitedly.

“This is so fun!” You say excitedly.

Bucky and Sam smiled at your excited state.

“You’re so cute, babydoll.” Bucky says, pecking your lips.

“I love you, baby.” You whispered.

“I love you too, doll.” He whispers back.

You and Bucky kissed softly.

“Keep it PG13!” Sam jokes, making you and Bucky laugh.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[urdreamydoodles]

Can we have some headcannons about the comic X Men characters seeing their lover going absolutely animal during battle due to losing control and thinking the enemy killed the character they're paired with?

X-Men x Reader

You think the enemy killed your lover

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Cable & Hank McCoy

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- When Logan finally regains consciousness, he sees you in the midst of battle, a blur of primal fury tearing through your enemies. There’s something raw and unhinged about the way you move, like an animal unleashed, and it takes him a moment to realize you’re fighting as if he’s already dead. His heart clenches as he understands just how deeply his supposed “death” has shattered you.

- Watching you like this is both breathtaking and terrifying for Logan. He’s always respected your strength, but this is different—this is vengeance incarnate. He recognizes the wildness in your eyes, a mirror of his own rage when he loses himself. Logan knows he needs to reach you before you spiral further, but he also knows you won’t stop until every last threat is eliminated.

- Logan makes his way to you, dodging blows and gunfire, his voice rough as he tries to get through to you. He calls your name, over and over, louder each time, but you’re in too deep, consumed by grief and fury. The sight breaks him a little, knowing he’s the reason for your pain. But he’s never been one to back down, so he keeps pushing, shouting until his voice is hoarse.

- Just as you finish off the last enemy in a brutal display, Logan manages to reach you. He grabs your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and he says your name in a tone that cuts through your haze of anger. When you finally turn to face him, there’s a mixture of disbelief and relief in your eyes, and he can see how hard it’s been for you to lose control.

- Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as your anger fades into exhaustion. He murmurs reassurances, his voice softer than it usually is, telling you he’s okay, he’s here. You cling to him, breath hitching as the realization settles that he’s alive. Logan just holds you, whispering that he’s not going anywhere, grounding you as your mind returns from the edge.

- Later, when you’re both safe, Logan sits beside you, a hand on your back as he tells you how much it meant to him that you fought for him like that. But he also makes you promise that you’ll never let grief take you that far again. With a quiet intensity, he says he never wants to see you lose yourself like that, no matter the cost. You nod, grateful for his honesty and the steady comfort only he can give.

Remy LeBeau aka Gambit

- Remy never thought he’d see you like this, an unstoppable force ripping through your enemies as if they were nothing. His heart sinks as he realizes what’s driving you—thinking he’s gone, that he’s been taken from you. The raw anguish in your movements, the way you fight with reckless abandon, hits him harder than he could have imagined.

- Struggling to regain his own strength, Remy watches you, pain and admiration swirling within him. You’re beautiful even in your fury, and there’s something heart-wrenching about how much you care, how much his loss has devastated you. He knows he needs to reach you, but he’s almost afraid of what you’ll do when you see him.

- As you land blow after blow, Remy starts calling out to you, his voice a mixture of desperation and tenderness. He knows you can’t hear him through the storm of your anger, but he keeps trying, putting everything he has into reaching you. “Chérie, it’s me! I’m here,” he calls, each word laced with the hope that it’ll get through to you.

- Finally, when he’s close enough, Remy catches your arm, spinning you around to face him. For a heartbeat, there’s only shock and confusion in your eyes, and he braces himself, waiting for you to process that he’s alive, that he’s standing right here. His hand comes up to your face, and he whispers soothing words, his thumb tracing soft circles against your cheek.

- As you finally realize he’s okay, you collapse against him, the weight of the battle and your grief crashing over you. Remy wraps his arms around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple, murmuring that he’s safe, that he’d never leave you. He holds you close, grounding you in his warmth, his presence pulling you back from the edge.

- Later, as you both recover, Remy teases you gently, his voice filled with warmth. “Didn’t know you cared so much, ma belle,” he says, though there’s a hint of seriousness behind his grin. He tells you he never wants to see you suffer like that for him again, that you don’t have to shoulder that pain alone. You smile back, grateful for his understanding and the promise of his steady presence.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- When Kurt wakes to the sight of you battling with reckless ferocity, he’s taken aback. He’s always known you were strong, but this is different—this is a primal, almost desperate rage that’s tearing through your enemies. It’s clear you believe he’s gone, and the realization stings, leaving him both moved and horrified by the depth of your grief.

- He watches you, his heart aching as he sees the agony etched into every move you make. Kurt has always admired your strength, but seeing you like this, driven by heartbreak and fury, is almost too much to bear. He knows he needs to get through to you, to pull you back before you lose yourself completely in the anger.

- With a deep breath, Kurt teleports closer, his voice steady and calm as he calls your name. He keeps his distance at first, understanding that you might not recognize him right away in your state. But he keeps talking, his words gentle yet insistent, hoping to break through the storm of emotions raging within you.

- When you finally turn to him, your eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing your face. Kurt approaches cautiously, reaching out a hand to you, his touch featherlight as he reassures you he’s alive, that he’s here. He whispers soft words in German, words meant to soothe and comfort, and slowly, the tension in your body begins to ease.

- Kurt pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you tremble, the weight of your grief finally lifting as you realize he’s okay. He strokes your hair, murmuring reassurances, promising that he’ll always be here, that you won’t have to bear this pain alone. His touch is gentle, his presence grounding, a balm to your wounded heart.

- In the aftermath, as you sit together in quiet reflection, Kurt speaks softly, thanking you for fighting so fiercely for him. But he also makes you promise that you won’t let grief consume you like that again, that you’ll remember he’s here with you, no matter what. You nod, touched by his words, and the bond between you feels stronger than ever.

Scott Summers aka Cyclops

- When Scott sees you tearing through the battlefield, raw anger and sorrow radiating from you, his heart breaks. He knows what’s fueling you—that you think he’s been taken from you, that he’s gone. He watches in shock as you fight, your moves a chaotic blend of power and desperation, and he realizes just how deeply his “death” has shaken you.

- Though Scott is weak, he pulls himself up, calling out to you, his voice firm and steady. He knows how much his presence means to you, and he needs to reach you before you lose yourself entirely in your grief. “I’m here!” he shouts, but he can see you’re too far gone to hear him, lost in the haze of pain and rage.

- As you take down another enemy with a brutal blow, Scott gets close enough to grab your arm. You whirl around, anger flashing in your eyes, but the moment you see him, there’s a flicker of recognition. He meets your gaze, his hand steady on your shoulder, grounding you in his presence, letting you know he’s real, that he’s here.

- The realization hits you like a wave, and Scott gently pulls you into his arms, holding you as you shake. He doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his steady heartbeat a quiet reassurance against the storm inside you. You cling to him, letting his presence bring you back from the edge, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you in the here and now.

- Later, as you both catch your breath, Scott speaks softly, his tone serious yet tender. He tells you how much he appreciates the strength you showed, but he also asks you not to let grief drive you to that place again. He doesn’t want to see you suffer for him, and his words are filled with a gentle but firm conviction.

- With a quiet smile, you promise him that you’ll try to keep that darkness at bay, that you’ll remember he’s here, even in the toughest moments. Scott nods, his hand still on yours, and there’s a silent understanding between you—a shared strength that will carry you both through whatever comes next.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- The battle had taken its toll, and you were certain Jean had been lost. The surge of grief within you erupted into raw power, your abilities igniting in a way that scared everyone around you, including yourself. You tore through the enemies with an unrelenting fury, the thought of avenging her the only thing grounding you to the fight.

- When Jean finally managed to regain consciousness, she saw you surrounded by chaos, your power crackling in the air like a storm barely contained. The pain in your expression cut through her heart—seeing you like this, thinking she was gone, was unbearable. She called out to you softly, her voice strained but filled with urgency.

- At first, her words couldn’t reach you. You were too consumed by rage and despair, tearing apart anyone who dared come near. But Jean didn’t give up, pushing herself to stand, her telepathy reaching out to your mind, whispering gentle reassurances: I’m here. I’m alive. Please, come back to me.

- Her presence in your mind broke through the haze, and your powers faltered. You turned toward her, disbelief and hope flashing in your eyes. Jean reached out with both her hand and her thoughts, anchoring you as you stumbled toward her. The moment you touched her, the flood of emotions spilled over, and you collapsed into her arms.

- She held you tightly, her own tears falling as she whispered comforting words, grounding you. Jean didn’t shy away from the storm you had unleashed; instead, she understood the depth of your pain and vowed to help you carry it. Together, you stood amidst the wreckage, leaning on each other for strength.

- Later, as the two of you sat in the aftermath of the fight, Jean gently cupped your face and told you she’d never leave you, no matter what. Her words were a promise etched into your soul, and you held onto her, knowing she meant every word. The bond between you both deepened, forged in fire and grief but tempered with love and understanding.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- The storm within you matched the one raging in the sky, lightning cracking and thunder roaring as you unleashed your fury on those who had taken Ororo from you. You fought like a force of nature, your movements wild and untamed, your grief fueling every blow. The thought of her death had broken something in you, and you didn’t care if you fell with the enemies surrounding you.

- Ororo awoke to the sound of the storm and the sight of you at its center. She could feel the raw, unrestrained power radiating from you, and it frightened her to see you like this. She understood your pain, but she knew that if you didn’t stop, you would destroy yourself in the process.

- Using the last of her strength, Ororo summoned a gust of wind to push the enemies away from you. Her voice rang out, calm and steady despite her exhaustion: “I am here. Look at me.” The words were soft yet commanding, cutting through the chaos surrounding you.

- When your eyes met hers, the storm inside you faltered. You stumbled toward her, disbelief evident in your expression. Ororo reached out, pulling you into her arms as the tension drained from your body. The storm around you began to calm, the skies clearing as her presence soothed your anguish.

- Ororo held you close, her voice gentle but firm as she reassured you. “You are not alone in this,” she said, her words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. She didn’t admonish your actions but instead helped you find balance, her wisdom guiding you back to yourself.

- In the quiet moments after the battle, Ororo took your hand and looked into your eyes. “Your strength is remarkable, but you must learn to wield it with purpose,” she said. Her words weren’t a reprimand but a promise to help you grow. With her by your side, you knew you could face anything.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- When you thought Rogue had been killed, something inside you snapped. The world around you became a blur as you fought with unrelenting ferocity, your grief manifesting as raw, untamed power. You didn’t care about the consequences; all you wanted was to make those responsible pay for taking her away.

- Rogue regained consciousness just in time to see you in the middle of the carnage. Her heart ached at the sight of you, consumed by pain and rage, and she knew she had to stop you before you destroyed yourself. She pushed herself up, calling out to you with a voice full of both urgency and tenderness.

- At first, you didn’t hear her. The sound of your own anguish drowned out everything else, and you continued to fight, blind to the world around you. But Rogue wasn’t one to give up easily. She pushed through the chaos, reaching out to you with a determination born of love.

- When her hand finally touched yours, you froze. Her voice, soft yet steady, broke through the storm raging inside you. “Ah’m here, sugar. It’s me,” she said, her Southern drawl wrapping around you like a lifeline. The sight of her alive and well shattered the walls of your grief, and you collapsed into her arms.

- Rogue held you tightly, her own tears falling as she whispered reassurances. She didn’t shy away from your pain but embraced it, her presence a steady anchor in the aftermath of your fury. She stroked your hair, her touch grounding you as she helped you come back to yourself.

- Later, as you both sat together, Rogue cupped your face in her gloved hands and smiled softly. “You’re stronger than you know,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “But you don’t have to face this alone.” Her words were a balm to your soul, and you leaned into her, grateful for her unwavering love and support.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- When you thought Erik had been killed, your grief erupted into raw, unbridled power. You tore through the battlefield with a vengeance, your abilities surging beyond control. The air around you crackled with energy as you fought, determined to make every enemy pay for what they had done.

- Erik regained consciousness to the sight of your fury, and for a moment, he was both awed and terrified by your power. He had always admired your strength, but this was something else entirely—a manifestation of the depth of your love for him. He knew he had to reach you before you destroyed everything, including yourself.

- Summoning his strength, Erik called out to you, his voice sharp and commanding. “Enough!” he shouted, the weight of his authority cutting through the chaos. His words startled you, and for a moment, your rampage faltered as you turned to face him.

- When your eyes met his, the world seemed to stop. Erik’s gaze was steady, his expression calm but filled with concern. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched. “I am here,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

- The sight of him alive broke something inside you, and you collapsed into his arms, your anger giving way to overwhelming relief. Erik held you tightly, his presence grounding you as he whispered soothing words. He didn’t chastise you for your actions but instead reassured you that he understood your pain.

- In the aftermath, Erik sat with you, his hand resting on yours as he spoke. “Your strength is extraordinary,” he said, his tone filled with both admiration and caution. “But you must learn to control it, to channel it wisely.” His words weren’t a reprimand but a promise to guide you, and you nodded, knowing you could face anything with him by your side.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- When you believed Charles was gone, the world tilted on its axis. Grief consumed you, and in that moment, every lesson about restraint and control he'd ever taught you was forgotten. Your power erupted like a tidal wave, obliterating anything and anyone that dared stand in your path. The connection you’d always shared with Charles was severed, leaving a void that felt unbearable.

- Charles regained consciousness to the chaos you had unleashed. He immediately felt the intensity of your anguish, the raw and untamed energy you were emitting. Reaching out telepathically, he tried to connect with you, his mind brushing against yours with a gentle, familiar touch.

- At first, you resisted his presence in your mind, too consumed by your emotions to recognize it. But Charles persisted, his voice calm and steady in your thoughts: I am here, my dear. You are not alone. The warmth of his words broke through the storm raging inside you, and you turned to find him standing there, alive.

- Your legs gave way beneath you, and Charles caught you, his arms steady and reassuring. He held you as you wept, his mind offering soothing reassurances that you were safe and that he was still with you. The connection between you, once frayed, grew stronger as he shared in your pain and guided you back to yourself.

- Later, as the battlefield grew quiet, Charles spoke to you softly. “You are remarkable, both in your strength and your love,” he said, his tone filled with admiration. “But grief cannot define you.” His words carried a wisdom that only he could impart, and you nodded, finding solace in his presence.

- Together, you returned to the team, your bond stronger than ever. Charles promised that no matter what challenges came, you would face them together. His unshakable faith in you became your anchor, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, you were never truly alone.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- When you thought Wanda had been killed, the world seemed to unravel. Your emotions became a catalyst for your abilities, and reality itself twisted and bent under the weight of your grief. You lashed out at the enemies surrounding you, determined to make them pay for taking her from you.

- Wanda’s consciousness stirred as she felt the fabric of reality shift. She knew it was you—your power was unmistakable—and her heart broke at the thought of you in such pain. Gathering her strength, she reached out with her magic, creating a beacon of light to guide you back to her.

- At first, you didn’t notice her presence, too consumed by your anger and sorrow to see the light she had conjured. But Wanda persisted, her voice a soft plea that resonated in the air around you. “I’m here, my love. Look at me.”

- The sound of her voice cut through the haze, and you turned to see her standing amidst the chaos. Relief and disbelief flooded through you as you stumbled toward her. Wanda caught you in her arms, her magic wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

- As the two of you stood together, Wanda whispered soothing words, her hands gently cupping your face. “I’m alive,” she said, her voice filled with both love and reassurance. Her presence calmed the storm within you, and the world around you began to stabilize.

- Later, as you sat together in the aftermath of the battle, Wanda held your hand tightly. “We are stronger together,” she said, her eyes shining with determination. Her words were a promise, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- When you thought Pietro had been killed, the world seemed to slow in contrast to the speed of your grief. Your pain erupted into a flurry of action, every movement driven by the need for vengeance. You moved with a singular purpose, tearing through enemies with a ferocity they couldn’t escape.

- Pietro wasn’t down for long. When he came to, his first thought was of you. He spotted you in the distance, your powers wreaking havoc, and he immediately knew what had happened. Despite his own injuries, he pushed himself forward, racing toward you at a speed that blurred the edges of reality.

- It wasn’t easy to stop you. You were lost in your emotions, your every action fueled by the belief that Pietro was gone. But he didn’t give up. He zipped in front of you, grabbing your face with both hands and forcing you to look at him. “I’m here,” he said, his voice urgent. “I’m not going anywhere.”

- Your movements faltered, the sound of his voice breaking through the storm inside you. You stared at him, disbelief etched across your face. When his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the tension drained from your body, and you collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

- Pietro held you tightly, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with a rare vulnerability. “I’m sorry you thought you lost me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” His words were a balm to your soul, grounding you in the moment.

- Later, as you both rested in the aftermath, Pietro refused to let go of your hand. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his tone laced with both concern and affection. His honesty reminded you of how deeply he cared, and you vowed to protect each other, no matter what.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- When you thought Emma had been killed, the pain was unbearable. Your emotions surged, and your powers manifested in ways you couldn’t control. You fought with a cold, calculated fury, determined to make the enemies responsible suffer for what they had done to her.

- Emma’s telepathic presence was the first thing you felt before you even saw her. She reached into your mind, her voice cool but firm. Enough of this dramatics, she said, her tone laced with both affection and exasperation. I’m alive, darling.

- You froze, her words cutting through the fog of your grief. Turning, you saw her standing amidst the chaos, her diamond form glinting in the light. Relief washed over you as you stumbled toward her, your emotions spilling over in a way you knew she would tease you about later.

- Emma caught you in her arms, her diamond exterior melting away to reveal her softer side. She brushed her fingers through your hair, her voice low and soothing as she reassured you. “You’re stronger than this,” she said, her tone both a challenge and a comfort. “And I won’t have you falling apart over me.”

- Her words brought a smile to your lips, even through the tears. Emma wasn’t one to coddle, but her presence was enough to ground you. She helped you regain your composure, her sharp wit and unwavering confidence reminding you why you loved her.

- Later, as you sat together in the quiet aftermath, Emma looked at you with a rare vulnerability in her eyes. “You’re important to me,” she admitted, her voice softer than usual. “But don’t you dare lose control like that again. We’re in this together.” Her words were both a warning and a promise, and you nodded, knowing she meant every word.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- When you thought Laura had been killed, a savage rage overtook you. The thought of losing her, someone so important to you, drove you to a breaking point. Your normally measured demeanor was replaced with unrelenting fury, and you launched yourself into the fray, fighting with an intensity you didn’t even know you possessed.

- Laura wasn’t down for long. Her healing factor kicked in, and though her injuries were severe, she pushed through the pain. When she saw you fighting with such reckless abandon, her heart twisted in an unfamiliar mix of pride and worry.

- She approached you cautiously, not wanting to startle you mid-rage. But when her voice broke through the chaos, calling your name with that rare softness only you ever heard, you stopped in your tracks. Turning to her, your chest heaved with exertion and emotion as you saw her alive, battered but breathing.

- “I’m not that easy to get rid of,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smirk. Her words were light, but her eyes were filled with a rare vulnerability. She stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

- The adrenaline drained from you in an instant, and you collapsed into her arms. Laura wasn’t one for big displays of affection, but she held you tightly, her claws retracting as she whispered, “I’m sorry you had to think that, even for a second.” Her voice carried an earnestness that melted your anger into relief.

- Later, as you both sat together in the quiet aftermath, she took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “You don’t have to go berserk for me,” she said, her tone teasing but serious. “I’ll always come back. Always.” Her words were a promise, one she intended to keep, no matter the odds.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- When you thought Wade had been killed, the world went silent, as if the universe itself had paused in shock. But grief quickly turned to fury, and you channeled every ounce of your anger into the fight, determined to avenge the man who had brought chaos, laughter, and unexpected love into your life.

- Unbeknownst to you, Wade had already regenerated and was watching your rampage with equal parts admiration and amusement. “Damn,” he muttered to himself. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

- He let you have your moment for a bit before dramatically announcing his presence. “Honey, I’m home!” he shouted, striking a ridiculous pose mid-battle. The sheer absurdity of his reappearance caught you off guard, and you froze, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

- “Miss me?” he said with a wink, dodging an enemy attack as if it were nothing. Your emotions hit you like a freight train—relief, anger, joy—and before you knew it, you were storming toward him. “Whoa, whoa! Easy on the merchandise!” he joked as you threw your arms around him.

- Wade wrapped his arms around you tightly, his usual banter softening as he whispered, “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare ya, but hey, I’m kinda hard to kill.” His voice carried an uncharacteristic sincerity that made you hold him even tighter.

- Later, as the dust settled, he leaned into your space with a playful grin. “So, did I earn some hot, passionate, ‘thank God you’re alive’ kisses, or what?” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling, knowing that only Wade could turn such a harrowing moment into something ridiculous and comforting all at once.

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- When you thought Nathan had been killed, something inside you snapped. You charged into battle with a ferocity born of desperation, pushing your limits to ensure no one else fell. Every attack, every movement was a testament to your grief and your unwillingness to let his loss be in vain.

- Nathan woke up groggy but alive, his body slowly regenerating thanks to his techno-organic enhancements. When he saw the carnage you were wreaking, his heart clenched. He knew you loved him, but seeing the depth of your despair took him by surprise.

- “Stand down, soldier,” his gruff voice called out, cutting through the chaos. At first, you didn’t believe it—you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you. But then you turned and saw him standing there, bruised but alive, and your world came crashing back into focus.

- You ran to him, your emotions overwhelming you as you buried your face against his chest. Nathan wrapped his arms around you, his massive frame providing the stability you desperately needed. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere.”

- As the adrenaline faded, the reality of what had happened hit you both. Nathan cupped your face in his hands, his eyes filled with unspoken promises. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice heavy with guilt. “But you’re stronger than you know. Don’t forget that.”

- Later, as you sat in the aftermath of the battle, he pulled you close, his arm draped protectively around you. “We’ve got each other’s backs,” he said firmly. “No matter what.” His words were a vow, and you nodded, knowing that no force in the universe could break the bond you shared.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- When you thought Hank had been killed, the rational part of your mind shattered. Logic and reason were replaced by an all-consuming grief that fueled your every move. You fought with a precision that was almost mechanical, each strike a desperate attempt to make up for his absence.

- Hank, though injured, managed to pull himself together. When he saw you fighting so fiercely, his heart ached. He admired your strength but hated that it came from a place of such profound pain.

- “My dear,” his deep, soothing voice called out to you, breaking through the haze. At first, you thought it was a hallucination, a cruel trick of your grief. But then you saw him, standing there with a gentle smile despite his injuries, and your heart nearly stopped.

- You ran to him, tears streaming down your face as you clung to him. Hank wrapped his arms around you, his fur soft and comforting against your skin. “I apologize for worrying you,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “But as you can see, I am quite resilient.”

- His calm demeanor helped bring you back to yourself, and you managed a shaky laugh. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice breaking. Hank brushed a hand over your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. “And I regret that deeply,” he replied. “But you showed remarkable fortitude. I’m proud of you.”

- Later, as the two of you sat together in the quiet aftermath, Hank held your hand in his massive paw. “No matter what challenges we face, we’ll face them together,” he said, his tone unwavering. His words filled you with a sense of peace, and you knew that as long as he was by your side, you could handle anything.

[rkiveinmarvel]

pixie dust - joaquin torres des. joaquin is your back seater; partner; friend; maybe lover? yes, lover. air force! reader notes. this is fluffy story about our pretty boy! major ca:bravenewworld spoilers! sam and bucky being older brother vibes, brief mention of injuries, just fluff, teasing, and funny moments falling for our falcon. also inaccurate bnw timeline!!

hi! this is supposed to be a crack fic but i can't help but more background; the roles i used for the characters are from top gun (yes, that's what i referenced) this is essentially you selling joaquin's suit after what happened during the brave new world --- he is so fun! (i <3 u danny ramirez)

w.c: 1.6k

Joaquin Torres, is a man with many words and has a lot of dreams. Being part of the Air Force, being a Falcon, being part of Avengers, and being useful to everyone — especially, you. Torres met you upon being part of the Air Force, he was your backseater and your second eyes. Essentially, he would show you respect, but it doubled when you introduced him to Sam Wilson. The thing is you knew Sam, hell, you knew the Avengers; therefore in Joaquin’s doctrine, you’re also an Avenger. That’s why he needs to be useful to you and to impress you.

He knew you were strict, you commanded the air with such power and control, so, he was more than thankful that you introduced him to Sam because that simply means you trusted him but nothing prepared him upon seeing you outside of air force uniform, how casual you talk and tease Sam and Bucky, nothing prepared him for it.

While a lot of cadets hoped to have a good shot with you, you were teasing Bucky like there’s no tomorrow, you’re textpals with the hawkeye, and Sam is simply not Captain America to you, to you, he’s just Sam. It surprised him—especially, the time where you laughed at his joke while Sam was discussing a mission about the flag smashers or the time where Bucky jumped out of the place to help Sam chase flag smashers causing him to crash.

“I bet your ass, Bucky would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for the serum.” You rolled your eyes in chuckle as you two saw Bucky screaming as he fell down the plane and Red Wing following him. “Loosen up, Torres. I’m not in a position to say something in order. You’re an equal, during this time, and by the way, your shoelace is untied.”

For a man with many words, he lost some that time. 

Honestly, being the Falcon is a lot harder than he expected to be, he asked Sam and he asked the internet how to fill the step the Sam’s falcon left — so, when Sam trained him, he can’t help but burn himself to be the best version; for someone, who commanded respect and build position as front seat, you were there to support your back seater. 

“Torres, take a break. No Falcon can have a flight with shit energy.” As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes your company—no, he likes you. His front seater, the pilot, and the Avenger* (he considers that you are one) in no defense or complaint he did take a break, as you gave him your assessment, he just stared at you and nodded absentmindedly.

He wanted to be yours and for someone who dreamt of becoming useful to everyone—his priority was you. He wanted to be seen, acknowledged by you. After two years of training to become the Falcon, he finally did—he hopes the Red Hulk issue would be the break he has and he will ask you out after him and Sam figure it out.

So, here you are now with him in Captain America’s base as you stitch the wound that Sam had gotten after his brief encounter with the sidewinder. As Sam shares his plan, Joaquin is already packing his stuff and ready to back him up. You didn't like that: not because you don’t trust the two capabilities but because you’re not gonna be able to help this time, due to the fact that you’re with Bucky’s campaign. So, when Sam got the stitches he needed, he packed as you talked to Torres.

“Hey, Torres.” He looked up at you. “Yeah?”

“You gonna back him up? You sure? Isaiah barely trained you, you sure you can han—”

“Okay, I know you said I’m barely getting used to the suit but Sam needs me, don’t worry too much, you should worry about your congressman, I saw his pictures, he looks stressed.” He yaps but he stopped when he saw the worry in your eyes. 

Here’s the thing, you know Torres likes you and you hoped that he knows that you feel the same way too, yet neither the two of you do something about it—for another, Torres saw you as his superior that he needs to prove something while you, on the other hand, don’t want to push Torres fast, wait for him to figure it out. But in moments like this, a conversation should be present some other time.

“What? You’re really that worried?” He asked softly.

“If I say yes would you still leave?” 

“...Depends.” You sighed at his response, you can’t blame him—he wants to prove Sam that he is ready, he wants to prove to you he can protect you too. That despite him being a back seater in a jet—he’s all front to you now. But all you replied: “You do know, Sam had faced this shit before and you don’t have the super serum like Walker or Bucky…”

Neither of you don’t confirm or deny the feelings you two have but moments like this, the verbal and nonverbal cues you two have—is something so bright and noticeable.

“I’ll come back. Okay?” There he said it—an assurance that he will come back, he will be okay, he will be fine; in that moment, you just nodded. “You better. It’s gonna suck if Lucas gonna replace you as my backseater.” No, it’s more like please be safe and come back, I want you back and no one else. It’s unnoticed but you both knew it. It’s more than the partners in jet, yes, it’s definitely more than that.

Bucky is taking a break upon shaking hands with people whom he will never remember their names, sooner or later—but nothing prepared him seeing you all panicked as you told him the situation that Sam and Torres faced. He knows something is up with you and Torres so, he knew he had to check on Sam too.

“Hey, we’re gonna check on them.” He simply offered a little comfort as you two entered the car. You just nodded as you recalled the news and information you received about what happened. “You can stay. Don’t worry about the campaign. I’ll call if I need something.”

“Buck, you barely call Sam.”

“....No, trust me. I’ll call if I need something.” He smiled awkwardly.

As you two enter the private room, Sam and Bucky share a hug and include you; after their little talk, you were left behind. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your boy safe.” You had chuckled at Sam’s words. 

“Well, if you didn’t. He wouldn’t be here, Cap.” Sam smiled and nodded as you two watched Joaquin get operated on. “You’re listening too much to Bucky's PR Team.” He added, as you scoff in laughter. “It’s kinda useful.”

After two weeks of Sam solving the Red Hulk case, you sit on the sofa of Captain America’s headquarters as you scroll the news release about Sam’s success and Bucky’s candidacy, as you were about to get water—the hospital called, that he is awake. You, Isaiah, and Sam drove to the hospital, as Isaiah gave flowers, Sam gave him some pep talk then finally, you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You both had said at the same time, the moment you entered his room. He had this look on his face where he looks in pain yet sometimes relief while yours is mixed with disappointment and relief. You walked closer to him, as you wanted to tell him a lot of things but all of them got burned as he simply said. “I am okay.”

In that you felt yourself so small, the rank and the stripes you had suddenly slipped away from you. Here, you’re just a person—being vulnerable, he was okay and he was alive. In a brief moment, Joaquin chuckled, as you sat on the chair and held his hand: it was warm.

“Couldn’t let Lucas have my seat behind you.” He said, in that you had chuckled, he’s back—Joaquin is back, he’s okay.

“I thought I lost you.” You had whispered. Joaquin nodded as he held your hand that was on his. “I wouldn’t let that happen, not when I know Lucas is waiting to get a seat behind you, not when I haven’t bought you my favorite empanadas, and not when I haven’t made you my girl and introduce you to my mama.”

The beeping of the machine that supported his recovery remained in silence as he said those words, he shot his chance as you smiled. “Figures.” You shortly replied, as he smiled. “I like you.” You see this happening but in a different setting, like a date, but here you are, he is recovering—admitting he likes you while you can’t help but worry more.

You both chuckle as you bring his hand to your lips as you kiss it. “Well, you better recover fast, take me out on a date to those empanadas you like and maybe introduce me to your mama.” In that Joaquin nodded. “Can we use my suit to carry you to the house? Or the restaurant? I bet we’ll look badass.”

“Yeah, about that.” He glanced at you. “I sold the suit. We need it for the hospital bills.”

“What do you mean?” Of course, you didn’t. You and Sam just agreed he’s not allowed to use it for a while. “Well, you need to recover first, Joaquin.”

“Yeah, but how will we help Sa–”

He was cutted off when you kissed him so, shortly—leaving a stupid smile on his lips and blushing ears. 

“Recover first and maybe if Sam needs some help from you. We can use Pixie Dust instead.” In the stillness of the vicinity of him and you, he had smiled. Finally, something real. 

For almost half a minute he spoke again: “You didn’t actually sell my suit, right?” You laughed. “Of course, I didn’t. Falcon shall rise again.” “You sound like Sam.” “Well, he has an amazing commentary, so, why not.” You two smiled at each other as he smiled—“I’m glad to be back, mi vida.” 

wow new post, i am rushing ⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3 ₊˚⊹♡ taglist: @yesiamthatwierd, @bitchimasnake-sss, @cjand10, @reemoony, @vibraniumqueen

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“When I said I owed you,” you whisper and look over your shoulder. 

“Talk as quiet as you want, he’s got super hearing. Can’t even squeak out a silent but deadly with this guy,” Sam chuckles. 

“Wow, that’s gross,” you crinkle your nose. 

“I can be a nasty boy.” 

“Not better,” you give him an apprehensive look as you face him. “I saw him on the news.” 

“Hey, I was there too,” Sam chirps. 

“I know that but...” 

“He got a bit trigger happy. We’re just waiting for things to blow over. He needs a calming personality.” 

“So not you,” you retort. 

“No, not me. I’m into choking but not by him,” he snickers. 

“I can hear you,” the man leaning on the car hood snaps back as the sucker in his mouth hits his teeth. 

“Oh, I know,” Sam shoots a finger gun in his direction. “Also, he’s giving up smoking so he’s a bit testy.” 

“No, I spent eight hours in a car with you so I’m pissed off,” the grumbly sidekick hurls back. 

You look between them. Sam Wilson, the new Cap, superhero, avengers, comedian, and Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, assassin, and... mystery. You should refuse. You owe him but that much? A near-fugitive in your house? 

“Sam, I don’t exactly got a guest room,” you cross your arms. 

“Look, if the dame don’t wanna take me, don’t twist her arm,” Bucky sneers and bites into the sucker, scraping the stick with his teeth. “I can figure myself out.” 

“That’s what you said before the explosion. I’m not falling for it again, man,” Sam shoots back and shakes his head. He puts his hands on his hips and faces you. “You’re not just doing a service to me, but to America.” 

“Yes, okay, but this is Canada.” 

His eyes drift in realisation and his lashes flutter, “right, but we’re allies.” He looks at you again and smiles, “I thought Canadians were nice.” 

You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit. Fine.” 

“Like I said,” Bucky approaches, “I can go somewhere else. I don’t wanna be a burden.” 

“It’s not you,” you assure him. “There isn’t much space, that’s all. If you’re fine with that, so am I.” 

“I told him, it’s not a big deal,” Bucky huffs. “But he insists.” 

“I have to insist. I’m the Captain now.” 

“You keep saying,” he turns on Sam. “So why don’t you get that shield and we’ll see if you’re really up to that title.” 

“Alright, alright,” you step between them. You’re not a fan of conflict. Sam knows that and that’s why he brought him here. “No need to argue. You got a couch,” you look at Bucky then turn to the other man, “and you have a long ride home.” 

“Wait, you’re kicking me out?” Sam says. 

“If you stay any longer, I won’t stop him. I said he could stay, I said nothing about mediating whatever this is,” you wiggle your finger between them. 

Bucky snorts. He’s just as bad as Sam. They seem to only know how to goad the other.  

“Fair. I mean, you don’t want this guy getting any grumpier. He’s already such a treat,” Sam smirks. 

“Enough, I just told you,” you wag your index at him. “Well, nice to meet ya,” you turn and offer your hand to Bucky, “welcome to Canada.” 

“Thanks,” he says, though you can sense him staring down the other man. 

“Sam, have a safe trip. You need water or anything for the road?” You offer over your shoulder. 

“Nah, I think I’m good. A nice ride home alone. With good music. Think I’m set.” He cackles. 

“You wouldn’t know good music if it shot you in the face,” Bucky growls. 

“Dude, go get your bag out of my car,” Sam snips. “Good riddance, is what I say.” 

“Drive safe,” you shake your head as you walk toward the house. “I was in the middle of something.” 

You climb the porch steps and leave the inner door open as the screen door snaps shut behind you. Out of sight, you stop to shake off the adrenaline. You only realise then how the unexpected rival stirred you up. You weren’t ready for Sam but especially not a houseguest. Still, the only reason you have this place is because of that man. You can do this. 

You take a breath and go back to the kitchen. If Sam trusts Bucky, you can too. You’re not one to welcome in strangers, especially men, but this is different. And even if he asked, it wasn’t much of a choice. 

You wash your hands and dry them before pushing your sleeves back up. The striped button-up isn’t exactly your Sunday best. You add breadcrumbs to the bowl of raw beef as you hear footsteps on the porch. The door opens slowly and gently hits the frame. You listen to your guest as he sighs in the entryway. 

The house is small. One-floor, a single bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen with a small dining table that doubles as your workspace. It isn’t much, but it’s yours. And it’s history. Your family’s. 

You sense him hovering just outside the doorway. You glance behind yourself and hang your hands over the brim of the bowl. You still need to chop the veggies but that can wait. It isn’t his fault Sam decided this would be the balance in the scales. 

“Let me show you around.” You cross the kitchen as he peers through.  

His beard is dark, his hair overgrown and pushed back behind his ears, and tugs at the bottom of his denim jacket. He looks skittish as you approach. He has a duffel bag in his hand. 

“Look, sorry if I came off short. You know how Sam can be,” you say. 

“I do. He assumes a lot,” he mutters. 

“Sure does. So, like I said, it’s not a big house. Kitchen here,” you point over your shoulder, “living room behind you, bathroom down the hall and the bedroom. There’s a back door. Yard’s bigger than the house.” 

“Got it.” 

“So, you’ll have to camp out on the couch but good news, it’s from 1987 so it folds out,” you squeeze by him and lead the way into the front room. 

“Beats a full barracks,” he comments. 

You nod and peek over at him. “Guess that makes sense.” 

He sniffs, “thanks. Really.” 

“Again, not too much,” you gesture to the room. “I gotta finish the meatloaf.” 

“Think I can handle it,” he affirms. 

[eddiazx]

woody & buzz - evan buckley x reader

It's just a costume, it's just a costume.

Buck repeats the mantra in his head, as if repeating a fact would somehow make his boner disappear.

The two of you were at Hen and Karen's house, amongst other members of the 118, celebrating Halloween with just the adults since Harry and May decided to take the younger kids trick-or-treating. Buck had decided to make use of the cowboy hat he had from his ranch hand days, and dressed up as Woody from Toy Story. So naturally, you had to be Buzz Lightyear. Your costume was a one piece that was tight and showed a lot more skin than the astronaut did. Not that Buck was complaining, of course.

He may have survived just the tight material on your body, but you were also wearing extremely tall white boots. And Buck couldn't stop envisioning having you underneath him wearing the boots and nothing else.

Since Buck had a shift earlier today and you didn't, the two of you had decided to take separate cars to meet up at the Wilsons'. Buck is sure that if he had seen the costume earlier, the two of you would not have even left the apartment.

You make your way to Buck, who had been leaning behind the kitchen island, trying to hide his arousal from everyone.

"Here, babe," you say, as you thrust a red Solo cup of a mysterious-looking liquid at him. "I don't know what it is, but Karen said it would clear a sinus infection you didn't even know you had."

Buck chuckles, and accepts the cup. He shifts to the right and leans in close to give you a kiss that he hopes conveys thank you and hi, I've missed you, and oh crap, you can probably feel him poking you through his pants right now.

His suspicions are confirmed when you giggle, and quirk your eyebrow at him.

"Hey, I'm only human! Of course I'm going to be turned on when I see my girlfriend dressed like this!" Buck defends himself, waving his hands from your head to your feet.

You laugh louder, and say, "Wow, I can't believe you're dressed as Woody and sporting a woody. The jokes just write themselves."

Buck lets out a noise that's a cross between a groan and a laugh. He doesn't think his boner would quell anytime soon, not when you were next to him, smelling, looking, and sounding amazing.

Buck doesn't have to suffer for long though, because you're tugging on his arm, steering him towards the front door.

"Come on, I already told Hen we would be back later in the night. I have a cowboy to ride."

[h0useslut]

you are the life i needed all along

requests | masterlist

pairing : gregory house x fem! rheumatologist!reader

w/c : 2,3k

warnings : established relationship, mild illness (nothing graphic), implied age gap, mutual pining, soft confessions, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort

summary : greg can’t tell reader he loves her, because saying it out loud is hard. so he won’t say it at all. but he will show it to her.

a/n : based on this request!

It was a truth universally acknowledged that no woman could ever make Gregory House soften. Especially after Stacy. Or even more specifically, after his leg injury.

Or so everyone thought.

A few months after House had managed to gather up a team in order to run his department - a diagnostician, they’d said when you came in,

Cuddy hired you. Young, and full of new ideas in your field, Lisa didn’t hesitate to make you head of the rheumatology department.

You heard about the infamous Gregory House since the minute you stepped foot inside the hospital.

Learned more about him when you accidentally spilled hot coffee all over him.

He was supposed to be mad, wasn't he? He should’ve yelled, maybe said the most lewd comment known to mankind.

But instead of a cutting remark, he’d blinked. Blinked and let out the smallest and most dangerous smirk you’d ever seen.

“Guess you’re not a morning person either?” He’d said.

You blinked, halfway expecting to be eaten alive. “Yeah, well. Your fault anyway” you had teased, trying to stifle down a giggle.

“Oh great, you’re delusional. You’ll fit right in” he teased, but he also had a soft little on his face - almost genuine. It made your heart swell.

And that was just the beginning.

The next day, you bought him lunch to apologise for the ruined shirt, and let’s be honest. Who was Gregory House to deny free lunch? Even Wilson didn’t treat him with such joy.

“Oh, I bet you find me irresistible,” He said with a smug little expression, before devouring like he hadn’t eaten anything for days.

You figured that was it. A weird - one-off moment. But it wasn’t.

He kept showing up. In the hallway, in your office. In that space just below the stairs, you liked to hide when things got too loud, too clinical.

At first, he acted like it was a coincidence. Like he just happened to need to pass through wherever you were. But House was many things, and subtle was never one of them.

“I’m beginning to think you’re stalking me,” you teased once, catching him for the third time that week loitering outside your office door.

“Oh please. If I were stalking you, you’d know it pretty face” he shot back, but his eyes lingered longer than they should’ve before he limped off.

Your playful and witty banter only carried on for so long before the tension between you shifted. One day, somewhere along the stolen lunches sarcastic quips over patient charts, House asked you out. Not anything fancy, emotional - just him, looking at you and asking you as casually as if he were ordering takeout.

“Dinner?” No punchline followed. Just that.

You were stupid not to agree. Dinner turned into breakfast, turned into weekends, which turned into toothbrushes left behind and arguments over who stole whose sweatshirt. (you obviously? you loved his clothes)

Now it’s just you, and him. No announcements no big labels, just the strange unspoken understanding of you being his person. Somehow, he’s yours too.

Which is why today, when you show up at work sniffling and obviously running on less than four hours of sleep, House doesn’t let it slide.

“You look like death,” he said in a chirpy voice, hoping to get a small reaction from you. “Stole Wilson’s lunch. Here” He continued, dropping a small lunch box and an orange juice in front of you.

You barely glanced at him. “Can’t. I have clinic duty, consults, and a paper that should be turned in by Friday”

He frowns and then moves quickly. He shuts your laptop down, earning a small “Hey!” from you. “Why’d you do that?!”

“Cause I can’t have you passing out during rounds and embarrassing me”

“Oh, baby. You’re such a romantic” You fret, rolling your eyes - Or attempting to do so. Your head pounded so much even that was difficult for you.

“And you’re—“ He paused, bringing his hand to your forehead to check your temperature. “You have a fever, sweetheart. Take the compliment and lie down before I carry you”

Trying to protest was useless. He’d always get what he wanted.

“You know I’ll make it weird, come on. Up you go”

You muttered something about abuse of power when he helped you to your feet, but the truth was that the room was already spinning, and you were grateful he held you.

“Where are we going?” you asked, leaning into him slightly as he looped an arm around your waist.

“My office. Big chair. Nap. You’re banned from thinking for the next few hours.” he said, leading you down the hall like it was routine.

“No - Not your office. Smells like sarcasm and regret” you mumbled.

“Exactly. Suits you”

When he settled you on the worn-out leather chair, he didn’t tease you about the way you curled up immediately, or how fast your eyes fluttered shut. Instead, he pulled his coat from the rack and draped it over your body.

He doesn’t follow after the team immediately. He sits back at his desk, grumbling as he twiddles with his cane.

“Unbelievable. I get you lunch, save your life and the thanks I get is… Are you sleeping? Tsk tsk, sweetheart” He grumbled, but his words held no anger.

From the couch, he heard your muffled, drowsy voice.

“Love you too”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The small, rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips said it all.

After a few minutes, he walked over to you— placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. You were still warm.

“Goddamn hopeless romantic”

He stood there for a moment, just watching you. Your features weren’t totally relaxed— the crease between your eyebrows was still there. The sight made something in his chest tighten, some old reflex he tried not to name.

With a sigh, he turned back to his desk, settling into his chair and spinning lazily in it once before grabbing a pen. Diagnostics could wait a little longer. He pulled your laptop toward him, flicking it open despite your earlier protests.

“Clinic duty, consults, paper due to Friday” he muttered to himself, scrolling through your emails and files. “I don’t remember agreeing to date an overachiever”

Then, he started canceling. One email, then another - until your inbox and calendar were empty. But halfway through the process, Wilson walked in, probably ready to ask something - until his gaze landed on your sleeping form, curled up on House’s chair with his coat.

“Really?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

House didn’t look up from your laptop. “She’s sick”

“And you’re… playing secretary?”

He vaguely gestured with his pen, as if saying Go away. “She’s annoying when she’s dying. This is self-preservation”

Wilson chuckled, muttering a small “Whatever you say” before turning to leave.

“Oh and tell Cuddy if she needs rheumatology, she’ll have to drag her away herself”

“Fine, just don’t fall in love with her”

House didn’t answer. He just kept typing. Because if he had answered, he would’ve said something like, “Too late”

By the time you’d woken up, the sun had set and soft lamps were flickering in the office. You were groggy and unaware of how long you’d been sleeping, making House turn his attention to you the minute you shifted a little.

“Sleeping beauty is finally awake, hm?” He said softly, coming to sit near your feet.

“Yeah. How long was I out for?”

“Long enough for me to hack into your email account” He smirked, noticing how your expression went from sleepy to mortified.

“You did what?!” you croaked, sitting up straighter despite his coat being wrapped around you.

“Oh relax, you didn’t have any dirty secrets. Just a lot of boring consults and an unholy amount of calendar reminders. Honestly, it was more disappointing than I expected”

“You canceled my day, didn’t you?”

“Mhmm,” he popped a pill bottle open, handing it to you. “You’re still feverish,” he said softly, concern etched on his features.

You took the pills reluctantly, eyeing the water bottle he passed next like it had personally wronged you. “You know, you’re supposed to be the world’s biggest jerk. This is very off-brand for you”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, resting his chin on his cane while watching you sip the water. “I’ll go back to bullying residents and making interns cry the second you stop looking like a Victorian ghost.”

You sighed, melting back into the chair. “I was fine”

“No you weren’t, sweetheart”

You blinked at the endearment - voice sounding much more softer than usual. It always came up low and tired, like he couldn’t help himself. Like it slipped out from somewhere unguarded.

“I’m not fragile you know” You murmured, averting your gaze from him, focusing on his cane.

He gave you a look, deadpanned but affectionate. “You fell asleep on my chair, wrapped up in my coat like a burrito. Forgive me for assuming you’re not at full strength”

“Such a sap, Greg”

“Yeah, I’m such a catch” he drawled. “You’re staying at my place tonight”

“What? Why?”

“Which part of “you can’t stand up straight without help” don’t you understand? I’m not leaving you alone. You might spiral into working again”

“I have an apartment,” You said softly, even though deep down you wanted to be with him.

“Sure. But I have better snacks”

You tried to protest—really, you did. But your head was still heavy, your limbs achy, and the thought of curling up in his too-big clothes, in his bed that smelled like him, was more comforting than you’d admit.

“Okay, doctors orders,” you said, giving in. “But I’m taking your Princeton sweater”

He stood up, putting his cane aside just to help you up and take your bag. “Fine. But the movie’s on me. And if you fall asleep, I promise to take a picture and save it as my contact photo”

You sighed, pressing your fingers on your temple to stop the throbbing in your temples. “You wouldn’t dare”

“Sweetheart” He whispered when he saw your face contorting in pain. “I would”

He opened the door for you, watching every single reaction you had. And despite the pounding in your head and the burn in your throat, you smiled. Because somehow, being lovingly bullied by Gregory House was the safest you’d felt all week.

By the time you reached his apartment, you’d been dozing on and off in his car, head lolling with every turn he took. He didn’t comment on it. Just glanced every now and then, turning the music down.

Inside, the lights were low. His place smelled like burnt coffee and old books, and maybe… comfort. Tossing your bag on the couch, he headed to his room - emerging with a soft, worn-out t-shirt. No way he’d give you the Princeton hoodie. That would be saved for special occasions.

Without a word, House helped you sit on the edge of the couch - hands on your waist to steady you. “Arms up” he instructed.

He moved carefully—fingers brushing lightly over your fever-warm skin, gaze never straying lower than your face. When he slipped the shirt over your head, he smoothed it down your arms like he was folding something delicate.

You didn’t bother with pants—he wouldn’t care, and you were already sinking into the couch as your bones had dissolved. He followed a second later, dropping beside you with a quiet grunt. His hand found your back automatically, warm and steady, tracing gentle circles like it was second nature.

“You gonna pass out on me again?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“No, unless you feed me anything. Maybe soup and oh - maybe grilled cheese?”

He snorted. “You’re getting a cold sandwich and you’re gonna love it”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. “You’re insufferable” you spoke, breath fanning over his skin. It almost made him shiver.

“And yet,” he said, grabbing a blanket and draping it over your body. “You’re here, on my couch, in my clothes… In my arms”

“…and kind of in love with you”

It wasn’t meant to slip out. It just did. Fever loosened your tongue, and your heart as well.

His breath hitched - and the cogs in his brain started running. It was the medicine, wasn’t it? It was making you bleary… and saying things you didn’t mean.

But what if you did mean it?

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just looked at you, really looked at you. Your lashes clumped from sleep, cheeks flushed and lips plump - all in your feverish state. You looked as if you hadn’t realised what you’d just said. He found it adorable.

It would be easier to laugh it off. Deflect. Say something cruel and clever, to ruin the moment.

Instead, House reached up - carded his fingers through your hair, noticing how you let out a quiet, but content sigh.

“You’re kind of high on ibuprofen,” he said finally, voice rough.

“Maybe. I meant it either way” you said, words muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

A beat passed.

Then another.

House didn’t look at you when he answered—just let his hand trail down your arm before lacing his fingers with yours.

“I’m kind of in love with you too,” he muttered. “Unfortunately.”

You huffed sleepily, snuggling closer to him. “Tragic. Can’t have you become a softie now”

“Oh, you’re an evil woman,” he said teasingly, squeezing your hand.

For a moment, you didn’t move. His free hand continued its soothing motions on your back, making you feel safe, kept. Like even if he wasn’t good with words, he was still choosing you, quietly, in all the ways that mattered.

Eventually, he shifted - manoeuvring you so you were lying on his chest with your legs entwined.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he said in a hushed tone, pressing a kiss to your warm forehead. “Maybe I’ll make you grilled cheese tomorrow”

You smiled against his chest, the warmth of his body lulling you under again.

“You better” you whispered.

And he didn’t say anything else—not out loud, at least. But the way he held you closer said everything.

[savvyscribbleswriting]

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine (specifically worst!Wolverine) x fem!Reader

Summary: After you catch your friends badmouthing your talkative nature, you start holding back. Logan is not having it.

Word Count: 7.1k

Genre: Smut (18+; MDNI!!!)

Warnings: no use of (Y/N); strong language; angst (with a happy ending); self-hatred; slow burn; explicit sexual situations; oral sex (female receiving); face sitting; breast play; p in v sex (him on top); mentions of clawing; Logan has a bit of a pain kink; reader is described as a talker; reader’s friends are secretly the worst; Logan is the best; Wade, Vanessa, and Peter are supporting characters (and also the best); Mary Puppins and Blind Al cameos; Logan gets called “Wolverine” once

Author’s Note: I didn’t think I’d be going back to Logan smut so soon, but here we are! Enjoy!

P.S. I DO NOT OWN WOLVERINE, DEADPOOL, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTER(S) IN THE DEADPOOL/MARVEL UNIVERSE!!! I ALSO DO NOT OWN ANYTHING/ANYONE THAT IS WITTILY REFERENCED!!!

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You loved to talk.

You had always been that way. It wasn’t because you loved to hear the sound of your own voice or anything malicious like that. You were just a passionate person who had this natural ability to have long-winded conversations about a variety of topics.

When you were a kid, adults found it cute and just let you be. As you got older and more self-aware, you found yourself abruptly stopping and blushing in embarrassment, only for people to assure you that you were alright. In short, you had never gotten much criticism when it came to you talking a lot. If anything, your friends encouraged it. You had two friend groups, though.

The first group included Wade Wilson, a blabber mouth himself with a colorful vocabulary. It was your shared tendency to go on and on about everything that made you instant BFFs. Through him, you met the rest of your little group – Vanessa, Wade’s on-off lover who was great for good old-fashioned girl talk, and Peter, who had his own way of making the simplest things seem life-changing. There was one more person, but you didn’t see him as a friend.

He was different, special, the love of your life.

He was Logan.

Logan was pretty, strong, pretty strong, and pretty silent for the most part. You had met him a few times before, but things didn’t really click between you two until a month later. You were having a sleepover at Wade’s apartment, cuddling Mary Puppins on the couch and waiting for him to come back with the latest limited edition ice cream. (“It’s from the people who made ranch ice cream!” he insisted.) You don’t know how you got started, but you ended up giving this long spiel to Logan about this couple on this TV show that you and Wade were binging that Logan could give two shits about. He can’t lie, he was a bit annoyed at first, thinking of you as the female Wade. But if he was so annoyed, why didn’t he go and hide in his room? And why did he slowly start to warm up to the sound of your voice and your energy?

You finally looked his way and noticed his glazed eyes. It was something you were all too familiar with - you had gone too far and left the other person so far behind. You let out a small, embarrassed laugh before curling in on yourself and stuffing your face with popcorn. “Aaannnddd you don’t care about any of that! I’m so sorry! I’ll shut up now!”

“No, no!” Logan exclaimed. “It’s not that!”

You scooted back a bit more in surprise.

“I mean, yeah, I don’t know the first thing about reality TV – except there’s nothing real about it – but… I like hearing you talk about it.”

Your expression softened. “Really?”

“I don’t say something unless I mean it, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname made you blush for a whole other reason. It was a sight Logan could see himself getting used to.

About two weeks after that, you two started seeing each other romantically. “I love it! Very ‘grumpy-cat-and-sunshine-dog,’” as Wade put it during another one of your sleepovers. With you, though, Logan wasn’t as grumpy. You loosened him up and acted as a light in his darkest moments. For his part, Logan protected you and made sure you were always taken care of and happy. You two made a cute, almost perfect couple. Plus, the sex was amazing.

You were as vocal in the bedroom as you were out of it. You talked to Logan about what you wanted, how good he made you feel, how good you wanted to make him feel. You would moan, giggle, pant, scream. Logan never knew what song you were going to sing once he got you underneath him, but he got a good concert every time. That was the analogy you used when you were talking to your other friend group.

Three girls that you’d known since college made up this second group of yours – Addy, Jennifer, and Claire. You had so much fun with them back in the day, something that changed drastically once you all graduated and began living your own lives. That’s when the four of you decided to meet at least once a month to catch up. This time, it was lunch at a local Italian restaurant. Addy was gunning for an A.D.A position. Jennifer was producing some great content for her company’s social media. Claire was getting ready to be a stay-at-home mom with her first child. And you were currently going on about your own accomplishments at work and how it had drained you a little bit and how you hoped to plan a little getaway with Logan at some point in the future, maybe a cabin in the woods somewhere because he loved stuff like that and it would allow you to let off as much steam and be as loud as you wanted. All three girls’ eyes nearly popped out of their heads, something that did not escape you and made you abruptly stop and blush as usual.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry! TMI! I know! I know!” you hurriedly said.

Addy, Jennifer, and Claire quickly spoke on top of one another.

“No! Not at all!”

“You’re fine, girl. Don’t worry about it.”

“People have sex.”

Addy kept talking as she dug into her salad. “I’m glad he makes you so happy. We all are.” Jennifer and Claire nodded in unison.

You smiled at their validity. “Thanks.” As you slurped up your spaghetti, you could feel the sauce staining your face. “God, I’m a mess! I’m gonna go the restroom real quick.”

You maneuvered out of your seat and headed to your destination, which was fortunately right next to your table. You cleaned any trace of sauce from your face before doing the same with your hands. Satisfied, you headed back when you heard something that made you stop in your tracks.

“I swear, I could shove an entire pizza in her mouth to get her to shut up.” It was Addy.

“Are you serious?” That was Claire.

“Yes! Even in college, I couldn’t stand how much she ran her mouth.”

“If I had a boyfriend like hers, I’d run my mouth off, too. He’s hot.” Last but not least, Jennifer.

You found yourself moving as close as you could to the opening next to your table without being seen. You thought maybe if you listened more, you’d find out that Addy was talking about someone else. Or if she was talking about you, then Jennifer and Claire would come to your defense. Oh, how wrong you were.

“I’m honestly surprised they’ve lasted this long,” Addy said after taking another bite of her salad. “He’ll probably dump her soon, though. I can hardly stand her when we meet once a month. I can’t even begin to imagine how anyone could put up with her for an entire day, for weeks, hell months on end!”

“Yeah! Remember how many boyfriends she had back in the day?” Jennifer asked. “She would complain about how they dumped her because she was ‘too much’? What they actually meant was she talked too much. You’d think she would’ve taken the hint and grown up by now.”

“I don’t know if that’s completely fair,” Claire tried. “At least she’s aware of how much she talks and stops herself sometimes.”

“Yeah, after about an hour of yapping like a freaking dog,” Addy scoffed. “Just watch. A month from now, she’s going to come crying to us about how Logan broke up with her and play the victim for a week straight by whining about how much she loved him and how she thought he was the one…”

“Blah blah blah…” Jennifer piped in.

“And then she’ll move onto some other guy and talk his ear off and talk our ears off about him and how much she loves him and how she thinks he’s the one…”

“Blah blah blah…”

“And then she’ll come crying to us about how he broke up with her-“

“Blah blah blah!” Jennifer finished, this time with a laugh that Addy matched in pitch and bitchiness. Jennifer then stopped to ask, “Hey, do you think she’d be too distracted by the sound of her own voice to notice if one of us flirts with Logan?”

“I think she loves him too much to allow any of us to flirt with him,” Claire managed to get out.

“I mean once they break up, Claire,” Jennifer clarified pointedly.

“Ooo, good point!” Addy exclaimed. “You know when she brought him to Claire’s house for that barbeque? I was trying to move past him to get another margherita and I touched his arm and his muscles were so firm! Ugh, I can only imagine what they feel like wrapped around-“

You’d had enough at that point. It took all your strength not to run back to the restroom so you could throw up. Instead, you walked out and stood next to Addy.

“Hey, girls. I’m actually not feeling too well, so I’m going to head out,” you said as evenly as you could.

“Oh, are you sure, hon?” Addy asked, looking concerned. Jennifer and Claire shot their own looks. You didn’t believe a single one of them.

“Yeah,” you said, plastering on a smile. “I don’t think that spaghetti is agreeing with me. I’m just gonna go home and take it easy. I’ll text you later.”

“Well, okay,” Addy shrugged. “Talk later.”

“Feel better,” was all Jennifer offered.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said.

Addy got up to give you a hug, but you were quick to move away from her. You simply waved goodbye to them and made your exit. Before you got to your car, you took one last look inside and saw Addy and Jennifer laughing it up while Claire just ate her food.

You were feeling so many different things on the drive back. Betrayal. Anger. Sadness. Shame. Stupidity. Confusion. As soon as your body hit your bed, it all came out in waves. You clung to your pillow and curled up as tightly as you could. All you could focus on was getting all the pain out of your system by crying your eyes out.

You accomplished your goal about an hour later. With no more tears left, your eyes just stared at your ceiling as your brain began to turn. Each new thought made you spiral downward.

You talked too much. You knew that. Other people knew that. They had been telling you for years that it was no big deal, but they were wrong… or lying. They were all lying. Deep down they hated your talking. They hated you. Your friends hated you. And it wasn’t just Addy or Jennifer or even Claire. It was Wade, Vanessa, Peter… Logan. They all secretly wished you wouldn’t talk so much, or at all. If you kept talking like you did, they were going to leave you. Logan would leave you. You couldn’t bear losing Logan. You loved him too much. You had to change. You had to be better. You would be better. You’d stop talking. From that moment on, you were no longer going to say anything. You were just going to bite your tongue and give everyone some peace and quiet. Everyone will be happier. Logan will be happier. It was for the best. Everything would be fine.

You just had to stop talking.

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

Logan leaned against the wall outside of your apartment. He had been having a rough week and couldn’t wait to see his favorite girl. He also couldn’t wait to see your face light up when he revealed his plans for date night – dinner at your favorite diner and a movie. He let himself imagine your sweet voice for a moment, talking about how excited you were and how wonderful he was.

He finally heard the doorknob turn and pushed himself up to meet you. You looked beautiful, as usual.

“Hey,” he greeted you.

“Hey,” you echoed, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“So, I was thinking we could go to that diner you love and then catch that movie you’ve been talking about,” he explained.

Your eyes widened as did your smile. The only thing that came out of your mouth was, “Great.” You then moved past him to exit the building.

Logan stood there slightly confused. He was expecting a bit more from you. He quickly shook it off and jogged to catch up to you.

“Wade and Blind Al went to see the movie last week,” he said, holding your hand. “She said he was shit at explaining what was going on.” You hummed in response. That was it. Now Logan was even more confused.

Things didn’t get much better as you two walked to the diner. Any attempts at conversation made by Logan were met with either small noises of acknowledgement or one-word responses. He finally confronted the matter once you sat down and got your drinks.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who’s had a bad week,” he started.

“Huh?” you asked, looking up from your water.

“Usually, you’re going a mile a minute. What’s got you down, baby?”

“I’m… fine.”

Logan didn’t believe that for a second. You could see that and put on your best smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Really. I’m just… taking things in. Enjoying the moment, you know?”

Logan wanted to dig deeper, but then the food came out and you busied yourself with your burger and fries. Although he wasn’t completely satisfied with your answer, he decided to let the matter go for the time being. The night was still young. He figured by the time you two got to the theater, you’d be back to being yourself at least a little bit.

However, you were quiet as a church mouse from beginning to end. You didn’t have any little outbursts when the characters onscreen did something stupid or surprising or romantic or whatever. Even when Logan asked what you thought on the walk back, fully expecting you to go in-depth about how one actor stood out as being good or horrible or how the direction was unique or stale or even how the music was great or God-awful, you merely responded with, “I liked it.”

He suddenly stopped and forced you to do the same.

“Alright, can you please tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean can you please tell me why you’ve barely talked all night?”

“I told you, I’m just taking everything in.”

“Yeah, and I don’t buy that.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” you insisted, trying to lead Logan back in the direction of your apartment. He didn’t budge. Instead, he grabbed you gently by the arms, holding you in place.

“Sweetheart, please...”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you said as you tried to wiggle your way free.

“Come on, you tell me everything. It shouldn’t be hard to tell me what’s going on now.”

“It’s nothing! I swear!”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not-“

“I SAID I’M FINE!!!” you exploded, pushing your way out of Logan’s grip. You turned on your heels and continued your journey, not bothering to wait or even look back at Logan.

He stared at you in shock. He never saw you get like that before. Something big must’ve happened for you to be acting like this, but obviously the best course of action wasn’t to press you on the matter. There were times when he needed space before opening up. Maybe you were the same way right now. He decided to back off and give you as much space as you needed to get back to being you.

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

The next time you spoke to Logan was a couple days later, just before you two met up with Wade, Vanessa, and Peter at the bar. You apologized for snapping at him, but you didn’t explain why like he secretly hoped. He took what he could get, though.

Everyone was so excited to see you. You greeted each of them with a warm smile, a “hey” or “hello,” and a small hug. You then got settled in with Logan in a booth, his arm instinctively going around you. He figured maybe you’d start feeling better if you were surrounded by your best friends.

Vanessa talked about her work and uptight boss.

Peter talked about a new self-help book he was reading.

Wade talked about trying this new recipe for chimichangas that ended up tasting horrible so he gave it to Mary Puppins, only for her to think the same thing and throw up in Logan’s shoes.

Logan got onto Wade for talking about Mary Puppins throwing up in his shoes.

You, however, remained silent. All you did was drink, munch on the cheese curds Wade got for you all, and listen to everyone tell their stories. There were a few times Logan caught you opening your mouth to say something only to close it. Fortunately, it wasn’t just him who noticed your change in behavior.

Vanessa, ever the observer, took advantage of a break in Wade’s story to ask, “Hey, are you alright?”

Your eyes widened. “Hmm?”

“You’re pretty quiet tonight,” she explained.

Wade gasped. “OMFG, yeah! I’m on my third banana daquiri and you haven’t said a peep! I’m zipping my mouth now, girl. Go on, give us everything!”

Logan looked at you closely. Would this be the time you finally let it all out?

“There’s… not that much to say, honestly.”

Logan tried not to let his disappointment show. Wade and Vanessa, meanwhile, could not hide their confusion.

“Really?” Wade asked. “But it seems like you’ve always got something to share. I feel like I’m on the Drew Barrymore Show when I’m with you.”

“Oh, I love her!” Peter commented, not really getting the gravity of the situation. “I wish she would come back to acting. I love the movies she does with Adam Sandler. What was that one where she can’t remember him so he-“

“Yeah, yeah! I know that one!” Wade snapped his fingers wildly. “It’s… it’s uh… God damn it! What is it?” He turned to you for an answer.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” You peeled Logan’s arm off so you could get up. You then scurried away without another word, leaving everyone to stare after you stunned, even Peter who now understood that something was wrong. All eyes landed on Logan.

“What did you do?” Wade asked, accusatorily.

Logan whipped his head around. “What did I do?”

“Yes! She’s usually all over you and spilling all the tea. Now the tea and passion are colder than the Arctic! She’s never acted like this before and I assume it’s because the two of you are in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. So I will ask again, and remember that you are under oath, what did you do?!”

“Wade…” Vanessa began.

“I didn’t do anything,” Logan beat her to it.

“Liar!” Wade pointed a finger, which Logan was quick to swat away.

“I’m not lying! She’s been like this ever since our date the other night. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong with her, but she won’t budge.”

“Can you think of anything that might’ve happened to her before you saw her?” Vanessa asked more gently than Wade, who was still giving Logan the stink eye until he was proven innocent.

Logan slumped back in his seat. “No,” he sighed as he finished off his beer.

“Maybe she should read my self-help book,” Peter offered. “I can give her my copy once I’m done. It’s got a great chapter on communication.”

Vanessa shook her head. “She’s never needed help before, Peter, especially when it comes to communication. I don’t think that’s what this is.”

“Well, you’re the girl expert here. What is it?” Logan inquired.

“I don’t know, but whatever it is she needs to know that we are here for her. We can’t do that if we’re not a united front.” She directed that last part at Wade, who finally settled down.

“Alright, Arrested Development,” he said under his breath as he sipped his daquiri.

“Oh, I love that group! It was the only rap I was allowed to listen to back in the day…” Peter went on and on, even as you returned from the restroom.

You situated yourself back under Logan’s arm and continued your silent treatment. You tried to look as normal as possible. That didn’t stop Logan, Wade, and Vanessa from being concerned about you, which lasted even after you said your goodbyes and walked arm in arm with Logan into the night. They hoped that this was just some weird phase and not something permanent. Sullen, sad, and quiet didn’t really suit you.

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

You had managed to be quiet with Logan.

You had managed to be quiet with friends.

The real challenge was if you could manage to be quiet in the bedroom.

After another one of your dates with Logan, you dared to let him into your apartment for the night. Before long, you were making out like teenagers on the edge of your bed. He only left to turn on the lamp on your nightstand so he could see your pretty face. Once he returned in front of you, he helped you out of the bottom half of your clothes and kneeled down to help himself to your sweet pussy. As he licked your folds and did small, teasing swipes to your clit every now and then, you moaned in delight.

Suddenly, it hit you - you needed to tone it down. You quickly bit your lip, closed your eyes, and concentrated on not making too much noise. You were doing alright for a few minutes until Logan slowly lifted his head up.

“You enjoying this, baby?” he asked, his hold on your legs loosening slightly.

You nodded and hummed as you guided his head back down to your center. He went back to eating you out, a bit more cautious than before in case you changed your mind. You let a moan slip once or twice so as to not raise his suspicions, but it wasn’t enough. After another minute of this, he lifted his head up again to look at you.

“Are you sure you want this?”

You nodded again vigorously, your hand coming down on his head hard and quick to push him back down. “Yes.”

Logan sighed. “No, wait.” He pulled himself away and leaned back on his knees.

You chased after him. “No, no, no! Please! Don’t stop!”

“I’m not starting again until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not-“

“You’ve said only a handful of words this entire week. You don’t talk to me. You don’t talk to Wade or Vanessa. I’ve been giving you space hoping that you’ll open up, but I can’t do it anymore. You need to starting talking now.”

You tried grabbing his hands to pull him closer to you. “Please, just-“

He shook his head. “No. Not until you talk to me.”

“I… I…” Tears started forming at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can. You love to talk.”

“YEAH AND THAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM!!!” you snapped, the dam finally breaking. You moved away and hid under your blankets so he couldn’t see you cry. He could hear you, though, and it broke his heart. It was the one sound he didn’t want to hear from you.

Logan slowly got up and moved to the other side of the bed. He laid down next to you, propped himself up on his elbow, and rubbed up and down where he felt your arm under the sheets. This went on for a good long while until you poked your head out for some air. Logan took a peek over your shoulder and saw that your face was red and puffy.

“Hey, hey…” he cooed, rolling you over to face him. He moved your hair out of the way and wiped away the rest of your tears. You were still under the covers, save for your head, while Logan was on top of them. That didn’t stop him from pulling you closer to him. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, taking in his warmth and smell.

Once he heard and felt your breathing even out, he tried again.

“I’m sorry. I just… You never not have anything to say. So when you stopped talking, I got worried. I just want you to be happy. I love you.”

You slowly lifted your head to look him in the eyes. “I-I love you, t-too,” you gulped out.

“Then please, please baby, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You thought long and hard about it. This wasn’t working, at least not the way you were doing it. You needed to tell him. Maybe once you explained yourself, he would respect your decision not to talk so much. With a deep breath, you sat up and let it all out.

“A few days ago, I had lunch with my girlfriends, Addy, Jennifer, and Claire. You remember them. I went to the restroom and when I came back, I overheard them talking about me. They were saying that I talk too much and should learn to shut up. They said that’s why I couldn’t keep a boyfriend and they were surprised you were still with me… but that it wouldn’t be long before you dumped me. And then they talked about trying to get with you once you were single. Addy even said she was trying to feel you up at that barbeque a while back. God, that made me sick to my stomach. I just left and thought about how I could be better for you. So, I tried not talking as much. I thought if I pulled back, you’d appreciate it and wouldn’t leave me. I know you’ve never said anything about it before, but I know deep down you must think I’m such a loud mouth who doesn’t know when to quit, and you’re right. From now on, I just want to listen to people. I want Wade to let me know about all his crazy adventures, like that time he stole an ice cream truck so he could chase after some drug dealers… which is kind of cool but kind of scary because I imagine an ice cream truck would be much more difficult to navigate than a car. And I want to give Peter the chance to talk about the books that he’s reading. He told me about this one book that’s about the origins of ramen noodles that I really want to look through because that was basically my diet back in college. I think it was everybody’s diet in college. And I want Vanessa to tell me more about her boss who hates her for some weird reason. He’s probably jealous because he knows she could run that entire place by herself because she’s that fricking smart and badass. And you… I want you to tell me everything. Tell me about how Wade gets on your nerves by using all the hot water. Tell me about that taxi driver who cut you off the other day. Tell me about how they don’t make beer like they used to. For once, you talk, and I’ll listen. I won’t talk. I won’t interrupt or try to make it about me. I just want you to have your say because you deserve that. You deserve everything because you’re just so wonderful. I know you don’t think so sometimes, but you are to me and I just want-“

Logan tried to hold it in, he really did. But the more you kept going on tangents the way you do, getting worked up the way you do, talking the way you do, he couldn’t do it anymore. He slowly cracked a smile that turned into a shit-eating grin, which then gave way to a chuckle that snowballed into a big burst of laughter.

You looked at him in disgust. Here you were, pouring your heart out to him and trying to reason with him, and he was laughing. “What the hell is so funny?!” you demanded.

Amidst his fit, he noticed how serious you were. He stopped and took a few deep breaths before answering. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” He cupped you by the cheek and looked at you so tenderly. “It’s just… you were going on and on, like you used to…”

You realized your mistake and groaned loudly. The whole point of you doing this was to give other people the chance to talk, and here you were talking away like your usual, annoying self. You learned nothing. You were hopeless.

Logan shushed you and came in closer. “I like it. I like it because you’re so happy and sweet and random. You’re you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He kissed you softly on the lips. Although you loved the sensation, you pulled away. “But, the girls…”

“Fuck ‘em,” he growled, his lips trying to take over yours again.

You pulled back again. “But they’re right!”

“So what? If it’s such a problem, they should’ve said something to your face and not behind like your back like it’s high school or some shit.”

“But-!”

“Damn it, will you just let me kiss you?!”

You opened your mouth to argue, but one look from Logan made you promptly closed it. You nodded, giving Logan permission to bring you right back to his lips where you belonged. The kiss started out sweet, then grew to be deep and passionate. Logan raised himself up a bit to help you take the rest of your clothes off. He tossed them to the floor as you pawed at his own clothing. He guided your hands over the buttons on his shirt and pants and eventually his tank top and underwear.

Once he was naked, he joined you under the covers. You continued kissing each other as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. You giggles turned to moans as Logan switched from ghosting lightly over your skin to squeezing your thighs and hips. He then guided you on top of him, lowering himself down so your pussy was just above his face.

“Are-Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly.

“Hell yeah,” he said, his grip on your hips strong. As you began to lower yourself, he stopped you. “But you gotta promise me one thing first.”

You nodded, urging him to continue so you could get to the good part.

“Don’t hold back. Talk. Moan. Scream. Boss me around. Praise me. Give me a show, baby.”

You inhaled sharply. He wanted you to go full out, give him one of your famous concerts. “Okay,” you whispered, hoping you wouldn’t disappoint him.

He guided you to his face, his tongue exploring your folds once again. He went back and forth in time with you grinding against him. You tilted your head back and your hands found a grip on your headboard as you let out a big sigh of relief.

“Fuck, Logan. I love how you make me feel. So hot. So sexy. Nobody has ever made me feel the way you do.”

Logan smiled at the music you were making. You two were just getting started, though. As he continued working on your pussy, one hand kept its hold on your hip while the other snaked up to cup your breast. Your hand went over his and helped in palming and squeezing. You panted, “God, I love the way you play with me. I love how you squeeze my breasts. I miss it so much when I’m by myself. It’s not the same without you.”

Logan surprised you by lightly pinching your nipple and flicking his tongue close to but not quite on your clit.

“Yes! Yes, Logan! Keep going!” you begged. He hummed, which sent even more pleasure through you.

His tongue finally reached your clit but went back to slow licks. His hand also went back to palming and squeezing your breast. You whined, happy that he finally made it to his destination but disappointed that it was going to be another little while before you got to yours.

“Please, Logan, go faster! I want to cum so badly! I wanna cum for you! I wanna make a mess all over your face! Please, please make me cum!”

How could he refuse you when you were asking so nicely? After a minute or two he started to pick his speed up again, kneading your hip and breast in time with his tongue. You moved with him as best as you could, your breathing getting quicker.

“Oh, shit! Fuck! Just like that! Yes!”

Logan hummed again, opening his eyes slightly. He moved the hand that was on your breast so he could get an unobstructed view of you from below. Your eyes were shut in concentration. Your mouth hung open with all sorts of pretty sounds falling from it. Your breasts were bouncing as you moved back and forth. A sheen of sweat made your skin glow. You were a vision.

He returned to his task with renewed vigor. He started licking your clit with fast, swift flicks as his hand went back to play with your nipple. You gasped in delight. Your moans grew in volume and pitch as you could feel yourself getting close to the edge.

“Shit! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop! Right there! Oh, fuck! Please! Oh, God! Oh, my God! I’m cumming! I’M CUMMING!”

You came with a scream, your body stilling to let the overwhelming feeling wash over you. Logan held you in place as he sucked as much of your sweet nectar as he could. Once he got every last drop, he slowly helped you off him and onto your back under the covers.

Your head landed on the pillow with a soft thud, your brain not being able to handle much else after being rattled like it had been. You opened your eyes and allowed them to get used to what little light your lamp provided. You also noticed your legs felt weird together after being spread out for so long. As you tried to steady your breathing, you suddenly let out a cough.

“Need some water?” Logan asked.

All you were capable of was humming a response to him. He accepted that and ventured to the kitchen, quickly cleaning off any leftover cum with a paper towel before finding a couple of water bottles in your fridge. He was back by your side in no time. He handed you a bottle and you clinked them together, each of you sipping a generous amount. The cool water healed your vocal cords tremendously.

The first words out of your mouth were, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Logan asked, setting his bottle on the nightstand along with yours.

“For everything. For taking care of me. And for taking care of me after taking care of me.”

“Well, don’t thank me yet, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean?”

Logan’s hand went up and down your side before stealthily bringing you back to him. “You didn’t think that’d be the end of it, did you?”

Your eyes widened. “Wh-What do you-?”

“The way I see it, you still need to make up for being so quiet these past few days. So, I’m going to give you more to talk about.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours. His hand hoisted your leg over his waist before traveling to your ass to massage it. His other hand went around to hold your head in place, his kiss never wavering. Your arms instinctively went around his neck to bring you impossibly closer to him. His chest hair rubbed against your nipples, which made your pussy wet all over again. Only Logan, you thought.

As you began grinding against him, you pulled your head back to talk. Logan took the opportunity to pepper kisses along your neck and turn them into small bites.

“Logan… Oh, Logan…” you breathed out. “You take such good care of me. Make me feel so good. I want you so much.”

He moaned at your praise. “I want you, too, baby,” he said against your neck. You could feel him start to move you on top of him and promptly stopped him.

“No, no!”

He stopped his biting and looked up at you.

“I want you on top. I don’t think I can handle riding you again.”

Logan smiled cockily. “Okay.”

With that, he hovered over you. He took a moment to watch you. Your hands went from his neck to his arms, gently squeezing to feel the muscles. You then went to feel his chest and stomach, taking in his hair and abs.

“You are so beautiful, Logan,” you said in awe, looking him square in the eye.

He stared in awe back at you and slowly pushed his way inside you. You closed your eyes again, taking in the sensation of his large dick penetrating you. No matter how many times you made love to him, you never quite got used to his size. He made sure your leg stayed wrapped around him so he could go a little deeper inside of you. You gasped at the action, which turned into moans as he moved in and out of you. Your held onto his arms.

“God, you feel so good inside me. I love how hard your dick gets, how it stretches me out.”

Your hands eventually landed on Logan’s back. Once he started to go a bit harder with his thrusts, your nails began to claw at him.

“Shit, baby!” he hissed.

You abruptly stopped. “Does that hurt?”

“Yeah, but in a good way. Don’t stop,” he begged, not stopping his own movement.

You flashed a wicked smile. “Okay...” You went back to clawing at him, your nails digging deeper into his skin as you teased him. “So, Mr. Big-Bad-Wolverine likes a little pain? I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time. Maybe I’ll have to see if I can restrain you with ties or handcuffs. Then I can do whatever I want with you. Bite you. Claw you. Tease you. See how much you can take.”

As you weaved your tale, Logan picked up his speed. You could feel his grip on your leg getting tighter. You wouldn’t be surprised if you walked (or hobbled really) away with some bruises. The thought made you egg him on even more.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being so helpless and at my mercy?”

“Just for you, baby,” he said.

“Yes, just for me. You’re mine. No one else’s.”

“Just yours,” he agreed before kissing you again passionately. He used all his energy to hammer into you. You stopped clawing at his back to hang onto him.

“Logan, don’t stop!” you said against his mouth. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

Logan’s response was a deep growl. Your tongues fought for dominance and occasionally your teeth clanked together as he kept going. His lips found their way back to your neck, licking at your sweat and nipping at all your favorite spots. You felt yourself getting to the edge again, only a hair’s breadth away from falling over.

“Oh, God! Shit! Logan! Oh, Logan! I’m gonna cum again! I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me,” Logan said, biting your shoulder hard.

And cum you did with another loud scream.

This triggered Logan’s own climax, which he powered through. His movements against you eventually slowed down until he was just laying still on top of you. Your breathing found his rhythm and matched it. He slowly brought your leg down as your arms fell on either side of your head. He rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling alongside you.

Once he felt centered, he reached over to grab the water bottles. He handed you yours, which you took without even looking, and clinked them again. You both went ahead and finished them, tossing them on top of your scattered clothes on the floor.

“Do you feel better?” Logan asked, turning his head to look at you.

You continued to look at the ceiling as you said, “I always feel better after you fuck me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You finally turned your head to him. You knew what he meant. You turned the rest of your body to him and he did the same. You took a bit of time before giving him your answer.

“I think so. I’m still hurt by what the girls said about me. But… you’re right. They should’ve just told me and not gone behind my back. I’m going to text them that I overheard them and see what they say. They’ll probably try and cover it up or find some way to spin it. Claire might apologize, though. She’s a good friend, just so shy. But if she doesn’t, if any of them don’t apologize or tell me the truth or something… I don’t know. One thing I do know, though, is that if my talking really was so annoying and bad, more people would’ve been honest with me about it. And if it was a problem for you, you wouldn’t have stuck around as long as you have, not even if the sex was mind-blowing… which it totally is. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow. But, like, you’re the most honest person I know. You don’t take shit from anyone. If you didn’t like me talking so much, you wouldn’t be with me in the first place. It’s like you said, you don’t say anything you don’t mean. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. I love you so much.”

Logan just stared at you. It was really a sight for him – you being back to your passionate, articulate, wonderful self.

“Um, I’m actually done talking,” you said. “It’s your turn now.”

He laughed, which brought about your own laughter. He then scooped you in his arms and kissed your forehead.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “And anytime you need me to remind you, just tell me. Keep on telling me everything. Okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded.

“Nuh uh,” he tutted, gently grabbing you by your chin to look at him. “Use your words. I know you can.”

You rolled your eyes but were betrayed by the smile forming on your lips. You inched closer to his lips and whispered, “Yes, sir. I will tell you everything…”

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Author’s Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: Thank you so much for making it to the end! I ask that you NOT post this story as your own, please. Instead, give it a like/review/bookmark/reblog/all of the above wherever you read it.

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