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solxamber · 7 months ago

Note

stay w me in this one, kiss cam w the first years 🙂‍↕

Kiss Cam with: The First Years

a/n; anon you brain is so big!! i got so happy??? when i saw this?? i kinda blacked out for a while and ended up writing it

Ace Trappola

The arena was packed, the air buzzing with energy as the Magift team dominated the field. You were sandwiched between Deuce and Ace, the latter chugging a soda while obnoxiously yelling at the players.

“Ace, they can’t hear you,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as he yelled, “PASS THE DISC, YOU IDIOT!”

“I don’t care! They need to know how bad they’re screwing up!” Ace shot back, waving his drink wildly.

Deuce leaned over, clearly mortified. “Can you not embarrass us in front of the whole school?”

Ace just smirked. “What? Embarrassed to be seen with your cooler, more handsome best friend?”

You snorted. “Handsome? In your dreams, Trappola.”

Ace turned to you, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m not handsome? Guess I’ll have to let the kiss cam settle this one.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

As if the universe decided to spite you, the lights dimmed, and a giant heart frame appeared on the jumbotron.

You froze. “No. No way.”

Ace leaned forward, his grin turning devious. “Oh yes.”

Deuce, ever the supportive friend, burst into laughter, slapping his knee. “This is the best day of my life.”

Meanwhile, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “This has to be a mistake.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Come on, lovebirds! Don’t be shy! Show us some NRC spirit!”

“I’m going to die,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“Not without giving the people what they want,” Ace teased, turning to you with an exaggerated smirk. “Come on, for school pride.”

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. “Ace Trappola, I will—”

Before you could finish, Ace leaned in, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. It’s just a little kiss, right?”

Your breath hitched. The crowd was chanting louder now, and your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the embarrassment.

“Just a little kiss,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then it happened.

When his lips met yours, the crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and applause. Time seemed to stop as the noise around you faded into a distant hum.

His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, and the faint taste of soda lingered as he pulled back, his face flushed but grinning like an idiot.

“Well,” he said, his voice slightly breathless, “that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting. “You… You just kissed me!”

“You kissed me back,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Deuce, still laughing like a lunatic, clapped Ace on the back. “Congratulations, Trappola. You finally grew a pair.”

Ace turned to the jumbotron, where your kiss was being replayed in slow motion. “Man, we look good together,” he said smugly, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You shoved him, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Don’t push your luck.”

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Ace was insufferably smug, Deuce wouldn’t stop teasing you, and your heart refused to calm down.

As the crowd filed out of the arena, Ace caught your hand, stopping you just outside the gates.

“Hey,” he said, his usual grin replaced with something softer. “So, uh… about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you. Like, a lot. And this is not just because of the kiss cam thing.”

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Ace…”

“I mean, no pressure or anything!” he added quickly, his face turning red. “But, you know, if you did want to be more than friends, I wouldn’t mind…”

You smiled, stepping closer and leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re such an idiot.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—does that mean…?”

“It means yes, Ace,” you said, laughing. “But you better not let this go to your head.”

Ace grinned, grabbing your hand. “Too late.”

Spoiler: Ace tells everyone at school, and now half the campus thinks the kiss cam was staged. You’re stuck with him, but honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Deuce Spade

The stadium buzzed with excitement, the crowd alive with cheers as NRC's Magift team scored another point. You sat beside Deuce, who was yelling encouragement so earnestly you swore the players might actually hear him through sheer determination.

“Come on! You’ve got this! Pass it—yes!” he shouted, punching the air.

You couldn’t help but smile. Deuce’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if he had accidentally knocked over your popcorn in his excitement earlier.

“You’re going to lose your voice,” you teased, nudging his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a grin. “This is important!”

What wasn’t important, however, was the dreaded kiss cam that appeared on the giant screen moments later.

The heart-shaped frame zoomed in on various couples, each one receiving cheers as they nervously or enthusiastically complied. You laughed, thinking nothing of it—until your own face appeared on the screen.

You froze. “Oh no.”

Deuce, oblivious, kept clapping until the heart frame zoomed out to reveal him beside you. His face turned crimson so fast you worried he might combust.

“W-What?!” he stammered, pointing at the screen as if denying its existence might make it disappear.

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, the announcer’s voice booming. “Come on, lovebirds! Let’s see some NRC spirit!”

“Deuce, say something,” you hissed, your face burning.

“I—uh—I—” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at you. “They—uh—made a mistake! Right?!”

The announcer wasn’t letting up. “Looks like someone’s shy! Don’t leave us hanging!”

Deuce looked at you helplessly, his face a mix of panic and mortification. “I-I’m so sorry about this!”

You sighed, your own heart racing. “It’s fine, Deuce. Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on.”

He nearly choked. “A kiss?!”

“It’s not a marriage proposal!” you shot back, trying to keep your cool despite your own nerves.

He nodded frantically, visibly psyching himself up. “O-Okay! Let’s do this!”

Deuce leaned in slowly, his eyes shut so tightly you thought he might be praying for divine intervention. His lips brushed your cheek in the softest, most hesitant kiss imaginable before he pulled back like he’d just touched a live wire.

The crowd cheered wildly, but Deuce wasn’t done. In his panic, he’d miscalculated the kiss angle, and his forehead accidentally bumped yours as he pulled away.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” he asked, horrified.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nervousness melting away at his sheer awkwardness. “I’m fine, Deuce.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his hands hovering like he wanted to check for injuries.

You smiled and, feeling bold, leaned forward to kiss his cheek in return. The crowd’s cheers doubled, and Deuce looked at you like you’d just announced he’d won the lottery.

“Um,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “That was… uh… nice.”

You laughed. “It’s just a kiss, Deuce.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a kiss.”

Deuce spent the rest of the game sneaking glances at you, his face perpetually red. By the time the match ended, you were sure he’d worn a hole in the ground with all his nervous foot-tapping.

As the two of you walked back to the dorms, he finally cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I… I really like you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “Deuce—”

“I mean it!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out like he’d been holding them back for ages. “I’ve liked you for a while, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and the kiss cam just kind of—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips, effectively silencing his rambling.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, smiling at his stunned expression.

Deuce nodded, his face practically glowing. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Spoiler: Ace finds out and teases Deuce relentlessly, but Deuce doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class and holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack Howl

The stadium was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the stands as NRC's Magift team dominated the field. You sat beside Jack, who had insisted you attend because "It's good to support our school." Truthfully, you didn’t mind—watching the game with Jack was its own kind of fun.

He sat rigidly in his seat, tail swishing lightly as his sharp eyes tracked every play on the field. You chuckled at how serious he looked.

"Jack, relax. It's just a game," you teased.

"It's not just a game," he replied, his ears flicking. "This is about teamwork, discipline, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence when the crowd erupted in cheers. You both looked up to the big screen, only to see a giant pink heart frame around… you and Jack.

Cue Panic.

“Wait, what?!” you exclaimed, your face instantly heating up.

Jack’s ears flattened against his head as his eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh no.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Looks like we’ve got a shy couple! Let’s hear it for them, folks!”

The crowd cheered louder, and you groaned. “Oh, come on…”

Jack was frozen in place, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. His tail puffed up slightly as he asked, “They’ll move on, right? They’ll pick someone else?”

You glanced at the screen, seeing your own mortified expression reflected back at you. “Not unless we do something.”

Jack’s face turned impossibly red. “You mean…?”

“Yes, Jack,” you said, trying to suppress your own embarrassment. “A kiss. Just a small one! It’s no big deal.”

Jack looked at you like you’d just asked him to leap off a cliff. “I can’t! What if it’s weird? Or awkward? Or—”

“Jack,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s just a game. Let’s get it over with.”

His ears twitched nervously as he nodded. “Okay. But, uh… where?”

“Where?” you repeated, confused.

“I mean, do I… your cheek? Your forehead? I—I don’t want to—”

“Jack!” you laughed, despite your own nerves. “Cheek is fine.”

He nodded again, his tail wagging nervously behind him as he leaned in. Just as his lips barely brushed your cheek, the crowd erupted in cheers—only for Jack to try to jerk back so fast that his forehead bumped yours.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing your head.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, panicking.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying not to laugh at his flustered expression. “But you might’ve just knocked me into next week.”

The announcer’s voice interrupted. “Let’s hear it for our lovebirds! What a show!”

You both sank further into your seats, faces burning. Jack mumbled an apology, looking like he wanted to crawl under the stadium.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “You could’ve just kissed me properly.”

Jack froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “What?”

“Yeah,” you teased, grinning. “You’re already on the big screen. Might as well make it count.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his ears flicking nervously. Then, to your surprise, he leaned in again—this time more confidently—and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

The crowd lost it, cheering so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

When Jack pulled back, his face was crimson, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips. “There. Was… was that okay?”

You smiled back, your heart racing. “More than okay.”

Jack spent the rest of the game sitting a little closer to you, his tail wagging uncontrollably. As you left the stadium, he finally cleared his throat.

“So… does this mean we’re—uh… dating?” he asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed, grabbing his hand. “What do you think?”

Jack’s tail wagged even harder. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Spoiler: Ace, Deuce and Epel find out later and tease Jack mercilessly, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class with his hand in yours.

Epel Felmier

The game was electric, with the crowd roaring as NRC held a narrow lead over RSA. You sat near the bench, cheering loudly for one player in particular. Epel was a blur of determination on the field, his every move brimming with adrenaline and a grit that made your heart race just watching him.

During halftime, the players jogged off the field to hydrate and strategize. Epel wiped the sweat from his brow and spotted you by the bench. You held up an electrolyte drink with a proud smile.

“Here, you earned it!” you said, handing him the bottle.

He accepted it with a quick grin, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. “Thanks. Didja see that shot I made earlier?”

“I did!” you replied enthusiastically. “You’re playing amazing out there!”

Your encouragement had him standing a little taller, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection. “Well, I ain’t done yet. Gotta show those RSA guys what we’re made of.”

But before he could head back to the huddle, the crowd’s noise shifted. You both turned toward the massive screen above the field, where a familiar heart-shaped frame surrounded… the two of you.

Epel froze for a fraction of a second, his flushed face turning an even deeper shade of red. You stared at the screen in surprise, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is that… the kiss cam?” you muttered.

Epel glanced back at his team’s huddle, where his teammates were laughing and giving him exaggerated thumbs-ups. The crowd began chanting, egging him on.

In that moment, with the adrenaline from the game still coursing through his veins and the giddy rush of your praise in his chest, Epel made a snap decision.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you—hard, fast, and with enough confidence to leave you absolutely stunned.

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles as Epel pulled back, his violet eyes sparkling mischievously. “Thanks for the drink,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

Then, with one last grin, he jogged back to his team, leaving you standing there, breathless and staring after him.

The rest of the game was a blur. Epel was on fire, scoring two more goals and securing the win for NRC. The crowd was ecstatic, the team celebrating wildly, but your mind was stuck on that kiss.

When the post-game frenzy finally settled, Epel approached you by the bleachers. He was still sweaty and flushed, but his usual nervousness was nowhere to be seen. The adrenaline from the game still seemed to fuel him as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hey,” he started, his accent thick and his voice a little raspy. “About that kiss earlier…”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding. “What about it?”

Epel took a deep breath, his violet eyes locking onto yours. “I ain’t just kissin’ people for fun, ya know? I… I like you. A lot. And I’ve been wantin’ to say somethin’ for ages, but I didn’t know how. Guess the kiss cam kinda forced my hand.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty. “So what are you saying, Epel?”

“I’m sayin’... would ya go out with me?” he asked, his cheeks turning red again.

You pretended to think for a moment, but the truth was, you already knew your answer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Epel’s face lit up, his grin wide and genuine. “Really?!”

“Really,” you said, laughing.

He fist-pumped the air triumphantly before quickly trying to play it cool. “Well, uh, that’s great. I’ll, uh, plan somethin’ nice, alright?”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied, your smile as wide as his.

The kiss cam video was all over campus the next day, much to Epel’s embarrassment and your amusement. Still, neither of you could deny how it sparked something wonderful between you.

And yet, every time someone teased him about it, Epel would just grin and shrug. “What can I say? I go for what I want.”

Sebek Zigvolt

The Magift stadium was loud and lively, the crowd cheering wildly as NRC battled RSA in a fierce match. You sat next to Sebek, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Not for the game, mind you, but for the honor of cheering for his young master.

“Do you see that?!” Sebek shouted, practically jumping out of his seat. “The precision! The sheer grace! Lord Malleus is unmatched on the field!”

You smiled, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, Sebek, I see it. You’ve mentioned it about... ten times now.”

“Only ten?!” He gasped, scandalized. “I must rectify this immediately—”

Before he could continue his speech, the crowd erupted into cheers. Confused, you looked up at the massive screen, only to freeze.

There, framed in a gigantic pink heart, were you and Sebek.

“What… what is this madness?!” Sebek’s voice boomed over the crowd noise, his face quickly turning beet red.

“It’s the kiss cam,” you explained, already feeling the heat creeping up your neck.

Sebek blinked at you, utterly baffled. “Kiss cam? What nonsense is this?!”

The announcer chimed in cheerfully. “Looks like we’ve got a lively one, folks! Give the crowd what they want!”

The audience clapped and whistled, clearly entertained by Sebek’s outburst. Meanwhile, you wished you could melt into the ground.

“Sebek, we’re on the big screen,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low. “Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on!”

Sebek recoiled as if you’d suggested dueling Malleus. “What?! A kiss? In public? In front of—of all these people?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“But—! But—!” Sebek sputtered, his hands flailing in an uncharacteristically awkward display. “I cannot—this is—HOW DARE THEY IMPOSE SUCH A THING?"

The crowd was relentless, chanting louder as Sebek grew more flustered.

“Sebek,” you sighed, leaning closer to him. “If you don’t just do it, they’ll keep us up there forever.”

His eyes widened, darting between you and the screen. “I—fine! But only to end this nonsense!”

Sebek sat up stiffly, his face as red as his dorm uniform. Slowly, he leaned toward you… only to stop halfway, completely frozen.

“Sebek,” you whispered, trying not to laugh at his deer-in-headlights expression. “You’re overthinking it. Just a little peck.”

He shut his eyes tightly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “For the honor of the young master.” Then, with the precision of someone about to execute a high-level spell, he leaned in and pressed the briefest kiss imaginable to your cheek.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Sebek immediately pulled back, clutching his chest like he’d just fought a dragon.

“Well, that was…” You paused, trying to find the right word. “Anticlimactic.”

Sebek glared at you, still blushing furiously. “What more do you want?! I have upheld this ridiculous tradition to the best of my ability!”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. You’re supposed to kiss me on the lips.”

“WHAT?!” Sebek practically shouted, earning another wave of laughter from the crowd.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you teased, leaning in just a bit more.

Sebek’s brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment, but before you could follow through on your teasing threat, he surprised you by leaning in and kissing you properly.

It was quick and clumsy but sincere, and when he pulled back, the people sitting around you erupted into wild cheers.

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to faint. “There. Are you satisfied now?!”

You laughed, touching your lips. “Actually, yeah. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

For the rest of the game, Sebek sat ramrod straight, refusing to look at you.

When the match ended and you both walked back to campus, he finally broke the silence. “That… that was purely for practical purposes!”

You grinned. “Sure, Sebek. Whatever you say.”

He glanced at you, his blush returning in full force. “It—it meant nothing!”

But the way his hand brushed against yours—and stayed there—told a very different story.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #ace x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #epel felmier x reader #epel x reader #jack howl x reader #jack x reader #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #jack howl #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt

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blueberrisdove-sideblog · 2 months ago

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Deadpool!Phainon was ridiculously hard to take seriously—with that half-lifted mask, tousled hair, and those mischievous baby blue eyes twinkling like he knew every dirty thought in your brain and was already five steps ahead of you. “You know,” he said with a little whistle, crawling over you like a cat with a laser pointer, “you keep lookin’ at me like that, and I might just have to do something unholy. Or y’know, five things. Maybe six, depending on your stamina, sweetheart.” He winked, teeth flashing, and dragged his fingers slowly along the hem of your panties like they offended him personally.

He let out an exaggerated gasp when he found the soaked fabric. “Oh my god, are you this excited just from me talking?” His voice dropped to a low, sultry murmur as he pushed them aside. “You kinky little cupcake.” Two fingers slipped inside without warning, and you cried out, grabbing onto his arms for support. “Aww, look at you,” he cooed, thumb teasing your clit while he fucked you with smooth, confident strokes. “All that sass earlier and now you’re squirming on my hand like I’m the main course.”

Phainon leaned down, nuzzling your cheek before kissing you silly, tongue sliding against yours in a sloppy, need-driven rhythm. “Bet you taste better than tacos,” he whispered into your mouth. “And you know how I feel about tacos.” His fingers pumped faster, curling just right, until your thighs started trembling. “Oh, that’s it, pretty girl. Fall apart for me. I’ll catch you… or at least land funny under you.” He laughed breathlessly, licking his lips, those baby blues gleaming like he’d found treasure.

When he finally yanked your panties down and kicked off his own pants in a flurry of chaos, his cock slapped against your thigh, thick and twitching with need. “Okay,baby,” he said dramatically, lining himself up, “this is the part where you say, ‘Oh Phainon, you’re so big, I don’t know if I can take it!’” He mimicked a high-pitched voice, then grinned when you gave him a glare that melted into a needy whimper as he pushed in slow. “Mm-mm, yeah. That’s my girl. So warm, so tight... I might cry.”

His pace built fast—rhythmic and wild, like he wanted to fuck you through the mattress and still make you giggle. He held your hips steady, whispering the dirtiest sweet talk with a grin that made your heart race. “Y’know, if I die tomorrow, this is how I wanna go—balls deep in the hottest girl alive, moaning like a loser.” Then his eyes locked on yours, bright and blue and burning. “And you, sweetheart... you’re mine. Forever. Mask on or off, I’m never lettin’ go.”

He didn’t stop when you started trembling—especially not then. If anything, Phainon’s hips got faster, harder, like he was trying to fuck the soul right out of you and laugh while doing it. “Ohh, what’s this?” he teased, voice giddy and sweetly mocking, eyes wide as he watched your body clench around him. “You gonna make a mess? Gonna squirt all over me, sweet little sweetheart?” His thumb found your clit again, circling in tight, mean little flicks, and the tension coiled deep in your belly until it finally snapped.

You cried out, loud and raw, legs twitching as a wave of heat pulsed through you—and then it hit, a gush soaking both your thighs and his stomach as he groaned. “Fuck, yes! There it is!” he gasped like it was the best thing he'd ever seen. “Oh, baby, you just squirted on me like a busted fire hydrant. So proud.” He laughed with a gleam in his eye, bending down to kiss your slack mouth, not even slowing his thrusts as you spasmed under him. “You are a super soaker, I swear. I’m gonna need goggles next time.”

Still hard and deep inside you, he moved slower now, grinding into your overstimulated cunt while his hands smoothed over your shaking thighs. “You okay, (name)? That was like… a level ten explosion. I should put you on the Avengers roster.” He nuzzled into your neck, sweaty and breathless, but still grinning like a madman. “Wanna go for round two? Or should I get us some post-sex snacks? You know I brought cupcakes.”

He pulled out just a little, only to push back in deep enough to make you yelp. “Or…” he smirked, licking your ear, “I could just keep going till you squirt again. Wanna see if I can fill the whole damn bed.” His voice softened then, real affection sneaking into the wild heat. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me, baby. I’ll never get tired of wrecking you like this. You’re mine, okay? All mine.”

Soaked, shaking, and utterly ruined, you nodded—and he just beamed, proud and possessive, his baby blues sparkling like stars.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

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infinitydivine · 2 months ago

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͙͘͡★Pick- A-Lyric:What about you leaves them Moonstruck? (Inspired by Moonstruck by Enhypen)͙͘͡★

➡️This PAC will give you an intuitive hint about what makes someone look at you and feel like they just saw a dream? Like what it would be like to be moonstruck by you. This is an intuitive reading for the collective. This is a timeless and gender neutral reading.

Masterlist -Paid Readings-Paid Readings Reviews-PAC Readings

Choose your pile intuitively. Take what resonates and leave the other things. If you think this reading is not for you then choose another pile. If still it doesn't resonate then this might not be your reading. There are Three Piles.

🌟I am also offering the same topic reading for $10.10 for shorter and $20.20 for longer version. If you are interested you can DM me :) 🌟

Hello Pile "Oh, you make me go crazy over you, baby"

There is something in your silence that echoes louder than words ever could. It's the way you look at the world like you have lived a thousand lives and still believe in beauty. You don't chase attention and you don't like following the trend either, babe. There is a certain stillness on you like moonlight resting on an untouched lake at midnight. I see someone with white aura. Like your presence itself is angelic with such smoothness. Pile 1, you are an angel. You don't seek to be seen and you might even hate unwanted attention to you. And that is my love, quiet a power in itself. It captivates them and put them under a kind of spell and you do it without you knowing. It's not your voice or your smile alone...it's your energy my love. You remind them of something lost-maybe a feeling,maybe a dream or maybe someone they loved in another time(omg i am getting watery eyes now). There is so much intensity in this pile that it is hard to ignore. They find themselves staring at you the way people stare at stars...can't reach there but still love them. They feel moonstruck because you move through the world like a dream they never want to wake up from.

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Hello Pile, "You got me Moonstruck"

You love, you shine in places where others collapse, and now you might think I am exaggerating, but while I was channelling your pile, this line came through strong. It's like you are the light in this most compassionate form. There is something in the way you laugh through pain, the way you hold space for others without needing recognition is just something extraordinary. They don't see you...they feel you and that too deeply. You come into people's lives like the night breeze after a long, burning day. Unexpected yet gentle and necessary. You are like a drug they can't get enough of. You make them needy and greedy, but in the best way. Your kindness is not naive...it's a choice and a powerful one. And that's what stuns them. Pile 2, even after you have gone through everything, you still believe in softness. You still give even when the world tries to take. There is also something deep about your eyes that allures them. They are moonstruck by the way you offer light without needing to be the sun, and you glow on your own terms. There is a strength in that...in you. You make them feel like the world is a little more beautiful just because you exist in it. You are the prayer they didn't realise they were praying for in the dark. And now that they have seen you...they can't unsee you even if they want to.

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Hello Pile, "Just the Two of Us"

Being with you feels like standing at the edge of something eternal. I am also seeing the infinity symbol in your pile, so it might be something important or relevant to you. My love, Pile 3's, you are a mirror, but not the kind that simply reflects...you show people the version of themselves they forgot existed. Or perhaps, the version they were too afraid to meet. It's like you trigger the best or worse out of them, but sensing your energies here, I would say it's the best for them. They look into your eyes and see oceans. Not the kind that are calm and predictable, but the kind that hold mysteries, storms, treasures and hidden truths. Being near you feels like standing at the edge of something they can't name. Is it terrifying...yes? But also awakening. They don't know why you unsettle them, and that's exactly why they can't look away. With you, nothing feels surface level...you see past the superficial masks into the places they hide. And somehow, it doesn't feel invasive like it feels being understood without having to explain (I hope it made sense). You are a moonstruck beauty, not loud or showy, but a deep soul-shaking and unforgettable one. You don't leave impressions, honey, you leave a mark on their soul.

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

divider credits @kodaswrld

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goldfades · 4 months ago

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crazy cat people───joe burrow⁹

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had always been cat people—dogs were just too high maintenance, too needy. but you were never in a hurry to get cats until one night, joe finds a cat on a roadie and decides to bring her home.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | literally nothing but cat dad joe, and dog slander (JK!! not really, but we all know joe likes cats better). inspired by this clip.

The thing about Joe is that he’s always been a cat person.

You figured it out on your second date when the conversation somehow derailed into a passionate debate about why people automatically assume dogs are superior. It started off as a joke—some exaggerated takes for the sake of banter—but then Joe hit you with a well-structured argument about the independent nature of cats, their low-maintenance lifestyle, and the way they choose their people rather than blindly loving everyone.

“You ever seen a cat follow some random stranger home just ‘cause they waved at it? No. That’s some dog behavior.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No self-respect.”

That was the moment you knew he was the one.

Well, not actually, but it definitely solidified your interest. Three years later, the two of you were still going strong, bound together by an undeniable connection, a deep understanding of each other’s quirks, and a shared stance that dogs—while undeniably adorable—were just a little too much. Too excitable. Too dependent. Too… needy.

“We’d be cat people,” you had declared one night while curled up on the couch together, his arm draped lazily around you. “Like, if we were to get a pet.”

Joe hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, but I feel like we’d be picky about it. Can’t just have any cat. Gotta be one with personality.”

“A little bit of an asshole,” you added.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

Despite countless conversations about what you’d name your hypothetical future cat (the list had ranged from elegant, sophisticated names like Theodora to complete chaos like Little Shit), you never actually got one. Between Joe’s insane schedule and your own busy life, it never felt like the right time. You weren’t the type to impulsively adopt an animal just because it seemed like a cute idea—you took responsibility seriously. Joe was the same way.

But that didn’t stop you from sending him TikToks of cats daily. And it definitely didn’t stop him from pausing the TV anytime a cat appeared in a commercial, just to point and go, “That one’s kinda cool.”

It was just one of those things. A little inside joke, a shared fantasy, a part of your relationship that existed in theory but had yet to materialize.

Until Joe came back from a road trip with something unexpected.

Something small. And furry. And wrapped in the hoodie he had worn on the plane.

A cat.

He met your wide-eyed stare with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, funny story…”

It was one of those quiet, in-between days where everything felt a little dull without Joe around. You were used to it by now—his road trips, the stretches of time where you had to keep yourself entertained—but no matter how well you adjusted, the house always felt bigger when he wasn’t in it.

You filled the day the best way you knew how. Running errands, grabbing coffee from the spot down the street, making small talk with the barista who always remembered your order. You spent an unreasonable amount of time in Target, browsing the aisles aimlessly, tossing things into your cart that you definitely didn’t need but convinced yourself were essentials.

A candle? Necessary. A new throw blanket even though you already had five? An investment. A little ceramic dish shaped like a cat’s face? Joe would think it was funny.

By the time you got home, the sun was beginning to set, casting the living room in soft golden light. You went through your usual routine—changing into something comfier, throwing your hair up, and scrolling through your phone while curled up on the couch.

Joe had texted you earlier to say his flight landed on time, but you weren’t sure when he’d actually walk through the door. Traveling always took it out of him, and sometimes he lingered at the facility longer than necessary, just to settle back into the routine of being home.

So when you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking, you perked up, setting your phone down.

Joe was home.

You stood, stretching a little before padding over to greet him—only to immediately freeze in place.

Because Joe Burrow, your extremely predictable, routine-driven boyfriend, was standing in the doorway holding a cat.

Not a cat carrier. Not a box from the pet store with a new cat inside. No, he was physically holding a cat in his arms, cradling it like some kind of newborn wrapped in the oversized hoodie he had worn on the plane.

“Uh…” You blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. “Joe?”

Joe, looking far too casual for someone who had just walked into your shared home with a whole animal, shot you a sheepish grin.

“So, funny story…” He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the tiny creature, who—shockingly—seemed completely unbothered.

You didn’t say anything. You just stared. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Joe cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “I found him at a gas station. In, like… the middle of nowhere.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Yeah. Just… chilling. No collar, no tags, nothing.” He looked down at the cat, then back at you, as if that explanation was supposed to justify the fact that he had apparently just kidnapped an animal. “He walked right up to me. Super chill. Thought, you know, maybe he needed a home.”

“You—” You ran a hand down your face, processing. “So you just… took him?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “No one stopped me.”

You stared at him, then at the cat, then back at him.

The cat—a small, scrappy-looking thing with fluffy black fur and bright green eyes—gave the smallest little stretch before curling back up into the fabric of Joe’s hoodie, as if this was the most natural situation in the world.

A sigh left your lips, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You stole a cat.”

Joe scoffed. “I didn’t steal him. I rescued him.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you check to see if he belonged to anyone?”

Joe paused. “I mean… he was alone.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Well, no one else was around,” Joe defended. “It was late. Freezing cold. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “So your solution was to bring him home?”

Joe, completely unrepentant, grinned. “Yeah. He’s cool, right?”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples before shaking your head.

This man.

This six-foot-four NFL quarterback who spent three years claiming you guys would be extremely selective about what kind of cat you got, had apparently abandoned all standards the second a gas station stray blinked at him.

And worse? You were already kind of attached.

Because the damn cat was still curled up in his hoodie, looking completely at peace, like he had already decided he belonged here.

You sighed, waving them both inside. “I can’t believe you.”

Joe grinned, stepping past you and into the house, clearly taking that as a win.

“Should we name him?” he asked, already making himself comfortable on the couch, cat still in tow.

You groaned.

“Oh my God.”

The first night with Miss Honey felt strangely natural, like she had always belonged here. Apparently, you guys had been misgendering her the whole time.

After the initial shock of Joe casually waltzing into your home with a stray cat, the two of you got to work making sure she was okay. A quick check revealed she was mostly healthy—just a little underweight and carrying a few ticks, which you carefully removed while Joe held her still, murmuring soft reassurances. Despite being a random cat from a gas station, she was surprisingly chill about it, blinking up at you with those big green eyes like she already trusted you.

“This is insane,” you had muttered, brushing your fingers through her soft fur.

Joe, stretched out on the couch beside you, smirked. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You rolled your eyes because, of course, he was right.

That night, the three of you curled up on the couch and put on Matilda, your mutual comfort movie. Joe made popcorn, you pulled out the throw blanket you had impulse-bought earlier that day, and Miss Honey—named after the warm, soft-spoken teacher you both adored—made herself right at home between you, paws tucked neatly beneath her little body.

“She’s purring,” Joe whispered at one point, as if he was afraid saying it too loud would make her stop.

You had just smiled, gently scratching behind her ears. “Yeah. I think she likes us.”

It took less than twenty-four hours for Miss Honey to fully take over the house.

By the next morning, she had already established herself as a permanent fixture, weaving between your legs as you made coffee, hopping onto the couch like she owned the place, and—much to Joe’s delight—curling up on his chest while he lounged around watching film.

“She’s got good taste,” he mused, running a slow hand down her back.

You, sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting through your Target bags from yesterday, shot him a look. “You mean ‘cause she likes you?”

Joe grinned, glancing down at the cat who was currently making biscuits against his hoodie. “I mean, can you blame her?”

You snorted. “Unreal.”

Still, you had to admit—Miss Honey really did love Joe.

At first, you thought it was just convenience. He ran warm, he was still for long periods of time, and his heartbeat was steady enough to lull anyone to sleep. But over the next few days, it became clear that her attachment went deeper than that.

She followed him from room to room, her tiny paws padding against the hardwood whenever he moved. If Joe was at the kitchen counter making breakfast, Miss Honey was right there beside him, tail flicking lazily. If he was tying his shoes by the door, she sat next to him, watching intently like she had somewhere to be, too.

It was ridiculous.

“She’s obsessed with you,” you pointed out one night, arms crossed as you watched her bat playfully at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Joe grinned, scratching under her chin. “Yeah, but don’t be jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest.

Because, truthfully, you loved it.

You loved that she trusted him. Loved that this cat—who had spent who-knows-how-long fending for herself—had chosen you both, nestled herself into the space between you like she had been there forever.

It didn’t take long for Miss Honey to establish a routine.

Every morning, without fail, she woke Joe up first. Not you—Joe.

You learned this the hard way when you woke up one morning to a quiet, disgruntled “Jesus,” followed by the sound of Joe shifting beside you. Blinking blearily, you turned over, only to find Miss Honey perched delicately on his chest, staring down at him like she was assessing whether or not it was time for him to get up.

“Babe,” Joe whispered, voice still thick with sleep. “Your cat is harassing me.”

You stifled a laugh, rubbing your eyes. “She’s your cat too.”

“Yeah, well, tell her to chill.”

Miss Honey, completely ignoring his complaints, took that exact moment to lean down and press her tiny nose against his, like a little wake-up kiss.

You melted on the spot.

Joe groaned, but even half-asleep, he couldn’t hide his smile.

From then on, it became a thing. Every morning, she woke Joe up first, then trotted to the kitchen like a little queen expecting breakfast. She had a schedule, and she stuck to it.

By the end of the second week, she had also taken over bedtime.

One night, you were finishing up in the bathroom when Joe called out from the bedroom, amusement lacing his voice.

“You’re getting replaced.”

You stepped into the room, brows furrowed. “What?”

Joe tilted his head toward the bed, where Miss Honey was curled up on his pillow, perfectly nestled into the space where your head usually went.

You crossed your arms. “Unreal.”

Joe smirked, patting the mattress beside him. “Sorry, babe. She called dibs.”

You shook your head, sliding into bed anyway, and—because Miss Honey was the most spoiled creature on the planet—you let her stay.

She purred contently between you, tucked snugly between your bodies, and Joe reached out, running a slow hand down her back before catching your gaze.

“I think she was meant to be ours,” he murmured, voice soft in the dark.

Your heart swelled.

Because he was right.

At first, Miss Honey had been a little more drawn to Joe. It wasn’t anything personal—she liked you just fine—but there was something about him that had her stuck to him like glue. Maybe it was his warmth, or the steady way he carried himself, or the fact that he had been the one to scoop her up from the cold and bring her home.

But after a couple of weeks, things started shifting.

It wasn’t sudden. There was no grand moment of realization where she decided, Actually, I love you too. It was slower than that—small moments that gradually built into something solid, something certain.

It was the way she started lingering in the kitchen while you made breakfast, winding around your ankles, soft fur brushing against your bare legs as she meowed up at you like she was part of the conversation.

It was how she started climbing onto your lap while you were reading, kneading her tiny paws into your stomach before curling up and purring herself to sleep, like you were something safe.

It was how she started following you into the bathroom whenever you did your skincare at night, sitting neatly by the sink and watching you with lazy, half-lidded eyes, as if she was deeply invested in your routine.

She was still Joe’s shadow, but you had become hers.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“She likes you now,” Joe teased one night, watching as Miss Honey happily stretched out on your chest, perfectly content.

You smirked, scratching under her chin. “She always liked me.”

“Nah,” he mused, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “She tolerated you. Big difference.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you?”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Hey, it’s a compliment. You won her over.”

And you had.

Miss Honey wasn’t just a cat anymore. She was your cat. An irreplaceable little presence in the house.

Joe, naturally, leaned into it full force.

It started with the essentials.

A bed. A few toys. Some high-quality cat food that Joe meticulously researched before purchasing. He wasn’t about to give her just anything—he wanted the best, reading reviews like he was about to draft a new teammate.

You had laughed the first time you caught him looking up “best cat food brands for digestion” on his phone.

“Joe, she was literally eating bugs two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and now she’s got standards,” he shot back, tapping on a link. “This one’s got good ingredients.”

And that was just the beginning.

Before long, Joe was going all out—buying her the best litter (something natural and odor-free, because only the best for our girl), a selection of premium treats (“That Temptations crap is all filler,” he had said, with so much conviction you almost cried laughing), and multiple collars in different colors and patterns.

One morning, you caught him kneeling by the front door, carefully adjusting the tiny blue velvet collar around Miss Honey’s neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, leaning against the doorway, watching as he straightened the little golden name tag.

Joe glanced up, grinning. “She looks good though, right?”

You had to admit—she did.

But the real turning point? The sweaters.

That was unexpected.

It had started as a joke—one lazy evening, the two of you scrolling through Etsy, looking at cat accessories for fun.

“Wouldn’t she look cute in this?” you had said, showing Joe a tiny, knitted sweater in a soft cream color.

Joe snorted. “No way she’d wear that.”

Turns out, she would. And she’d like it.

The first time you slipped a tiny sweater over her head, Miss Honey barely reacted—just gave a big stretch, turned in a circle, and promptly plopped down on Joe’s lap like nothing was different.

Joe, stunned, just blinked.

“You’re telling me she’s okay with this?”

“She’s thriving,” you corrected, grinning.

And from that moment on, Joe took it as a personal mission to build her wardrobe.

Over the next week, more sweaters arrived in the mail—different colors, different materials, even a tiny hoodie with ears.

“This is getting out of hand,” you commented as Joe unboxed yet another package.

He held up a tiny lavender sweater, inspecting the material. “It’s for layering.”

You stared at him. “Joe, she’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked. “A stylish one.”

Miss Honey, stretched out on the couch, gave a slow blink, completely unbothered by the chaos she had brought into your lives.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Three months in, and neither of you could remember what life was like before Miss Honey.

It wasn’t just that she had settled into your home—she had settled into you, woven herself into the rhythm of your days so seamlessly that the idea of waking up without her little body curled between you or coming home to a silent house felt… wrong.

Mornings were different now.

Gone were the days of lazy, drawn-out wake-ups—Miss Honey made sure of that. If Joe’s alarm didn’t get him up, her tiny little paws kneading into his chest certainly did. And if he dared try to roll over and ignore her? She’d take matters into her own hands.

Or, more accurately, her own whiskers.

One morning, you caught her using her best tactic yet—pressing her nose right against Joe’s, whiskers tickling his face until he groaned and finally peeled one eye open.

“You are the most spoiled creature on the planet,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Miss Honey responded by immediately rubbing her face against his chin, purring like a little engine.

Joe exhaled a laugh, eyes still heavy as he let his fingers trail through her fur. “Unreal.”

Meanwhile, your mornings had changed in a different way.

You used to make coffee alone, sipping it in peaceful solitude before starting your day. Now? You had company.

Miss Honey had claimed her spot on the counter—perched delicately by the coffee machine, watching your every move like an executive overseeing production.

“Supervising?” you’d ask her, sprinkling cinnamon into your cup.

She’d blink, tail flicking lazily.

Joe, walking into the kitchen at just the right moment, would snort. “She’s your little manager.”

And it was true—Miss Honey was involved in everything.

She had a routine. A life. A set of unspoken rules that ran the house.

If one of you was on the couch? She was there too, curled up in the crook of your leg or sprawled across Joe’s chest. If you were cooking? She was on the floor, watching you with silent judgment, like a tiny food critic.

If Joe was watching game film, she’d climb onto his lap and stare at the screen, like she had some real thoughts about the Bengals' offense.

She had her little preferences, too. She didn’t care for loud noises but loved when Joe played music on his speakers. She always sat with you while you read, always meowed when she wanted attention, and—for some reason—seemed particularly obsessed with Joe’s socks.

“She’s weird,” Joe said one night, watching as she enthusiastically dragged one of his socks across the living room like it was her prized possession.

“You brought home a gas station cat,” you reminded him. “What did you expect?”

Joe exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he reached down to scratch behind her ears. “She’s perfect.”

And she was.

She had changed things in the smallest, most meaningful ways.

The house didn’t feel empty when Joe was away anymore—not when you had her little paws padding around, her soft purrs filling the silence. Even on the loneliest days, she made it better, curling into you like she just knew.

And Joe—he had changed, too.

If he had been a cat person before, he was fully in his Cat Dad era now.

It had started subtly. The good food, the high-quality litter, the little sweaters he kept ordering. But at some point, it escalated.

Joe started carrying her around the house, tucking her into his hoodie when he was watching film, talking to her like she was an actual human being.

“Alright, Miss Honey,” he said one afternoon, kneeling in front of her as she lounged lazily on her little cat bed. “We got options. You wanna wear the blue sweater or the gray one today?”

You, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, stared at him. “Joe.”

He looked up, completely unashamed. “She likes choices.”

“She’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked, holding up the tiny sweaters. “A stylish one.”

And then there was the Ja’Marr conversation.

One night, after practice, Ja’Marr had made a casual joke—something about how “one cat turns into five real quick,” laughing at the idea of Joe slowly becoming that guy.

You had laughed too, shaking your head. “No way. We’re a one-cat household.”

Joe had nodded in agreement, completely confident. “Yeah, no shot.”

But then… a week later, he changed his tune.

You were curled up together on the couch, Miss Honey stretched between you, when Joe sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers down her back.

“She’s kinda lonely,” he mused.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe glanced over, tilting his head toward Miss Honey, who was currently kneading her little paws into his thigh. “I mean, she’s got us, but, like… I bet she’d like a friend.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes. “Joe.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, tone easy, like he wasn’t suggesting something huge. “She’s got so much energy. I think she’d like a buddy.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Joe grinned. “Just think about it.”

And just like that, the conversation had started. And you had been so firm about it. Absolutely not. No second cat.

Miss Honey was thriving—happy, healthy, and fully attached to both of you. The idea of bringing another cat into the house felt risky. What if she didn’t like it? What if she got territorial? What if she felt betrayed?

Joe, of course, had started planting the idea like a damn politician.

“I just think she gets bored sometimes,” he would say casually while Miss Honey chased her own tail in the living room.

“She’s got a lot of love to give,” he mused one night, watching her rub up against every single one of your ankles like she was making the rounds.

“She needs a little sidekick,” he argued as she sprawled out dramatically on the kitchen floor, meowing at nothing in particular.

You shot him down every time.

Until, of course, fate decided to step in.

It was a random Saturday, and you and Joe were out running errands—nothing special, just a casual grocery run. You had been debating what kind of bread to get (Joe insisted the multigrain one tasted just as good as white bread, which was a blatant lie), when something caught his eye.

“Babe,” Joe said, suddenly abandoning the cart and heading toward the entrance. “Look.”

You turned, frowning as you followed his gaze.

Right outside the store, under a big white tent, was a cat rescue group—volunteers standing beside crates filled with tiny, curious faces.

A pet adoption event.

Joe immediately turned to you, eyes lighting up. “This is a sign.”

“No, it’s not,” you argued, grabbing the cart. “It’s just Saturday.”

“It’s a sign.”

You groaned as he practically dragged you toward the tent, already grinning like he had just won the lottery.

And then you saw them.

The kittens.

Tiny, wiggly little things with big eyes and oversized paws, rolling around in their blankets or climbing the sides of their enclosures with impressive determination.

You told yourself you were just looking.

Joe was crouched down almost immediately, eyes scanning the different crates as the volunteers smiled at him.

“You guys looking to adopt?” one of them asked.

Joe grinned. “Maybe.”

You shot him a glare. “We are not looking to—”

And then you saw her.

A tiny gray tabby, tucked in the corner of her crate, nibbling sleepily at her own paw. Big round eyes, the softest little face, and an expression that screamed, Yeah, I know I’m cute.

You inhaled sharply.

“Oh no,” Joe murmured, catching the look on your face.

You glanced at him, then back at the kitten.

“… I wanna hold her.”

Joe grinned. “Knew it.”

The second the volunteer placed the kitten in your hands, you were done for. She was so small, her little body barely bigger than your palm. She meowed—tiny and sweet—before immediately nuzzling into the crook of your neck, purring like she had just found home.

Joe, watching intently, exhaled a laugh. “Oh yeah. We’re done for.”

That night, you walked into your house as a two-cat household.

Miss Honey was not immediately sold.

The introduction process was slow—gentle, cautious. You followed all the steps, kept them separated at first, let them get used to each other’s scent. But, much to your surprise, Miss Honey didn’t react with any real aggression.

Mostly? She just seemed deeply confused.

The first time she saw the kitten, she just stared, tail flicking, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Joe, crouched beside her, grinned. “You got a little sister, Honey.”

Miss Honey turned her head, fixing him with a look.

You laughed. “I don’t think she asked for one.”

Still, within a few days, things started shifting.

The kitten—who you decided to name Fig—was relentless in her pursuit of Miss Honey’s love.

She followed her everywhere, mimicked her every move, and—on more than one occasion—attempted to curl up against her, only to be met with a single, unimpressed flick of the tail.

But then, one morning, you woke up to find them curled up together on the couch—Miss Honey’s paw resting protectively over Fig’s tiny little body.

Joe, standing beside you, smirked. “Told you she needed a buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt full.

And that’s how you and Joe became crazy cat people.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #bengals #jb9 #joe shiesty #cincinnati football #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc

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notafunkiller · 1 year ago

Text

she chose me

Summary: Steve's hopes get crushed when he wrongly assumes you'd choose him over Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!female reader

Warnings: 18+, no condom (but f is on birth control), teasing, pet names, jealousy, sergeant + sir + daddy kìnk, vibranium arm kìnk, language, degrading, praising, no mention of y/n etc.

Word Count: 6.9K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you’ll enjoy it! This was inspired by the "She chose me." TikTok trend.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You’re all quiet, watching the back and forth between Cap and Bucky. Not even Sam intervenes.

“You didn’t-”

“This is just not gonna work, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, with an expression you like to describe as bitchy. He’s so sassy without even intending to, and you wonder how bitchier he’d be if this wasn’t his best friend talking.

“Let’s see if people agree.”

He looks around waving at you and the rest of the team while Sam just snorts, covering his mouth with his hand.

But you’re not amused because you have no idea how to handle this diplomatically.

“Whose side are you on?” Steve’s tone is deep and authoritative, making you feel a little uneasy.

You don’t know how to talk to Avengers sometimes. You are on friendly terms, even when you train. Sam always cracks jokes, Steve shares stories and gives advice, and Bucky is Bucky. Nat and Sam call him The Machine for a reason. But he’s a really good professor and an even better observer. He pays attention to every recruit and remembers what they need to work on. You find him extra intimidating because he’s also the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. No exaggeration. And it’s not in the usual clean and golden boy way you are used to, anyway. He’s been through shit and it’s showing in the way he carries himself and doesn’t talk much when it’s not needed.

But you pay attention too, and this is why you think you were chosen to lead the recruits for this mission. You are on good terms with the Avengers, and Bucky probably approved the idea of working with you because you didn’t piss him off like most do. You know he hates chit chat, you learned how to read most of his stares and to not take it personally when he makes remarks about your fighting skills. They’re not your strongest asset, but you have a flair and you come up with the best solutions under pressure. You managed to pin him down once for a few seconds, and that is probably your greatest achievement.

But in moments like this, you don’t know how to say things without upsetting one side.

“You won’t get in trouble, don’t worry,” Bucky adds confidently. You’re not surprised when four out of your six colleagues agree with Bucky. They explain quickly why, emphasizing how much faster and efficient it would be if you followed that route, but their voices are still trembling. And you get it. Telling Captain America to his face you prefer his best friend’s plan over his will always be a risk. But if he gets mad, that says more about him as a leader than about anyone else.

Sam raises his hands in the air defensively, probably enjoying this as a show, but based on the looks he shares with Bucky, it seems like he agrees with him too.

You try to find your words, knowing you’re the last one from your team to speak, but before you can even open your mouth, Steve already smiles, pointing at you with his index finger. “Look at this, though! She agrees with me… She chose me.”

His grin is cold and a little arrogant. What you don’t notice, though, is the intention Steve had when he decided to use those exact words, but Bucky does. And he clenches his jaw at the same time his vibranium hand curls into a fist; a silent response to the not-so-innocent assumption that Steve made.

After a few seconds, Bucky leans in, his gaze steady and confident. “Did she?”

There is no way you would pick Steve’s plan. You are too smart and you have too much integrity to pick his side just to kiss his ass. He raises an eyebrow at you this time, a confident smirk forming on his lips. “Did you really choose him? You really think his plan would work better, doll?”

You feel surrounded by Bucky… attacked even. Your cheeks are getting hotter, too, and you know there is nothing you can do to hide your redness. Doll… He called you that when he turned you again on your back the day you managed to pin him down. It’s something about the way he says it that makes it absolutely deadly. Your first instinct was to be offended, but you reminded yourself he is a man born in 1917. He lived his twenties in the 40s, and doll was used as slang for sweetheart.

Taking a deep breath, you tilt your head slightly, directing your response to Steve. “It’s not about choosing sides, but considering all perspectives for the best outcome. And your plan, Captain, has its strengths, but I’m inclined to agree with Sergeant Bucky.” You bite your lip. “It’s about finding the most effective strategy for the mission, not a personal preference of any kind.”

Steve’s smile falls off, but your attention shifts back to Bucky’s grin that lightens up his face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, then,” Steve sighs. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you until he says your name.

Surprised, you jump. “Yes, of course.”

Steve leans back in his chair, a slight smile playing on his lips as you write down the last details. “You know, I value your insights on the mission.”

You look surprised because how can he value your opinion when this is your second mission only? He’s Captain America!

“Oh?”

“I trust your judgment, and your training is going great. If you and the team chose Bucky’s plan, then we do it.” You see his jaw clench, though, so you know it’s not easy for him to say it. Even if it’s his friend… interesting. “Maybe, when all is over, we could grab a cup of coffee and talk about other things. What do you think?”

You’re silent for a couple of seconds, trying to realize if he means it in the way you think he is. There is no way, right?

Just in case, you offer him a friendly smile, “Thanks, Cap! I value our teamwork too. Coffee sounds great after. It could be a good way for all of us to unwind as a team.”

He nods, sighing. “I’m glad you’re on board. I’m looking forward to that coffee, even if it’s with the whole team. And please, call me Steve.”

So he was flirting…

“Thank you,” you pause as you stand up. “I’m gonna talk with Sergeant Barnes so we can get things ready for tomorrow. Have a good night, Steve!”

You knock only three times before the door opens and a Bucky dressed in shorts and a white tank top lets you in with a smirk.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you nod as you take a step inside his bedroom. He only stays here before and after missions when he is too tired to go to his apartment, so you don’t expect to see any personal objects there except for a few clothes.

“What happened to Bucky?”

You look at him surprised, tightening your hold on the tablet you are holding.

What?

“Sir?”

Bucky closes his eyes for a second. “Earlier, during the meeting, you called me Sergeant Bucky.”

Shit!

Maybe you should start calling him Sergeant Barnes in your head as well to avoid these fucks up. You feel so embarrassed that you want to disappear. You don’t want him to think you disrespect him in any way. His rank carries a lot of weight and trauma.

You clear your throat, slightly flustered. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. It won’t happen again, sir.” You offer him an apologetic smile while trying very hard to maintain a professional tone.

Bucky’s smirk softens as he places his flesh hand on your shoulder. You feel your legs transforming into jelly.

“My point was, doll, there is no need to be so formal. We’re off-duty here, and titles aren’t necessary. Just call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky,” you smile. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I came to discuss the plan for tomorrow. I talked to Steve and we agreed it would be wise for you to lead the way as Mr. Wilson-”

“Steve?” Bucky interrupts before you can finish your sentence. He doesn’t even bother to look at your tablet, either.

“Yes, we talked in the office.”

“No, I get that. But you call him Steve? What happened to Cap?” Bucky knows that might sound really childish, but he can’t help it. What is Steve trying to do?

Was it some kind of test? Did you misunderstand everything with Steve?

“Oh, Cap allowed me to call him Steve earlier. I am sorry if it sounded disrespectful.”

He squeezes your shoulder even before moving his hand to your chin, raising your face, and you feel yourself blushing again.

The blue of his eyes is so intense that you can’t see how anyone would be able to survive it.

“You apologize too much, doll. I don’t like it.”

You can’t breathe. “Sor-” You pause, realizing he is right. Apologizing is second nature to you. It feels wrong when you don’t, and you do it without even thinking about it. “I guess I do that a lot. I’ll work on it, Bucky.”

“I’m not your teacher right now, doll.” He smiles, letting go of your chin. “Just remember, we’re not all about formalities here. Relax a bit.”

Easier said than done. But you need to keep it together and ignore the urge to grab his face and finally kiss him. So you focus on talking about the mission and the members of the team. You talk about all of your colleagues, and Bucky helps you take notes. He switched so easily from friendly to the sergeant mode, which is fascinating.

He explains step by step your positions, the way things are gonna happen and even two back up plans. Two!

You’re not overwhelmed by the amount of information, but you’re quite surprised by how much he talks and how well he answers every possible question any of you could have. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak for more than a few seconds continuously so you try to focus on every word.

Only when he finishes and you close your tablet after sending everyone the plan, do you see him relaxing again.

With a smirk, he asks you, “How did Steve take it?”

“He was fine with the plan, even suggested if we feel like doing it, to get one or two more members. But based on what you said, we won’t need it.”

“He has a point, of course, but if you said you don’t think you need it, good.” You try not to stare at his lips as he speaks, but it’s so hard. “And I meant how he took that you chose my plan. That you chose me.”

You meet Bucky’s gaze, trying to keep your composure, “Steve seemed more than okay with it from what I saw. He values the team’s decision. Plus, it’s not about choosing sides, and-”

“And not a personal preference of any kind,” he interrupts just to quote you, and you don’t know if you should feel flattered he remembers word by word or to prepare yourself for a negative reaction. To be honest, your head is spinning and him being so close makes it worse. “I heard you very well, but I’m curious…”

He extends his hand and carefully tucks your hair behind your ears. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat going crazy. And if you do, so does he.

“About what?”

“Would the answer be different if it was about personal preferences, doll? Would you choose him?”

You freeze. You are simply in shock because this cannot happen to you. From Steve asking you out earlier to your crush basically doing this. You’re confused and a little tired, but you didn’t imagine all of this. Does Bucky want you? Is that it?

You take a deep breath praying you won’t choke on the words. “In a hypothetical scenario based on personal preferences, Bucky, I would still not pick him.”

Your voice is trembling, but you maintain eye contact even after admitting it. You didn’t choose Bucky’s plan because of your crush, so you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or exposed. He’s the one who let you call him Bucky, who touched you and asked you that. You don’t know if he counts romance as a personal preference, but there is an urge inside you to find out. You wonder how he’d taste, if he’d kiss you back if you kissed him first, how your mission would be if you crossed the line. Your thoughts are foggy.

“So you’d choose me.”

You clear your throat. “Yes.”

“Over Captain America.” His grin is so boyish and cute that it makes you smile. He looks younger and less… burdened when he gets like this. Bucky chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Well, well, well. Looks like I got someone not kissing Captain America’s ass for a change. That’s really rare. You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?”

You mask your gasp with a cough, deciding to play along, a sly grin forming on your face. “Maybe I just have a thing for underdogs.”

Bucky’s eyes light up with amusement to your annoyance but also excitement, and he leans in, taking the tablet from your hand and placing it on the floor without a care. “Underdogs, huh? Ouch, that hurt a little. I thought I was your favorite super-soldier.”

You can’t help but giggle, feeling enough encouragement from his reaction to touch his vibranium arm just to feel it. You got the chance to do it only for a couple of seconds and it always fascinated you, especially the golden pattern. The fact he can feel everything because it’s connected to his nerves is insane to you. It probably is to him too. “Oh, you are. And my favorite teacher too. But a little competition never hurts, Sergeant Barnes.”

You can see he feigns offense. “Competition, huh?” Bucky’s playfulness turns into a serious tone as he adds, “Well, let me show you why I’m the only choice.”

And without warning, he closes the distance between you and kisses you.

You gasp, taken aback, but you bring your hands to his face and hip before you deepen the kiss. He’s not as gentle as you expected, his left arm flying to your ass and bringing your hips closer to his immediately.

You moan when you feel his hard on so close to your pussy, and tug on his hair a little.

“Aren’t you a naughty girl?” He lowers his lips to your jaw. “I could basically smell how wet you got earlier as soon as I called you doll. And so did Steve.”

You want to open your eyes and tell him to stop talking about his friend. You don’t want to be turned off, but he already continues.

“He thought he stood a chance with my girl.”

“Your girl?” You whimper when his teeth graze your neck before his tongue licks on the spot. He intends to leave a mark, you have no doubt, and you absolutely love it.

“Mine.” His whisper makes you shiver. “I want to mark you. The thought of having you covered in hickeys during the mission makes me so hard it almost hurts. Gonna show everyone you belong to me.”

“Do I belong to you, Sergeant Barnes?” You take a step back but let your hand linger on his chest teasingly. “Because I don’t remember you asking me to dinner.”

Bucky grins. “Dinner is a classic move, and I adapted very well to the present. But of course I can stop with the kisses right now, and we can have some late dinner.”

You roll your eyes at his unbelievably good answer. Fucker!

“This is not what I meant, Barnes, and you know it.”

“I don’t know it. But I want to know something else.”

You don’t even doubt he means something dirty because it’s too obvious.

“Like what?”

“Like how your pretty pussy tastes while you come all over my face.”

You gasp at the no-filter words. You’re so used to Steve’s warning you to use proper language, that you did not expect it.

“I thought men your age were all about being proper and refined… Don’t they teach subtlety in the 40s etiquette class or did you skip it?”

You tease him on purpose, and he knows it. You are well aware what a nerd he was in school. Such a nerd that it was displayed in the museum. You snort. You were a nerd too, so you love it.

Bucky chuckles, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he brings his hands to your pants, unzipping them without warning. Holy. Shit. The way you love this. He reads your body language very well and he has his super soldier senses.

“Well, doll, proper and refined went out the window with the 40s, right? Because otherwise you’d not be standing here letting me undress you.”

You raise your eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement on your face. His energy is so light, and he looks like a man without a worry in moments like this.

“You’re the one who offered to show me what the little upgraded version of you can do, after all.” You take off your shoes before pulling down your pants as soon as he drags them to your ankles. You can’t believe you’re about to fuck James Bucky Barnes! “Why would I say no?”

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride, doll. Gonna make sure you have the time of your life.”

You snort, amused by his eagerness, and decide to take off your shirt yourself to see his reaction. And he doesn’t disappoint.

He grins like a child, his hands flying straight to your back without taking his eyes off your chest. And before you know it, your bra is on the floor and Bucky cups your breasts, bringing your left tit to his mouth.

If you gasped when you felt the cold touch of the vibranium, now you moan loudly, enjoying the way he licks around your skin. He avoids your nipple on purpose, so you decide to take matters into your own hands quite literally and get a grab of the top of his hair, forcing him to suck on your nipple.

“Fuck! I didn’t expect you to be so whorish,” you say without realizing, and you feel his snort and breath on the wet patch he left with his tongue.

Bucky’s grin turns into a sly smirk. “This is what you call whorish? I guess I’ll give you an experience you won’t ever forget.”

“Talk less, do more.”

You want to enjoy more of this. You have a mission in a few hours, and it might be just a one time thing anyway since he is Bucky Barnes. You don’t want to get your hopes high.

Bucky lets go of your breast with a pop and moves up, raising your head so he can kiss you.

It’s electrifying, and desperate, and not enough. You move your hands to the bottom hem of his tank top and lift it, interrupting the kiss so you can take it off completely. You just want to feel him, all of him.

You step back for a second, wanting to look at him properly, but you notice a change in his eyes that he, of course, tries to mask.

“Why are you nervous? You look like a fucking god! I should be nervous here.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with vulnerability.

“I guess I’m not used to someone seeing my scars or my,” he waves toward his vibranium arm, and you frown.

“I will sound totally weird, but they all make you really cool, Serge.” You trace down a few scars when you see he is completely relaxed and continue. “Do I have to lick them all to make you believe me?”

You move your hands under his shorts before he can answer, though, finally touching his cock. You both moan at the feeling. He’s hard and thick, and the head is wet. You bring your fingers to his lips, smearing some of the precome before leaning in to suck it off.

You’re not prepared for his moan or for the way he attacks your mouth, and definitely not for him to snap your underwear using his flesh hand. Not even his vibranium one!

You moan into his mouth. He makes you feel like you’re floating and you need to fuck him right then.

“You’re not just whorish, you’re a whore!” You pause when you feel his fingers close to your entrance. “No wonder why you didn’t belong in the 40s.” Then you move, allowing him to touch you. You don’t realize what you said, and when you do, in the middle of dragging his shorts down, you curse yourself in your mind. It sounds like the most disrespectful thing ever. This man’s fate was changed by monsters who cryogenically freezing him and brainwashing him, and you are selfishly talking as if he belonged to you. “I’m sorry that was awful of-” But he interrupts you before you can get a chance to properly apologize.

“You like that, don’t you?”

A wave of shame surges through your body. Your cheeks are burning.

“I’m really sorry,” you take your hands off his shorts and look away, not even peaking at his cock. You ruined it, didn’t you? “I will just go.”

Bucky shakes his head, puffing. “For such an amazing agent, you’re not a good room reader, are you?”

Your eyes finally drop to his cock, which you’ve been trying to avoid in the last minute out of shame, but there’s no need anymore since he’s teasing you. He’s just a bit longer than average, and he’s really thick, and the veins do not make it ugly at all. You are curious how it’d feel in your hand, how much it’d twitch, how Bucky would moan.

“You aren’t a good room reader, either then, Barnes, since I’m not getting dicked down and my hair pulled, am I?”

Something snaps in him, and it’s visible in his eyes. You don’t know what to expect so you just watch him. But you can’t. He is so quick that, despite your crazy training, you don’t anticipate his move. His hand wraps around the hair from your nape and fists it hard enough for you to move along with him.

“Wanna be dicked down? Fine by me, get on your hands and knees.”

You’re surprised, of course you are, but his tone is firm and you find yourself nodding and doing what he told you. You know you can say no; there is nothing in Bucky’s energy that makes you feel unsafe or as if you have no choice.

At the same time, he lets go of your hair just so he can take off his shorts completely.

“Are you not gonna make sure I’m wet enough for you?” You ask when you see him getting closer to you again, even though you are very wet. You just want to push his buttons.

“I can smell you if I focus on it, let me remind you.” He smiles. “I know you’re soaked, and you wanna be dicked down. Or are you backing off?”

Challenging prick!

You roll your eyes. “I’m not scared of your dick.”

“Good, because he wants to be friends with you.”

You close your eyes, cringing. “God, you were this close to turning me off.” You raise your hand in the air, putting your weight on the left one as you bring your thumb and index finger close to each other to show him exactly what a thin line this was.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you forget it in a second.”

Your first instinct is to want to tease him about the second remark, to ask him if this is how long he can last, but you’re too horny now. And you also need rest for the mission tomorrow.

“How, uh…” You pause not knowing how to ask this properly. “Can you, uh, make babies?” You cringe at your words. “I mean, widows can’t… and I just wanted to know if we need a condom to be extra careful since you might be extra fertile because I am on the pill and I have no idea how sex with a super sold-”

Bucky’s lips press against yours suddenly, making you stop talking.

“Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” you whisper and he cups your face.

“Not enough. We can use a condom if you want, but I’ll need to check where I can find one. Or we can go bare if you trust me… I can pull out and you are already protected, so there shouldn’t be a problem, I think.” He pauses to kiss your lips again. “But we can still use a condom anyway to be extra careful as you said.”

You frown at that, suddenly more desperate to feel him bare than ever before.

“No, I trust you. I have never done it without a condom before, and I assume you didn’t have much time to uh… have sex.”

Bucky snorts amused. “Now why do you assume that?”

“You look like you haven’t been fucked since 1945.”

The fact he doesn’t even deny it makes you feel even bolder, so you reach for his cock and place your thumb on his wet head while wrapping the rest of your hand around the length. “Are you gonna even last for a second once you’re inside me, Sergeant Barnes?” You snort when you see him trying to hold back his moan by biting his lip. It makes you feel happy. “Or do you even manage to get inside me before- ahh!” He is predictable this time as he pulls your hair, so you laugh.

“Are you familiar with this whole red, yellow, green color code?”

You gasp. “Yes, read about it, never needed it. But how do you know that?”

“I read about it, too.” His grin is so wide and beautiful that you melt again.

“Quite naughty of you, Serge. Reading dirty books. Needed some ideas?”

Bucky smirks, kissing you again and again. “Gonna need a review after I finish with you.”

“You finishing with me?” You smile. “Big words, Barnes, but no action.”

He knows you challenge him, and you don’t try to hide it. Do you have to beg for his cock for him to finally fuck you? He is edging you on purpose at this point.

You let out a whimper in anticipation when he moves behind you.

“Are you sure you’re fine with no condom?”

“Ihm, I’m not ovulating anyway,” you whisper, trying not to sound too eager. But you are. You want to get dicked down, indeed. And you wanted it for months.

His silence makes you a bit nervous, but the sounds of him dropping to his knees behind you, followed by his hand grabbing his cock and positioning it at your entrance while squeezing your hip with the metal arm.

You love the sensation of the coldness, but you love even more when he leans in to kiss your back before he pushes inside you.

It takes two tries, though, for him to be able to push halfway inside you because you kept pushing his dick out of you instantly. You managed to take him only when he brought his fingers to your clit and rubbed a bit.

You still laughed though because the sounds were too funny and his little frustrated whimpers were hilarious. The amusement turns quickly into more horniness when you feel him stretching you without even being fully inside you. You dreamed and daydreamed about it… fantasized about it, but it still wasn’t even close to how it actually feels. How full it feels. It’s like you cannot even think, your body is weak.

“Fuck,” your voice is cracking. “Deeper.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispers.

“So?” You bring your hand to his ass, trying to show him you really need it deeper. “Why do you make it sound like a bad thing? Or are you trying not to come, Mr. Super Soldier?”

“You have quite a mouth on you, I think you need it-”

“You talk way too much. Are you nervous or-” It’s his turn to interrupt you with a thrust. Such a deep thrust your head is spinning. He’s not fully inside you, you realize, but he doesn’t try to, instead, he starts to fuck you, taking your breath away. His fingers leave your clit, grabbing your hips with both hands.

There is no question anymore, just fucking as you wanted.

And it feels like heaven. You try to keep your eyes open just so you look at him over your shoulder, but it’s impossible.

“Cat got your tongue?”

You groan. “No, you did, n-now fuck me harder.”

“Well, well,” he slows down and you almost wanna die. “This is not how you talk to your Sergeant, is it?”

He can’t do this!

“Fuck you!”

“What does my baby want?” His thrusts are too slow and teasing, just like his voice. “Use your words, beg for it.”

You’re not turned off, surprisingly. Not at all, on the contrary, the firm tone he uses, the words… you’re getting hornier, if that is even possible.

“I love your cock, Sergeant, so please give it to me. Fuck me harder and faster. Need you to pull my hair, and choke me, and… be rough.” You would be embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate. You know he wouldn’t make fun of you for this, so you trust him.

“Only mine.” You take a deep breath relieved when you feel his right hand wrap around your hair. “Do you hear me? Answer me.”

You nod, unable to say anything because he starts to thrust hard and fast, just like he did before he stopped. Your tits are jumping at the impact, and you have to dig your toes into the floor.

“Use your words. If you want my,” he moans. “If you want my cock and my hand wrapped around your neck, you have to use your big girl words. Tell me you’re only mine.”

You can’t hold back your tears this time. You love it so much, you can’t believe you waited so long to have him.

“Only yours.”

“No Steve.”

He lets go of your hair, wrapping his hand around your neck. No pressure, not moving it, he’s just holding it there.

“There’s n-no Steve, Sergeant. Only you. My pussy belongs to you. I o-only want to get filled by you.”

You know he’s smiling without needing to look at him.

“You love your Sergeant’s cock, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to speak while thrusting so hard. He’s a fucking robot, indeed. “No one else could give you this, no matter how much they tried.”

You feel the building in your core. You’re so, so close already, so you try to place your weight on only one hand and bring the other to cover his, and before he can say something, you encourage him to choke you by pressing his fingers on the sides of your neck.

You moan so loudly you surprise even yourself. You sound like a cat.

“Please, sergeant, please, choke me.” You repeat your move and you close your eyes. “Please, daddy, I’m so c-close.”

He pauses for a second, and you don’t know why.

Before you can ask what’s wrong, he doesn’t just start to thrust inside you again, he dicks you down just the way you wanted. It’s as if he fucks the air out of your lungs every time you exhale. You’re crying and screaming at this point, so loud the whole floor must hear you. But you’re not ashamed. You feel so close you can almost taste it.

You barely hear his whimpers, but they’re there and they’re so beautiful.

You get no warning when he decides to squeeze the sides of your neck: gently at first, but then? Perfect. So perfect you come without warning, not being able to even say his name. You just scream some nonsense, your hand dropping from his to the floor so you can ground yourself properly. Your whole body is burning, and burning, and burning, coming alive for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t wait even for a second after you come down from your orgasm. Instead, he gets his dick out of you, grabbing you by your ass and raising you in his arms. Still weak, you barely have the strength to wrap your legs around his waist and your hands around his neck. He’s sweaty but not that hot. His metal arm is making you cool down.

“Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.” His lips find your forehead and you fight the urge to kiss his neck. You feel so small in his arms… and as if no one can hurt you.

You’re smiling like a fool when your back hits his bed, and so is he. Such a beautiful, blinding smile.

You let him spread your legs before you drag his face down so you can kiss him. You bite his lip hard until he opens his mouth, moaning when you feel him entering you again. This time, you’re relaxed so he thrusts inside you so much easier.

“Gonna make you come again around your daddy’s cock..”

His hands wrap your legs around his ass when he starts to thrust again.

“You’re quite… into it, Sergeant Barnes. So dirty!”

He gently grabs your jaw. “Tongue out.”

You do it, opening your mouth and waiting, and waiting until you finally understand what he’s about to do.

Instead of being grossed out, as you expected, you eagerly swallow the saliva that he lets drip from his mouth, which lands on your tongue.

You bat your eyes as you start to move your hips to meet his thrusts halfway, and that sends him into a frenzy.

“Fucking hell, you don’t want to sleep tonight, do you?” He asks sarcastically, but you don’t have enough air to tease him with a stamina comment. “You want me to make you scream and swallow my spit and come till we have to go to that fucking mission. Till your beloved Steve needs to come to us himself and hear us covered in come but still fucking.” You moan at the idea of your teammates finding out about this. You get awful comments anyway; at least you can get him for real and rub it in their faces. “You would like that, wouldn’t ya? Having all my undivided attention on you, not caring that my best friend is mad…” The thrusts are so deep that your head falls on the pillow instantly. You cannot keep your eyes open for even a second and you’re crying again. “Not caring my pal wanted you so badly he even tried to take you out tonight.”

“Sergeant-”

Thrust after thrust. You grab his forearm as tightly as you can so you can have something to hold onto.

“He thought he could have you, that you’d choose him. Come on, love. Come on, scream my name, let them hear. Let them all hear whose cock you cry for. Who is the one you belong to.” His balls slap against your skin so hard they tickle you. But not even that can distract you from almost reaching your orgasm. His words, his cock, his possessiveness…

“Sergeant, please. No one but you, can I… c-can I touch my clit? I’m so, so close.”

You don’t have to, though, because he is quick enough to bring his flesh hand between your bodies and rub your clit just the way you need it.

“F-fuck, coming,” you manage to warn him before the pleasure hits you. It’s so overwhelming you see white, digging your nails into his forearm.

You don’t know what you call him… daddy, Bucky or sergeant, but it doesn’t matter. You hear his praise, how you’re his good girl, and his words encouraging you to come for him.

When you can focus again, you kiss him with everything you have.

“Need you to come for me, Sergeant Barnes,” you whisper between kisses. “Need you to come inside me, need you to fill me up with your come, sir.”

He hisses loudly, his eyes being more grey than blue.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I mean it,” you make eye contact, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Not the heat of the moment. I need your come, daddy. I’m on birth-”

He kisses you so hard your teeth end up hitting, but you don’t care. This is everything.

“Gonna come, gonna give you what you want. Gonna make you my come s-slut. Is that what you needed?”

“Yes, yes.” You’re so excited to watch him finish you don’t even realize how much you like being called his come slut until he says it again. “Come on, Sergeant, come for me.”

After you say that, it only takes him two more thrusts to finish, moaning your name.

His eyes close, and you notice how pretty his eyelashes are. And the little moles on his face… his mouth semi-open and his hair in all directions.

You want to witness this every day.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in to kiss his nose and cheeks, letting your hips move at the same time.

“C-can’t… doesn’t stop,” he manages to groan, and you bring your hand to his nape, caressing his hair as he rides out his orgasm.

When he finally finishes, though, his head falls on top of your breasts, his mouth finding your nipple and playing with it before sucking it fully into his mouth.

“Easy, Bucky,” you moan, but he keeps going, though.

You have to pull his hair, to make him stop.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I need to uh… I’m tired.”

You’re back to your shy self. But his smile still makes you feel so relaxed.

“Got you tired, huh?” He winks, giving your breasts a kiss before pressing his lips against yours. “Fuck, I’ve never been so aroused in my entire life. Won’t even mention how happy I am.”

“Me neither,” you whisper.

“Well, we need to get used to it.”

You laugh so happily that you think your chest will explode. It’s surreal.

“You owe me that dinner after all.”

“A million dinners.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Trying to charm me?”

He pecks you one more time before getting out of you with a whimper.

“I’ve already done it.”

It’s weird to be empty like this again, but seeing your come and wetness on his pubic hair or dripping out of your pussy just to soak the sheets beneath you distracts you. You made a mess.

“We need to clean this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says distractedly as he uses his index finger to push some come back inside you. Jesus! “This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You smile. “You’re a whore.”

“Your whore.” He slowly gets out of bed, grabbing his shorts from the floor.

“Want me to go?” You ask all of a sudden, gaining a confused look from him.

“Why would I want that? Unless you do, of course…” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to fix it a little. “But I want you to stay.”

“Saw you dressing.” You bring your knees up just to put your chin on top of them. You feel extra shy.

He smiles. “Just gonna get you some water. I don’t want you dehydrated.”

Bucky knew Steve was in the kitchen as soon as he went down the stairs. He smiles casually, not giving him a second look as he goes straight to the fridge. It’s not like he hasn’t seen him in shorts or shirtless before, and Bucky knows he knew exactly what happened upstairs.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve’s tone is so obvious Bucky almost laughs.

“Not sleepy yet. What about you? You’re alright, punk?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip from his own glass of water; his hands tightly wrapped around the glass.

“Still mad about earlier? You know I’m right.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s all good.”

Bucky sighs dramatically. He loves Steve, he is his brother, but sometimes he is so annoying.

“Well, try to get some sleep. I suggest you wear some earplugs or something, though,” Bucky suggests casually, taking a whole bottle of water. “We wouldn’t want you too sleepy tomorrow. And the night is young.” He even winks at Steve, making him clear his throat.

“Buck…”

“Not a super soldier perk, I know, but you understand, right?” The smirk he suddenly gives Steve is almost sinister. “She chose me after all, and I gotta let her test-drive me. Have a good night!”

Even though he turns around, Bucky doesn’t miss the way Steve’s hold gets so tight that his glass almost breaks.

Bucky doesn’t regret it. He had it coming when he thought you’d choose him.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x agent!reader #bucky barnes x agent!femalereader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #my stories #my fanfics #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x agent! female reader

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dollishmehrayan · 7 months ago

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HOW BATBOYS COMFORT INSECURE READER ── .✦

a/n: I celebrated my birthday and i had a fun time and tysm to all the people who wished me a hppay birthday (a lot tbh I was shocked and so happy) but this was a request by @cup-of-doodles !! so yeah (enjoyy)

(Tags: batboys x insecure!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments for Days: Dick would not hold back. “You think I look good? Sweetheart, you’re the real catch here.” He’d follow up with a series of exaggerated compliments, like, “If beauty were a crime, you’d be serving a life sentence.” And then yk he’ll be like your hype man of like this tiktok audio (here).

Goofy Distraction: To lighten the mood, Dick would do something ridiculously goofy, like pretending to be a terrible dancer and saying, “See, you’re already doing better than me.” He’d shimmy awkwardly across the room just to make you laugh but if you cry even more he might feel guilty.

Overprotective Vibe: He’d pull you into a hug, ruffling your hair. “You’re perfect the way you are, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll literally punch them in the face. Just give me the word.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy Compliment: He’d cross his arms and look you up and down, pretending to be unimpressed. “You’re lucky I love you, because damn, you’re fine as hell, and I can’t even look at you without getting distracted. It’s annoying.”

Jokes to Distract You: Jason would then casually add, “But if you keep saying you’re not perfect, I’m gonna start charging you for all these therapy sessions I’m giving you.” His face might be all grumpy, but the look in his eyes is soft, reassuring you.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Logical Support: Tim would approach it in his usual, logical way. “Okay, so you feel insecure about that? Let’s talk it through. Statistically speaking, you’re practically flawless, the ratio between your lips and eyes are perfect with your nose calculating right in the perfect spot.” He’d likely pull out a notebook, listing all the reasons you're amazing, with a dry, humorous commentary.

Techy Distraction: To cheer you up, Tim would start showing you funny memes or videos he’s saved. “See? This is how you should feel—unbothered and hilarious.” He’d give you his best attempt at a cute smile, which might look a bit awkward, but he means it.

Self-Deprecating Humor: He’d then add, “And if you still don’t believe me, let me know. I can hack into the Batcomputer and get a list of all the things you’re absolutely amazing at.” He’d wink, though you know he’s completely serious.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Confused, but Caring: Damian would be initially confused by your insecurity. “What is this nonsense? You’re perfect.” He’d cross his arms, giving you a disapproving look. “You don’t need to change a single thing. If you insist on thinking otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to lecture you on your obvious superiority.”

Unintentionally Hilarious Comfort: In his usual serious tone, he’d continue, “Whoever made you feel insecure is an idiot, and I will make them regret it. Though, I’ll do it in a proper way, without any unnecessary violence—unless it’s truly necessary.”

Small Gesture: Despite his serious demeanor, he’d take your hand, pulling you closer with a soft, “You are the best thing in my life, and I will ensure you never forget that again.” (Then he’d mutter under his breath, “And if you need more reassurance, I’ll just have Alfred tell you how amazing you are again.”)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Stern, But Loving: Bruce would give you a soft, stern look, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t get to think that way, not about yourself. Not ever.”

Overprotective Vibe: He’d pull you into a hug, patting your head like he’s telling you a secret. “If I’m going to let anyone be insecure, it sure as hell won’t be you.” His touch would be gentle, that way he makes sure you feel seen and heard.

Dry Humor: He’d add, “Now stop trying to make me talk more than I need to. But if it makes you feel better, I’m always here to remind you how amazing you are, even if I have to do it in my very limited free time.”

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aliwritex · 3 months ago

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LOVERS ROCK fc43

summary: Franco is insanely obsessed. inspired by lovers rock by tvgirl.

wc: 3.7k

warnings: fingering :) brazilian!reader (barely) drinking, franco being pathetic.

notes: turns out i don’t like lovers rock (the genre) so i did bossa nova instead, hence the brazilian reader. the songs they listen to (in order) are ‘onde anda você’, ‘porque será’ and ‘samba da benção’ ;) thanks to @colpenter for the idea!

When Franco got to America for his year abroad he wasn’t expecting to meet the love of his life – maybe that was exaggerating but it’s what it felt like to him.

It was pathetic, really. He had you up on a pedestal since the first time he saw you, walking to the same class as his. That first day of class might just have been one of the best days of his life. The minute you spoke up he was fascinated, you sounded like an angel and he was sure you had just made an amazing and valid point about the lecture, even though he hadn’t been paying attention. He only watched you for weeks, waiting impatiently for Fridays, when you had class together.

He started finding out more things about you as the weeks passed, you were also an exchange student, in your third year in America, and you were always bringing a different perspective to your Politics class, comparing and talking about your own country, professors loved that. You were a good student, that much he was sure of, meanwhile, he was only taking that class for the credits – he thought it would be an easy one, he was proven wrong very quickly.

He would’ve totally dropped the class, it had truly nothing to do with his own major, but would he even see you around campus if he did? He decided against it, he had seen you walk to your car after class, you definitely lived off campus. Despite his admiration and borderline obsession, he kept putting off on talking to you. All his friends knew about the ‘beautiful smart girl in politics’ but they were starting to wonder if she was even real.

It took Franco almost two months to man up and talk to you. He tried so hard to sound smart, like he understood anything you, the professor or any of your other colleagues had ever said, but you could tell. He didn’t mind it after all, the way he mispronounced a word made you smile.

“You don’t think I talk too much? Everyone seems to hate it” you asked, already sitting down as you saw your professor walk into the room.

“Mr. Jones seems to love it, he gets really excited doesn’t he?” you nodded and smiled shyly, coaxing a smile out of Franco, too, “whatever gets you good grades, then. I’m joking, I li-”

He was about to shoot out the first compliment, actually flirt when he got interrupted “Good morning, if everyone could take their seats now, we should start in a second” your professor spoke.

You caught Franco sighing, frustratingly “Why don’t we talk after class? I’d love to hear what you think about his lectures, you’re always so quiet”

“Yeah, we should talk after class. I’m gonna sit down before he shoots me one of those death glares.” he told you while he walked away, watching you chuckle lightly.

He tried to pay attention to the lecture, to have something to talk to you about, he kept looking at the time, checking how long till he got to speak to you again. But just as he noticed there was only ten minutes left, you walked right past him and out of the door without even looking back. He thought about going after you, but that would just be creepy. So he waited, and waited, stayed till the last second of class but you were gone. He would only see you next friday.

It was a week of torture, for him and for anyone around him. He thought about you at least once every hour, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that you had just left, you had never done that before, but of course you did in the morning you said you would talk to him. It couldn’t have been about him, surely something else happened, a setback. But he would only find out the next friday.

Franco was already in the room when you arrived, his hair was still damp from the shower and his cheek was pressed against his hand as he looked down at his phone. He looked good, but you already knew that. You approached him immediately, knowing you owed him an apology for the past week.

“Good morning,” you smiled, getting his attention. “I wanted to talk to you all week, Franco, I swear. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for last week, I said we should talk but I left before the lecture was done. I hope you’re not mad at me”

“Oh! No, no, no worries.”

You sighed in relief “Thank god! I thought you hated me. And I never see you around the campus so I couldn’t talk to you during the week.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really,” he reassured, “I did notice you looked a bit troubled when you left, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just accidentally locked my roommate in when I left the apartment that morning. He was fine. Anyway, we should talk after class” you chuckled.

“What do you think about coffee? Should we get some?” he asked, hands sweating, waiting for your no.

“Sure” you smiled “see you later, then” you told him and made your way to your desk.

Over coffee Franco dropped the façade. Politics wasn’t his area and he hadn’t understood a single lecture.

“How do you plan on taking his test anyway?”

“I was thinking that I could pray, a lot. And if I get too desperate I might cheat.” he confessed, making you laugh. He liked that. You were easily entertained, even with his bad jokes and comments, you smiled and chuckled. “Maybe I can beg a little, I’m not opposed to humiliation”

“Trust me, that won’t work. This is the third course I take with him. I’ve seen him fail a fair share of people.”

“I’m dropping out, then” he joked, slamming his palms on the table in defeat.

“You don’t need to do that, I have a bunch of notes, I’m sure they could help you out. And I could tell you what he likes in his tests, he’s very specific about it. It’s like a formula, once you get it right you can nail every test, trust me.”

You had to part ways for lunch but for the rest of the day Franco had a stupid smile on his face, all his friends made fun of him but he could only think about you. You weren’t that far off. Your mind was on the pretty boy with the childish smile that made you laugh. You had never really paid much attention to him, only knew he was an exchange student, and he would only be there for a semester, so you hadn’t made an effort to get to know him. A pity, really, but how could you’ve known how sweet and nice he was.

Next week he got you coffee again, on the premises of giving him some tips for that class. There was barely any talking about politics. You got to know each other, hobbies, interests, majors were all discussed. In reality you were just stalling, trying to get your nerves down to tell him about a ‘party’ at your place. You were saved by a third figure, your roommate.

“Hey,” he approached the booth where you sat “I thought you were going straight home”

“Franco invited me for coffee” you gestured your hand at the man, making your roommate look at him, “Tony, this is Franco, the guy in politics I told you about and Franco this is Tony, my housemate”

“Nice to meet you, mate” Tony said and they greeted each other with a handshake. “Has she told you about our little thing tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so”

“How rude! We’re having a little get together at our place tomorrow night. You should come, bring a friend, I guess. But just the one, our place is a little small.” he told Franco.

“He sold it terribly, but it’ll be fun, I guess. There will be alcohol!”

“I’ll come. I should take your number though, so you can text me the address.” smooth. He couldn’t have been smoother than that actually.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Franco. I gotta go though,” he turned to you “see you later, yeah?”

You watched Tony leave and soon Franco was walking you back to your car, still talking till you had to go your separate ways.

The next day Franco showed up at your apartment at eight, a time he expected people to be there. Wrong. He rang the bell and when you opened the door he realized the place was still quiet.

“Franco! You’re early!” you said, not seeming bothered that he was there early. He stopped to look at you. Your hair was down, and you had a dress on, completely different to your usual ponytail and jeans. It was a good different, you looked even prettier and Franco couldn’t even believe it. “Come in, no one’s here yet”

“Oh, I can come back later, I-“

“Don’t be stupid, Franco” your hand reached for his wrist, pulling him in “come in. We’re almost done setting up”

As Franco helped set up the drinks people started to show up and you excused yourself to greet them. He ended up drinking some cheap beer while talking to some people that he knew from other classes, in reality they were talking to him, and they must’ve thought he was a really good listener because he never spoke. His mind was somewhere else — watching you from across the room, smiling as you talked to someone else.

He knew the guy, Mike. Mike was handsome, and he was in a band — which Franco thought was stupid — but at some point he caught you blushing as he started to sing. Then there was the horrible feeling in his chest, something he shouldn’t even be allowed to feel, but there he was, drowning in jealousy as you talked to another guy.

God, he felt terrible, disgusted even, to feel that way. So he went after a distraction, and lucky your kitchen was full of them.

He put down his beer for a second, just to analyze the other drinks set up on the table, after a quick look he had to settle for the vodka. He grabbed a clean cup and poured himself a shot, soon he felt the alcohol burning down his throat and warming his body. Franco walked back into the living room already feeling a little dizzy, but when someone accidentally hit his shoulder he had to lean onto the wall to not hit the ground.

Luckily, you had seen the situation from afar and walked over to help him.

“Franco? Are you alright?” you asked, grabbing his arm to stabilize him. Franco cursed himself for letting you see him like that, embarrassing himself at your party. “Give me your hand, I’ll take you to my room for a second.” he shook his head, humming negatively but you resisted, taking his hand in yours and guiding him through the living room.

He didn’t know how but he had ended up sitting on your bedroom floor as you handed him a glass of water, kneeling next to him to make sure he was fine.

“Feeling better?” he nodded slowly and threw his head back, against your bed. “Get up, then, let’s get some air.”

He got up with your help, expecting you to walk him out of the room but you turned to your long curtains, pulling them open and revealing a small balcony. You both stood by the rails for a second, taking in the chilly night before he finally came back to himself.

“I’m sorry,” he lowered his head onto the rail, you could tell he was embarrassed, “I don’t know what i was thinking, I don’t drink, really”

“Are you sure it’s that? You’ve had the same beer all night” you chuckled.

“I took a shot,” he admitted, still refusing to look at you. “I made me real dizzy”

“That was all?” you chuckled in disbelief “A single shot?”

“Please don’t laugh, it’s already as embarrassing as it gets” he finally looked up, you were still smiling, watching and waiting for him to look back at you.

“So you’re feeling better now? We should go back in”

He just nodded and followed you back into the room, only now being in the right mind to notice the space. He tried to look around without you seeing, he noted the neatly made bed, the makeup on top of your dresser and your perfume in the air but what caught his attention the most was the wall covered in vinyls.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “that must be a lot of music!” You nodded shyly, “You collect?”

“It wasn’t really meant to be a collection, I just like the way it sounds on vinyl. Especially the old ones” you pointed at a specific disc.

“Can we listen to something?” he tried and you nodded again.

“See anything you like?” you squatted down in front of your record player, opening it.

“Don’t know much about music. Play something you like”

You nodded and walked over to your brazilian section, grabbing an album from the back. “There’s a song in this one that was stuck in my head earlier today. I’ll play that” you pulled the disc out, wiping before putting it in and selecting the song you wanted. You sat on the floor by the bed, resting your back against it and looking up at him, reaching for his hand, “sit” Franco happily took the spot by your side as the song started. “This is bossa nova, the genre. It’s a Brazilian genre, from, like, the sixties. It’s always very soft and easy.” you told him shyly, watching his face to figure out if he liked it or not.

“What’s it about?” he was looking right back at you. He wanted you to keep talking for as long as you could.

“Missing someone, he hasn’t seen his lover, he’s reminiscing the times they had together while pacing alone through the places they used to go to. The lyrics are kind of repetitive but, to be honest, you can’t really pay too much attention to lyrics when you’re listening to old music, they can be quite problematic. This is an exception though.”

You spoke looking directly at him, your attention shifting from his lips to his eyes. Franco knew what you were doing, but he thought he might have been hallucinating, the alcohol making things up in his mind. But then you reached over, your hand gently on his cheek as you guided his lips to yours. They met in a tentative peck before you looked at each other, then he finally reacted, his hands met your waist and you smiled, kissing him again.

His hands pulled you closer as you deepened the kiss. It’s all smiles and hands and by time the second song started you were sitting hip to hip, but he stopped, pulled away and looked at you for a second. “Why’d you kiss me?”

You looked at him, confused and tensing up, thinking you got him all wrong, but then he smiled, his eyes squinting and cheeks rising “I just wanted to kiss you” you told him, simply and pulled him back into the kiss.

You pushed his head onto the bed with your hands on his face, and he pulled you with him. He was hugging your waist, keeping you close as your tongues make into each other’s mouths. You could taste the alcohol slowly fading in his mouth and you were sure he could taste in yours too. Your hands lowered to his chest feeling his muscles against your palms and his own went down your body one resting on your bare legs and the other on the small of your back.

By that time the record was on the third song but it was really destroying the vibe for you. You couldn’t help but chuckle and let your head fall to his shoulder.

“Everything alright?” he asked, even pulling his hands away from your body.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just the song. It is not a make out song, sorry” you pulled away and got up to stop the music “It’s kind of religious, it was killing it for me” you said as you walked back to him.

You stood right in front of him, looking down as he watched you kick off your shoes, hypnotized. You smiled at him, spreading your legs so his would be between them before you sat, directly on his lap. His hands fell to your hips naturally when you started kissing his jaw, a pretty noise falling from his lips as you dropped to his neck.

“Ah, fuck” he sighed “no, come here”

You let him take your face in his hand and guide your lips back to his. Then it was your turn to let out a satisfied hum when his palm, on your back guided you to press down against his hips, feeling his arousal against yours. He lowered the hand from your face, resting it on your thigh, fingertips brushing against the hem of your dress. His other hand mirrored the action on the other side as his lips slipped down your neck.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered against your skin, making you smile and practically melt on his lap.

You pulled away, letting your hands brush his hair away from his face. The look on your face was confused? He couldn’t tell. “No one has ever asked me that”

“So, can I?” he tried again, fingers gently pinching the top of your thighs.

You just smiled and nodded, feeling his hands crawl under your dress and play with the sides of your panties. His knees were folded behind your back, giving you support as he guided you to grind against him. Your hands dived into his hair as you kissed him again, your nails running against his scalp, making him shiver. His hands kept making their way higher, up to your waist, till his thumbs were brushing your under boobs. Then they were back down, one flat against your stomach, moving past the band of your underwear as the other hooked around the side.

Franco hadn’t stopped kissing you as his fingers met your slit. He felt around your lips, surprised with how wet you had gotten just from grinding against him. They slipped past your slit, reaching lower to tease your wet hole. A soft moan passed your lips when he did, your nails scratching his scalp harder.

He smiled and brought his fingertips up to your clit, gentle sighs coming from you as he started working circles. Franco wanted to hear you, so he took his lips down to your neck, leaving your mouth free to make pretty noises as he kissed your sensitive skin. His free hand traveled up your arm, reaching the sleeve of your dress and tugging it down, his action made your tits pop out of the dress and he couldn’t help but moan when his hand met them, warm and soft.

Franco cupped a single boob, this thumb playing with your nipple, his fingers never stopping on your middle. All the different forms of stimulation had you clenching around nothing, your cunt begging to be filled.

“Franco” you called in a weak voice, “porra,” fuck you sighed, dragging your hips forward so his fingers slipped down to your hole.

You both moaned when his fingers slipped in, soft ‘oh’s leaving your mouths. But quickly he was kissing your neck again, lowering his mouth down your chest. He worked the flesh between his lips, sucking his way down to your nipple, twirling his tongue around it then going lower. He scraped your skin gently with his teeth before sucking harder, giving you a hickey on the side of your boob. It made a moan fall out of your lips.

“Seu porra” you fuck, you sighed, playfully. You tugged him away from you by the hair, making him lay his head on the bed again, and kissed him. Your hips lifted slightly, moving back and forth as he curled his fingers inside, your movements making your clit rub against his palm.

“You’re close” he said. It wasn’t a question but you nodded anyway and dropped your head to his shoulder, feeling your orgasm build up from your toes to your middle. “No, c'mon, let me see you, princesa” he spoke into your ear but the foreign language only made you melt further into him. Franco threaded his fingers through your hair, gently guiding you away from his shoulder to look at his face instead. “So pretty. ‘d be a shame if I missed your perfect face while I make you feel good.”

You clenched hard around him, soaking in the compliments and with a last rock of your hips, you were coming for him. Franco made sure to watch your face, your parted lips, your lashes brushing your cheeks and the furrowed brows, all of it as your cunt trapped his fingers inside. Short moans flowed out of your mouth and Franco couldn’t think of anything prettier than that. He let go of your hair, letting your head fall back on his shoulder, your lips peppering lazy kisses on his neck.

“Can you ask me out on an actual date now?” you teased, giggling against his skin.

“What? You wanted me to ask you out?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” you asked, too shy to pull away from his neck.

“Clearly no” he chuckled too, pulling his fingers out of you. You couldn’t see but you heard him suck them clean before resting his hand on your thigh and it made your cunt throb a little. “Listen, I should go” he said after a moment of silence while he straightened the sleeves of your dress, covering you up.

“No,” you finally pulled away, sitting back up on his lap “you should stay.” you said but he didn’t look so convinced “I’m asking you to stay. You’re probably too drunk to drive anyway”

“Okay” he nodded, “let me get you some water, though, yeah?”

You nodded back, moving off his lap to let him get up. He offered you a hand to get up before he left the room.

Franco couldn’t believe, as he poured the glass of water, that he’d be walking back into your bedroom, and would spend the night there.

#franco colapinto x brazilian!reader #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto smut #a writes #franco x brazilian!reader #franco colapinto

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catssluvr · 2 months ago

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like old times, natalie scatorccio

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader (1.8k words) (request)

in which you and nat finally see each other after years of being broken up.

warnings: angsty with happy ending!!, ex lovers to lovers, crying

⭑.ᐟ ⭑.ᐟ

You stand outside the motel room, fingers playing nervously with the car keys in your hand. You can hear voices from the inside, familiar ones. There is nothing that could possibly calm the anxiety you feel.

Nothing could have prepared you to receive a message from Natalie asking you to meet up with the group, regarding the postcard you had all gotten in your mail. You're quite sure you wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been her texting you.

With one last deep sigh, you knock on the motel door. Almost immediately the door unlocks, revealing Nat on a baggy t-shirt. This is going to be a long night.

"Hi. You came." She looks surprised, as if not believing you'd actually show up. As if you've ever disappointed her. You couldn't even if you wanted to.

"Hey." You breathe, "You guys needed me." You needed me, you want to say. But you won't give her that staisfaction.

For a moment she seems to forget you're both standing in the doorway, not used to your cold treatment. You feel self conscious in her gaze, not because she would ever give you a dirty look but you really did try to make yourself look like you're living the best life.

"Are you going to let me in?" You motion inside with your hand.

"Right. Of course." She shakes her head as if avoiding to say something she'll regret.

Your eyes land on Shauna first, who's standing by the bed with a nervous face. And then Tai, who looks way too tired for someone who's supposed to be living a life with the perfect family.

"Hey guys, haven't seen you in ages." You decide on saying, trying to ignore the fact you all avoid each other at all costs.

"Literally. Ages." Shauna throws her hands in the air with an awkward smile.

"It sucks that it's not for the best reason but whatever." Tai intervenes before adding with a kind smile, "Nice seeing you're doing well."

You're not sure if she means you actually look good or somehow just knows about you and Nat with your no contact situation. It wouldn't be hard to read the room since you've barely looked her way yet.

"Thanks." An awkward silence follows. You wish for a second Misty were here. Where even is she? You chose not to ask.

"I think we should go straight to the point. There's a fucker sending postcards and blackmailing us, and we need to do something about it." Shauna starts.

"I say we pay them." Nat shrugs, though you know she's aware it's not that simple by the way she plays with her necklaces.

"Well, with what money?" Shauna questions with raised eyebrows.

As if planed, all eyes shot to Taissa, silently waiting for her to realize the plan.

"No." She says instantly, receiving drop of shoulders from Shauna. "Seriously, things aren't great at home and i can't just take that much money without explanation."

"Look, i think we might be exaggerating. This is probably just some creep who's trying to scare us into giving him money and doesn't actually know shit." You start, not getting to continue as Nat steps up.

"But what if they do know?" You know what she's doing. Trying to get you to look at her and give her the satisfaction of knowing you're annoyed at her.

"As i was saying. Which is why i think we should let them have it their way and pay. But from what we know none of us can afford it right now." You look straight at the two other girls in the room as you speak.

"So what? We just leave the bag there like it's nothing and run?" Nat presses, pacing around until she's in the middle of the room.

"Yeah well, you seem to be quite good at leaving things and running, anyway." You finally snap, casting her an attempted death glare that comes out more pained than anything.

Nat looks taken a back for a second, looking away as she straightens up.

"Hey, you two." Shauna practically scolds you both, "Whatever it is that's going on is definitely not more important than this. So focus." She exasperates.

Your silence agrees with her, but you catch Natalie rolling her eyes in the corner of your eyes.

"We could always try to find out who it is. Who says they won't try to do it again?" Tai suggests. You really are going to take ages to reach a conclusion.

"I'll deal with the money problem." Nat states.

You frown, since when is she rotten rich? You're pretty sure someone with money wouldn't be living in a motel.

Suddenly, Shauna's phone rings from inside her bag. She pulls it out, huffing at the letters displayed on her phone. "Fuck, it's Jeff. I have to take this but i'll be back, sorry."

She leaves the room, leaving behind the heavy silence from before.

"I'm just going to get some snacks from the vending machine." You quickly find an excuse to leave the room. Only for a minute, you think. The chances of sharing a room with Nat for one more second without bursting into tears, yelling at her or kissing her are slim.

As none of them say anything, you make a hasty exit, breathing in the fresh night air with long exhales.

You hear a door being slammed, followed by a call for your name that you ignore, taking long strides in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" Nat yells, this time closer and making it impossible to ignore.

"Did you want anything to eat?" You turn, facing her with a sarcastic kind smile, "Might not be not be suddenly rich like some but i can handle a bar of chocolate."

"I don't, just thought we should talk." Much to your dissatisfaction, Nat bluntly ignores the bitterness in your tone. "And i'm not rich. I'm selling my car."

You hate the way she's trying to actually have a conversation with you, as if you're some kind of old friends reuniting. Talking to you with the same gentle voice she only uses with you. Used with you.

"What?"

"It's no big deal, wanted to do it for a while anyway." Nat shrugs.

"Whatever. There's nothing to talk about." You state, striding towards the vending machine again.

"Don't be like that." She reaches to touch your arm, retracting once you give her a displeased look.

"Like what?" You snap.

"We can at least try to casually talk to each other." She says, not seeming to be sure of her own words.

"Is that what you really want?" You question, stopping as you come to face with the snacks. Silence follows.

"Thought so." You grumble lowly, pretending to look at the display on the vending machine.

"It was never my intention to make you this mad at me. I'm sorry." Nat observes softly, tilting her head so you can see her from the corner of your eyes.

"Mad? That's how you think i feel?" You answer a bit too loudly, feeling glad the place seems to be pretty empty.

"You've been... snappy." She gestures with lack of words.

"Maybe cause this is all really messed up, Natalie. You leave me and then come back when you need help." You try to stay calm as you speak, "So if you're gonna tell me i'm 'snappy', just fucking leave." You add with a wobbly voice.

"I couldn't let them make decisions on this without you." Nat tries. You close your eyes for a moment, unsure of why it feels like she isn't quite telling you the truth.

"And is it that big of a sacrifice to help me?" She huffs out.

"No! But last time i tried to help you we both know how it ended." You can't help but be sure you were right before, you are practically yelling at her and very close to tears.

Natalie whispers your name, desperate to reach out but holding herself back again, "I did it for you. I couldn't put you in that position."

"So you threw me out of your life like i was nothing, all for me?"

"You think it wasn't hard for me?" She frowns, eyes wide as she stares at you.

"I know it was. Which is why i begged you to let me stay in your life." You feel the tears well up in your eyes, gulping down a sob.

She opens her mouth to say something but closes it again just as quickly. "I don't know what to say." It sounds more chocked than it should for the choice of words.

You nod defeatedly, "I don't think i can do this, sorry. I'll just say goodbye to the girls and leave."

You move to leave once again, snacks long forgotten. Pressing your fingers to your lips, you let yourself feel regretful of agreeing to come here.

"No. Please don't." This time she actually touches you, fingers barely grazing your sweater covered arm in a pleading way.

"C'mon Nat, give me a good reason why i shouldn't go." You feel completely lost, embarrassed by the way your tears fall freely and uncontained.

Natalie wraps her fingers around your wrist, her own eyes filling with tears. "I didn't just reach out because we needed help." Her vulnerable voice feels like honey to you, her touch grounding you without much effort needed.

"Why?" You don't have to press further to know she understands your question. Close to begging her to say the things you want to hear.

"I needed to see you." She admits, eyes dancing across your face in a needy way, "Needed it so bad- so i found an excuse." Her lips wobble as she struggles to use honesty.

"You don't want me, Nat." Though you really wish she will tell you otherwise.

"Do you actually believe that? I think about you every single day." She smiles sadly.

It finally snaps, all the holding back crumbling down in seconds. You grab her by the face, kissing her fiercely. As if she might disappear at any moment.

But she doesn't seem to be eager to disappear at all, clinging to your waist with as much strength. Her lips fit perfectly in yours, just like you remember. Feel the same too, if not more desperate.

You pull back before she gets the chance to deepen the kiss, barely leaving space between you as you press a kiss to her forehead.

"You deserve this, Nat. You deserve love." You whisper genuinely.

"It's just- hard." She settles on saying, but not making move to pull away at all.

"Then let me show you." You remark.

Nat nods, letting her lips fall to your cheek and pressing feather-like kisses there as you play with the shirt that hangs low on her shoulders. "I love you so fucking much, sweetheart."

"I love you." Your lips return to her without a second thought.

“Any chance we can kick them out?” You hint with a smirk.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Nat mumbles into your lips, pulling you towards her room.

“Hey.” You call, making her stop for a second to look at you confused. “No more running, okay?”

Her gaze softens as she moves to hold your neck and presses a more soft kiss to your top lip, “No more running.”

#yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x self insert #natalie scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

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Proud VI

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Georgia Stanway x Teen!Reader

Summary: You join Bayern Munich

The transfer was a long time coming.

You love North London. You love Arsenal - a bit too much according to Magda - but this transfer was something that you didn't need to think about.

You loved your mothers more than Arsenal and you wanted to be with them again.

You'd gotten a taste of it during your last year in London, living with them both and then they'd gone to Germany without you, stuck in your two year contract with your club.

Arsenal had tried to re-sign you but Bayern Munich had come knocking and Bayern Munich was where your mothers were.

You wanted to be where your mothers were too.

Contract negotiations were easy. They moved quickly and without much fuss until finally your name was on the dotted line and there were two Harders on the team.

It's the first time you'll be playing your club football with Magda, the first time you'll ever be playing football with Pernille.

It's not that you're nervous but you want to do well.

You want to prove to them that they've made the right choice in letting you come with them again.

Oberdorf has also joined from Wolfsburg and you think her signing is a lot more ground breaking than yours so you slip under the radar a little bit as the media and fans clamour over Oberdorf's switch from one German giant to another.

"Different kind of red than you're used to, little Eriksson?" Georgia Stanway teases as you step out onto the training pitch for preseason.

"Red is red," You say," And it's Harder, not Eriksson."

Georgia frowns. "But I thought you were Swedish."

"I am Swedish," You reply," And I'm still a Harder. Two things can be right at the same time."

Goergia laughs at your affronted look, reaching out to ruffle your hair. "I was just playing around with you. No harm, no foul."

You still purse your lips though, unsure how to take this teasing.

Everyone at Arsenal already knew you. They knew how you were. They knew how you acted. They knew that either one of your mothers would pick you up when practice ended so their teasing couldn't go too far.

"Leah's talked about you," Georgia continues," Said you usually had a sense of humour."

"I do have a sense of humour! I just..."

Magda's hand falls onto your shoulder. "She's just nervous. This is her first time in Germany, you know. She's left all her friends behind in London."

Your cheeks go red. "Morsa," You say," You're embarrassing me."

Magda pinches your cheek. "Good. That's what I'm here for."

Georgia watches as you try to squirm away, but Magda's got you in a headlock and is rubbing her knuckles in your hair.

"Come on! Come on! Get off!"

"Are they always like this?"

"You should have seen what they were like after a London Derby," Pernille says, fondly watching the two of you as you manage to tackle Magda into the ground, wrestling with her in the dirt.

"Magda said she left her friends behind?"

"Magda exaggerates. I'm afraid y/n has never really had time for friends outside of football."

Georgia frowns. "No friends outside of football? None at all?"

"She's lonely," Pernille says," Not that she would admit it but I know she is."

"She seems pretty cool. She scored that worldie on her last game for Arsenal. I was impressed."

Pernille laughs. "Don't tell her that. She hates the compliments."

"Alright, I'll keep my awe to a minimum but the goal she scored against us in the Euro Qualifiers was equally as impressive. She's good off the ball as well."

Pernille grins, puffing out her chest as pride runs through her system. "She's the best. Magda and I are so lucky to have her as ours."

"You don't mind if I steal her for a bit though? I reckon I can get her more settled."

"If you think so." Pernille moves to loom over you and Magda, getting a foot between your two rolling bodies. "Magda, leave her alone. Y/n, Georgia wants to show your something."

You shove Magda off you, hurrying to your feet before she can grab you again.

Georgia grins, arm being thrown over your shoulder as she leads you to another group of girls.

"Sydney! Have you met Magda and Pernille's kid?"

"No. I haven't."

"Well this is y/n. y/n this is Syd. She seems like your speed."

"She does?"

"I do?"

"Well...no not really but you look like you need someone to help you out of your shell. Syd did that with Sam. She can do it with you."

Sydney grins at you and you find yourself grinning back. Her smile is kind of infectious.

"So what do you do outside of football?"

"Nothing really."

Sydney's grin widens. "Don't worry. We'll find something."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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forthebrokenheartedthings · 6 days ago

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Everything Left Unsaid (One Shot)

Summary: You’ve been Bucky’s best friend for five years. His partner. His safe place. He’s never told you he’s in love with you. Then you start dating someone else—someone who doesn’t know you, not really. Bucky says nothing. Until a double date turns into a breaking point. You follow him into the rain. And everything he’s held in? Comes out. It’s messy. It’s raw. It’s years of love, finally spoken. And once the damn breaks, there’s no going back.

TW: Emotional Manipulation (Not Bucky), Gaslighting, Explicit sex scene, Bucky Barnes

AN 💌 I hope you love them as much as I loved writing them.

WC: 7900 +

The double doors to the kitchen hiss open as you and Bucky walk in, still shaking off the rain and smoke from a botched infiltration in Midtown. You peel off your damp jacket, fingers stained from the warehouse’s scorched remnants, and glance over your shoulder at him.

"You," you start, stabbing a finger toward his chest, "are not allowed to say ‘trust me’ ever again."

"I was right," Bucky grumbles, tugging off his gloves, "you just didn’t listen fast enough."

"Fast enough? I was too busy saving your titanium ass from getting cooked by a flamethrower because someone thought it was a decoy unit."

He scoffs, heading toward the counter where a box of donuts sits open. "You’re still mad I beat you to the file."

"No, I’m mad you tripped the silent alarm and then smiled about it like it was some clever prank." You pluck a powdered donut from the box and toss it underhand. It hits him square in the shoulder. "Dick."

He catches it midair without looking and mouths the word, thanks with a smirk.

You both freeze when a voice cuts through the room.

"You two married yet, or is this just your elaborate foreplay?"

Sam's leaning against the fridge with a coffee mug in hand, grinning like the devil. Steve’s next to him, visibly amused. Tony swivels on a barstool with exaggerated interest.

"Oh, this should be good," Tony says. "What’s the over-under on when Barnes admits he’s fully domesticated?"

Bucky doesn’t even blink. "I’ll admit it when you admit your AI's smarter than you."

Tony gasps. "You wound me, Winter Barbie."

You roll your eyes and step between them, half-leaning into Bucky like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Don’t listen to them. I still like you, metal gremlin."

You tilt your face up and press a light kiss to his cheek.

It’s quick. Familiar. Thoughtless—except not really. It lands just at the edge of his stubble, and the moment your lips brush skin, he goes still. Not stiff. Just still.

The room goes a little quieter.

Bucky's eyes flick toward you, unreadable. Then he clears his throat, shrugs, and mutters, "You’ve got powdered sugar on your mouth."

You smirk, swipe it off with your thumb, and pop it in your mouth. "Sweet. Like me."

Steve mutters something that sounds like "God help me," and leaves the room.

Tony leans in, stage-whispering, "So when’s the wedding? Can I be flower girl? I throw excellent glitter."

Sam drains his coffee with a sigh. "I’m giving it two months before they make us all regret having ears."

You laugh and elbow Bucky lightly. He just watches you for a beat too long, donut forgotten in his hand.

When you step away to grab a drink from the fridge, he stays still, staring at the floor like it’s saying something only he can hear.

Then quietly, like a prayer to himself, he says, "Yeah. Sweet like you."

Bucky’s still standing where you left him, powdered donut in one hand, staring at nothing in particular, when Tony’s voice slices in again.

"Barnes," Tony says, circling him like a shark that smells emotional repression, "I’ve seen cinderblocks with more facial range. Except, you know—" he gestures toward you, bent over in the fridge, "—when she’s in the room."

You snort, still bent over the fridge door. "You stalking his face now, Stark?"

"Oh, I take notes," Tony says. "Weirdest thing—he only smiles like a real person when you're around. It’s like watching a grizzly bear try yoga. Strange. Slightly dangerous. Beautiful in a tragic, masculine way."

Bucky finally turns toward him. "Don’t you have a board meeting to ignore?"

Tony grins. "Rescheduled. I’ve got better things to watch."

You shut the fridge, twist the cap off your drink, and walk back toward them like you’re rounding home base. "Can we give the man a break? You’re gonna scare off the only person here who’ll kill spiders for me."

"He’s not going anywhere," Sam mutters, now sifting through the box of donuts. "He’s been stuck to you like duct tape for five years."

You step up to Bucky and bump your shoulder into his lightly. "Ignore them," you say, voice low enough for only him to hear. Then you reach up, tousle his hair deliberately—which earns you the glare he usually reserves for terrorists. "Besides, I like you better when you’re not smiling for anyone else."

The color hits his cheeks like it’s on a timer.

Tony makes an exaggerated gagging noise. "This is worse than the Nat/Bruce thing. At least they were subtle."

"They weren’t," Steve calls from the hallway.

You look up at Bucky and grin. He’s staring straight ahead like someone just hit pause on his processor. You reach out, tap the center of his chest with two fingers. "Say you’re fine without blushing. Go on."

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Glares. "Eat your donut."

You wink and turn away, pleased.

Behind you, Tony whispers to Sam, "He’s doomed."

Sam shakes his head slowly. "He’s been doomed."

Four months ago – Atlantic City, 3 a.m.

It was raining the way movies overdo it—thick sheets, warm and relentless, soaking you to the skin in seconds. You and Bucky ducked into the only open storefront on the boardwalk, leaving a muddy trail behind you, both of you covered in bruises, minor cuts, and what you really hoped was your own blood.

It was a gift shop.

A truly heinous one. Blinding fluorescent lights, shelves of seashell snowglobes, and racks upon racks of T-shirts so ugly they bordered on criminal.

You looked at him. He looked at you. You both burst out laughing.

"We’re going to die of tetanus in a store that sells foam sharks," he muttered, flexing his shoulder with a wince.

You pulled your shirt away from your body. "Okay, yeah, we can’t go back to the quinjet dripping in blood and Jersey swamp water. New rule. We wear the shame."

Bucky squinted at a rack. "You’re joking."

You grabbed a shirt off the top and held it up to his chest. Bright yellow. Giant cartoon lobster. Text: 'HOT & CLAW-FUL.'

He raised one eyebrow. "This is a war crime."

"Agreed," you grinned. "So let’s match."

"You’re out of your mind."

"C’mon, Barnes." You leaned in, eyes shining with pure chaos. "It’ll be our thing. Battle trauma and bad taste."

He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say no.

Ten minutes later, you emerged from the dressing room wearing a mint-green monstrosity that read ‘I’M WITH STUPID’ — arrow pointing sideways. He followed behind you in the accompanying ‘HAPPY WIFE, HAPPY LIFE’ tee.

You turned to look at him and nearly choked.

"You—oh my God—Bucky, you look like someone dared a hitman to do improv."

He stared at you deadpan for a full beat. Then his mouth twitched.

Then—actual laughter. Real laughter. Loud and short and startled, like he couldn’t stop it if he tried.

It was the first time you’d heard it. Not a dry chuckle. Not a huff of breath. A real, gut-level sound. And when it finally ran out, he looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

"We do look cute," he mumbled, voice low.

You blinked. "What?"

He cleared his throat immediately. "Said we—uh—look like idiots."

You didn’t call him on it. But you never forgot it.

Later that night, you’re curled into one corner of the main rec room couch, hoodie oversized and fuzzy socks tucked beneath you. The lights are dimmed, just the flicker of the TV lighting the room. A few other team members had been in and out—Sam passed through muttering about weather anxiety—but now it’s mostly quiet.

On screen: cows flying across a storm-ripped highway. You’ve got Twister playing for the ninth time this year.

Bucky sits beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other idly holding a bowl of popcorn you keep stealing from. He's already tossed you one "you know what happens, why are you this excited" look tonight, and you met it with a smug, popcorn-filled grin.

You don't explain it to him anymore. You don’t need to.

"Favorite part’s coming," you murmur, already sliding a bit closer to him.

He huffs through his nose. "The cow?"

You gasp, mock-offended. "The tornado science! The tension! The cow is an emotional metaphor."

"You just like yelling ‘DEBRIS!’ with her."

You don’t deny it.

As the wind howls on screen and chaos unfolds, your head slips sideways, resting softly against his shoulder. He goes still—briefly—but doesn’t shift away. You scoot just slightly closer, like it’s muscle memory.

Eventually, your breathing slows, your grip on the popcorn bowl loosens, and your body melts comfortably against his side.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe too loud. Just stares at the screen while the storm rages and the wind howls and your hand is resting against his ribs like it belongs there.

He watches you more than the movie.

You don’t stir when he gently adjusts the blanket over your legs or when his fingers brush a strand of hair from your cheek.

You definitely don’t hear him whisper, voice barely above the sound of the screen:

"Yeah. ’Course you did."

He stays still long after the movie ends.

Bucky’s already pacing in the training room when you stroll in fifteen minutes late, two coffee cups balanced in one hand and zero remorse in your eyes.

He turns the moment he hears the door. "You’re late."

You hold up the coffee like a peace offering. "I’m also generous."

He narrows his eyes at the cup, snatches it from your hand. "You always think a bribe excuses you."

"Bribe?" You twist off your jacket and toss it aside. "Please. That’s a custom-ordered, double shot espresso with two pumps of hazelnut and exactly three ice cubes. That’s a love letter."

He sips it. Says nothing.

Smirks, faint and involuntary.

You stretch your arms overhead. "What are we doing today? Grappling? Disarm drills? Or are you gonna try to sweep the leg again like you’re a Cobra Kai dropout?"

He sets his coffee on the ledge and cracks his knuckles. "Let’s find out."

Ten minutes later, you’re both sweaty, breathing hard, and circling each other on the mat.

You fake left. He counters. You duck under his arm, sweep his leg—and this time, he goes down.

You land on top of him with a triumphant thud, both of you laughing, breathless.

"Pinned," you grin, straddling his waist, hands on his chest. "Finally."

"You cheated."

"Did not."

"You smiled like you were gonna flirt, and then took my knees out."

"It worked, didn’t it?"

He huffs a laugh, head thunking against the mat. "You’re evil."

You’re still there, poised above him, your hands pressed to the warm fabric of his shirt, when the door opens.

Sam steps in, freezes, then slowly backs up. "I’ll come back when it’s not weirdly sexual."

You don’t move.

Neither does Bucky.

Sam’s gone again before either of you says a word.

You burst out laughing. "God, his timing is perfect."

Bucky mutters, "He does it on purpose."

You stay there a second longer than necessary. Just looking at him. Just breathing the same air.

Then you push up to your feet and offer him a hand. "C’mon, lover boy. Lunch duty calls."

He rolls his eyes, but takes your hand.

"You’re gonna slice off your thumb."

"I’ve had this arm for seventy years. I think I’ve got it."

You lean in, watching Bucky hack at a red bell pepper. "You’re murdering that thing. That’s not chopping. That’s vengeance."

"Could’ve just done this yourself," he grumbles.

You grin, reaching for the cutting board. "Where’s the fun in that?"

The two of you are elbows-deep in a chaotic lunch prep. Something vaguely Italian, something involving way too many ingredients, and a playlist you keep switching every time he tries to play anything post-1945.

You reach over, flick a bit of water at him from the sink.

He turns slowly. "You’re gonna regret that."

You flick again. This time, straight at his face.

"You’re done."

You yelp and duck as he grabs a wet dish towel and whips it toward your hip. It hits with a satisfying snap. You retaliate by lobbing a handful of flour at him. It explodes against his chest like a smoke bomb.

The kitchen fills with chaos and laughter. He grabs for you, you dodge, and it turns into a slapstick chase around the island.

Steve walks in mid-sprint, takes one look at the flour cloud, the abandoned bell peppers, the absolute mess of you two—and just sighs.

"Nope."

He backs out the door without another word.

You lean against the counter, breathless, flour in your hair, laughing uncontrollably. Bucky’s grinning too, cheeks pink, shirt a disaster.

"You’re a menace," he says, brushing a streak of flour off your jaw with his thumb.

"And you’re terrible with knives."

He flicks your forehead, gentle. "Shut up."

You bump his hip. "Make me."

He doesn’t.

Instead, he goes back to dicing the pepper—still terribly—and you stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder, like there’s nowhere else in the world either of you is supposed to be.

The hallway is quiet, the low hum of the compound’s overhead lights the only sound as you drift toward the residential wing. You don’t even think about it—you just walk to Bucky’s door and push it open without knocking.

He’s inside, barefoot, freshly showered, pulling a shirt over his head.

"You ever heard of knocking?" he asks, not looking up.

"You ever heard of locking the door?"

He shakes his head, faint smile tugging at his mouth. "You want something?"

"Somewhere to land," you say, already walking past him.

You collapse onto his bed like it’s your own, grabbing one of his pillows and hugging it to your chest. It smells like him—soap, leather, that slightly metal tang that never really fades.

He grabs the book from his desk, sits on the edge of the mattress. "You know you’ve got your own room, right?"

"It’s cold. And lonely. And doesn’t come with built-in bedtime stories."

He raises an eyebrow. "You want me to read to you?"

You stretch out, head resting against the center of his chest now, hand curled near his ribs. "You’re halfway through something," you say, pointing at the worn paperback on the nightstand. "C’mon. Make it dramatic."

He sighs. "You’re gonna fall asleep in three pages."

"I will if you’re boring."

He flips the book open with a shake of his head, leans back against the headboard, and starts to read.

His voice is low. Steady. Not trying to perform—just giving the words shape.

You listen for a while, eyes drifting shut. Every now and then he shifts, ever so slightly, adjusting to cradle you better without waking you. His metal arm rests against your back. His other hand drifts to your hair, fingers brushing through it like it’s instinct.

Ten minutes in, your breathing changes. Slows.

He keeps reading anyway.

In the hallway, Sam passes by. He pauses just outside the half-closed door. Takes in the image: you fast asleep against Bucky’s chest, his hand in your hair, his voice soft even now.

Sam doesn’t knock. Doesn’t tease.

He just smiles. A small, quiet thing. Then he keeps walking.

Back in the room, Bucky’s voice trails off as he realizes you’re gone to the world.

He marks the page. Sets the book aside.

And stays there with you for a long time.

The city sprawls out beneath the compound’s west balcony, all golden haze and soft street noise. It’s late—later than you intended to be awake—but you and Bucky sit shoulder to shoulder in the cool night air, nursing slow drinks and slower conversation.

You’re both in T-shirts and sweatpants. His sleeves are pushed up. Your hair’s still mussed from sleep. Neither of you has mentioned it.

You steal his phone while he’s mid-sip.

"Hey—"

"You’ve got, like, three playlists labeled Workout and one labeled Stuff She Likes?" you grin, scrolling. "What is this, Barnes? Sentiment?"

He lunges half-heartedly for the phone. "That’s private."

"Mmhm." You scroll again, smirking. "Fleetwood Mac? Hozier? Lana Del Rey?"

He mutters into his glass, "You said you liked that song once."

"That was six months ago."

He shrugs, staring out at the skyline. "It’s a good song."

You press play.

The soft thrum of guitar filters through the balcony speakers. You settle deeper into your chair, stealing a glance at him. He doesn’t look at you, but his fingers tap lightly against the glass in his hand, like he knows the rhythm.

"Bucky," you say quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You ever make a playlist of stuff you like?"

He pauses.

Then: "Yeah."

You tilt your head. "Where is it?"

He finally turns to look at you, eyes unreadable in the dark.

"You’re listening to it."

You don’t say anything.

Just sit there a little closer than you were five minutes ago. Listening to music you forgot you loved, playing from a phone you didn’t know he guarded like a secret.

And beside you, Bucky doesn’t say another word.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the compound’s training deck. You and Sam lean against the railing near the edge, both sipping electrolyte drinks like you’ve earned them—because you have. The sparring session was brutal. You’re still sweating.

"You really gonna pretend that wasn’t a low blow?" you ask, nudging him with your shoulder.

Sam smirks. "I don’t fight fair against people who fight like gremlins."

You snort. "You’ve been hanging out with Bucky too long."

He gives you a look. "I could say the same."

You roll your eyes and lean back, letting the breeze cool your neck. The compound stretches out behind you. Beyond the railing, the tree line sways with wind. It’s quiet up here. Too quiet for what Sam’s clearly building up to.

"So," he says slowly, "you and Barnes…"

You groan. "Sam—"

He holds up a hand. "I’m not starting shit. I’m just saying—five years, shared brain cell, matching battle bruises. It’s impressive how long you’ve both managed to not get together."

"We’re friends."

"Uh-huh."

"We are."

"Sure. And I just coincidentally saw him reading to you while you drooled on his chest the other night."

You flush. "Shut up."

Sam shrugs, then goes quiet for a few beats.

You both watch the trees for a while.

Then you say it, soft and thoughtless. "He’s my person."

Sam turns to you. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Always has been."

He studies you. "Then why do you sound sad when you say that?"

You blink.

And it hits you a second too late—how true it is. That slight ache behind your words. Like you know something’s there, but you won’t let yourself name it.

You look away. "I don’t."

Sam doesn’t argue.

He just takes a slow sip of his drink and says, "Okay."

You both stand there a while longer, letting the wind speak for you.

The compound’s garage is quiet, save for the low whirr of a torque wrench and the hum of old rock bleeding from a dusty speaker on the counter.

Bucky’s crouched beside one of the team’s motorcycles, sleeves rolled, fingers smudged with grease. His metal hand adjusts a bolt like it’s second nature—smooth, practiced, something that doesn’t require thinking. Which is exactly why he’s doing it.

He doesn’t hear Steve come in. Just senses him. The shift in the air. That familiar presence.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks around the bike, nodding once like he’s inspecting Bucky’s work. Then leans a hip against the nearby workbench.

A beat.

Then: "You ever gonna tell her?"

Bucky doesn’t look up. "Tell who what?"

"You know who. You know what."

He exhales through his nose, grabs a rag, wipes his hands like it gives him something to do. "It’s not like that."

Steve crosses his arms. "It’s exactly like that."

"She’s my friend."

"She’s your girl."

Bucky goes quiet.

The wrench gets set down. Carefully. Deliberately.

Then he says it, like the words taste like blood: "She’s everything I never thought I’d get."

Steve doesn’t interrupt.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, grease streaking his temple. "That’s why I can’t touch it. You know what happens when I touch things I care about."

Steve’s voice softens. "She’s not a bomb, Buck."

"No," Bucky says, low. "She’s a home. And I’ve never had one that didn’t burn down."

Steve just watches him for a second, something flickering in his eyes—sadness, maybe. Recognition.

Then, gently: "She already knows. Maybe not the way you think. But she knows."

Bucky doesn’t answer.

He just sits back on his heels, eyes distant, grease-smudged fingers curled into fists.

The table is small, scratched from years of card games and caffeine rings. You’re both barefoot, knees knocking under the surface every few hands, too lazy to adjust anymore.

Bucky shuffles with one hand, elegant and smooth. You tease him every time he does it. He never stops.

"You cheating again?" you ask, watching him deal.

"I’m just better at this than you."

"That’s rich coming from a man who thinks three of a kind beats a straight."

"That happened once."

"Three times."

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

You lean back in your chair, pretending to study your hand. "Y’know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you let me win."

"I do. Every time."

You glance up, surprised to find his gaze already on you.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

You swallow, set your cards down slowly. "You’re not as slick as you think you are, Barnes."

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you. Like he’s waiting for something.

And for a second—just a second—you lean forward.

It’s instinct. Half of one. But you catch yourself. You don’t pull back fast, just… stall. Hovering in a space that wasn’t supposed to exist between you.

His breath shifts. Yours catches.

Then you blink, smile like it was a joke, and drop your cards on the table.

"Draw," you say.

Bucky looks down at the cards.

Then back at you.

He doesn’t smile again after that.

Not even when you flick a joker at his forehead on your way out of the room.

It starts like nothing.

You come into the kitchen late one morning, hair damp from a quick shower, grabbing a banana and muttering about being late. Bucky’s sitting at the counter, sipping coffee, flipping a pen between his fingers.

You kiss his cheek without thinking—something you’ve done a hundred times—and open the fridge.

"I met someone," you say casually, like you’re announcing a weather update. "Yesterday. At that weird coffee place near Bryant Park."

Bucky’s pen stops spinning.

"Oh?" he says.

You’re rummaging through the shelves. "Yeah. We started talking about books. He bought me an extra lemon bar ‘cause the guy at the counter thought I was with him anyway. Whole thing was kinda funny."

"What’s his name?" Bucky asks, too evenly.

"Ethan." You pop a grape into your mouth. "Don’t know if it’ll go anywhere. He seems cool though. Tall. Real smooth."

You grin. You don’t see how Bucky’s fingers tighten around his coffee cup.

You don’t notice the pause before he says, "Huh. Smooth."

Then you start canceling.

You skip movie night. "Ethan got tickets to something last minute," you text.

You bail on your Thursday spar. "I’ll make it up to you," you promise.

You don’t.

The next week, you miss a team dinner. Don’t even text first this time.

Bucky shows up anyway. Sits in his usual seat. Orders your usual drink. Doesn’t say anything when it sits untouched.

When Sam asks, "She coming?" Bucky just shakes his head.

Later, when Steve mentions he hasn’t seen you in a few days, Bucky shrugs. "She’s probably just busy."

"Busy," Steve echoes. But his tone isn’t casual.

Bucky stops texting you at night. Stops sending you those dumb memes you always liked. He starts showing up early to meetings. Sits further from you in briefings. Doesn’t make a thing of it.

But every time someone says your name in a room and you’re not there?

He flinches.

It’s supposed to be nothing.

Just a casual night—team pizza and bad TV, no agenda, no pressure. Bucky’s in the rec room with Sam and Steve, half-watching something with car crashes and questionable dialogue. He hasn’t asked about you.

He’s learned not to.

But when the door opens and you walk in, his head turns automatically.

And then he sees him.

Ethan’s got his hand resting casually on the small of your back. He’s laughing at something you just said. You’re holding a pizza box like a peace offering. Your eyes scan the room like this is normal.

Like this doesn’t matter.

"Hey," you say, smiling. "Hope you saved us a seat."

Us.

You set the pizza on the table, then turn toward the couch. "This is Ethan."

The room stills.

Ethan nods, friendly and warm. "Nice to meet you guys. I’ve heard a lot about this crew."

He extends a hand to Steve, who shakes it with that polite but measured grip. Sam’s smile is tight. Tony—already half-exiting the room—pops his head back in and goes, "Oh, so this is the famous Ethan."

You chuckle. "I haven’t said that much."

And Bucky?

He says nothing.

He just watches.

You don’t notice how he doesn’t blink when Ethan drapes an arm across the back of your chair.

How his jaw clenches when Ethan makes a joke about how "she always gets competitive with movies—bet I’ll regret sitting next to her."

How every single person in that room—Sam, Steve, even Tony—glances toward Bucky with the kind of tension people usually save for explosives.

Because there is one in the room.

And it has Bucky Barnes’ face.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even shift when you lean into Ethan and laugh at something in his ear.

He just stares at the screen, expression flat.

Until the pizza box is opened and the first slice hits your plate.

Then—quietly—he stands and walks out.

No words.

No drama.

Just silence.

The kind that sounds exactly like a fuse burning out.

It’s the second time Ethan shows up at the compound that things start to fray.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for some kind of potluck Tony insisted on throwing. You’re talking—telling a story from a recent op, gesturing wildly, laughing.

"Wait," Ethan says, interrupting mid-sentence. "Didn’t you say it was your left leg you landed on?"

You pause. "No. It was the right."

He chuckles like it’s adorable. "You sure? Pretty sure you said left the first time."

You blink. "I’m… sure."

Bucky, across the room slicing bread, stops mid-cut.

Steve watches him. Closely.

You laugh it off. "Either way, I didn’t break anything. Just a solid bruise."

Ethan leans in like he’s sharing something private. "Well, maybe next time don’t try to be the hero."

He means it as a joke. Maybe.

You smile like it didn’t land wrong. "That’s kind of in the job description."

A little later, you hum something under your breath while stirring sauce.

Ethan leans beside you and murmurs, "You still listening to that moody stuff? Thought we were gonna get you into real music."

Bucky’s hand clenches.

"Real music?" you echo.

"Y’know, fun stuff. Not that downer guitar chick thing. What’s her name?"

You don’t answer.

You change the song. You always change the song.

Later, at the table, you reach for seconds.

Ethan puts a hand gently over yours. "Babe," he says under his breath, "we’re trying to be good this week, remember?"

You smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

Across the table, Bucky is silent. His food’s untouched. His eyes are on you.

Sam clears his throat, loudly.

Ethan doesn’t notice.

You do.

You say nothing.

When it’s over, Ethan goes to say goodbye, hand brushing down your spine like punctuation.

You stay behind to clean up.

Bucky’s already stacking plates. Quiet. Focused.

"Don’t," you say softly.

He pauses. "Don’t what?"

"Whatever that look is. Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything."

"That’s worse."

He looks at you then, really looks.

"I’m not mad at you," he says quietly. "I’m mad at myself."

You don’t ask what he means.

You don’t want to hear it.

You just take the plates from his hands and start rinsing.

And he watches you like he’s watching something walk out of a burning building.

Sam’s door creaks open slowly, and before he even looks up from tying his laces, he mutters, "You better be bleeding."

Bucky steps in. Closes the door behind him.

His voice is too calm. That’s how Sam knows it’s bad.

"I’m going to kill him."

Sam exhales slowly. "Which him are we talking about?"

Bucky just stares.

"Cool," Sam says. "So, Ethan then."

There’s a long silence. Bucky doesn’t pace. Doesn’t explode. Just stands there, fists flexing and relaxing like a heartbeat.

"He talks over her," Bucky says finally. "Like she’s an inconvenience to his story."

Sam nods once.

"Corrects her. Tells her what to eat. What music to like. And she just—she laughs it off. Like it’s fine."

"She does that," Sam says quietly.

Bucky swallows hard. His voice drops. "She used to play that music in my room. Every damn night."

Sam looks up.

"She doesn’t even put it on anymore. She changes it when he’s around." Bucky’s voice cracks like it wants to be angry but can’t get past broken. "He’s rewiring her. Right in front of us."

Sam stands, walks over, and leans on the edge of his dresser. "You said anything to her?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to say?" Bucky snaps. "That I’ve been in love with her since the first time she called me out on my knife skills and didn’t flinch? That I let her fall asleep on me because it’s the closest thing I’ve had to peace in seventy years?"

He shakes his head, voice tightening.

"I see her smiling, but it’s not her. It’s smaller. Like she’s rationing it."

Sam doesn't move.

Bucky's jaw flexes. "If she ever asks me to sit across from him, pretend to play nice? I’ll say yes."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Even if it wrecks you?"

"She won’t be alone," Bucky says quietly. "Not with him."

Sam watches him a long moment, then nods once. "Alright. Let me know when the curtain goes up."

The rec room is warm and low-lit, late afternoon sun spilling in gold through the windows. You lean against the back of the couch, half-watching a movie with Sam while Bucky sits on the floor, elbows on his knees, aimlessly flipping a poker chip through his fingers.

You’ve been thinking about it all day.

Trying to make it feel casual. Simple. Like it’s just logistics.

"So," you start, tone light, "Ethan and I are doing dinner Friday. Thought it might be fun to make it a double."

The chip freezes in Bucky’s hand.

Sam turns his head so slowly it’s almost comical.

You keep your voice breezy. "I figured we could try mixing groups a little, you know? He’s met most of the team now. Might be good to—blend worlds."

You glance at Bucky, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his face. Just for a second.

Then it’s gone.

"Sure," he says.

Just that. Simple. Too fast.

You blink. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Why not."

Sam says nothing, but his eyes are screaming. You can feel them boring through the back of your skull.

You cross your arms. "Bring someone, obviously. No pressure. Sam probably knows someone who can tolerate you for two hours."

Bucky smirks faintly, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. "I’ll ask around."

Sam leans forward, setting his drink down slowly. "This sounds like a terrible idea," he says, voice dry as the Mojave.

You shoot him a look. "I’m not asking you to come, Wilson."

"Not for me," he mutters. "For him."

Bucky doesn’t flinch.

You catch the edge in Sam’s tone but choose not to push. "It’s just dinner."

"No such thing," Sam mutters.

Bucky stands, tossing the poker chip back onto the coffee table with a soft clack. "Let me know where."

And then he walks out.

Not dramatically.

Just gone.

You stare after him, mouth slightly open.

Sam exhales, pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You two are gonna kill each other," he mutters. "And I’m gonna have to officiate the damn funeral."

The restaurant is one of those modern, steel-and-glass places with a name you can’t pronounce and candles that smell like irony. You’re seated already, laughing at something Ethan just said, one hand wrapped around your glass, the other brushing the edge of the linen tablecloth. You keep checking the door.

Then Bucky walks in.

He’s in black—black button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearm, jacket slung over his shoulder. His hair’s tied back. He’s not smiling.

He’s not looking at you.

A woman walks beside him—tall, pretty, confident in that effortless New York way. Sam’s friend, you remember vaguely. She's polite. Friendly. She greets you with warmth.

Bucky just nods.

You don’t know where to put your hands.

Ethan stands and shakes Bucky’s hand, too firm, too performative. “Glad you could make it, man.”

“Sure,” Bucky says, tone unreadable.

You feel the shift immediately.

The way his eyes flick to your glass when Ethan refills it for you without asking. The way he doesn’t sit until his date is settled. The way he keeps his hands folded in his lap, like he’s bracing for something.

You’re all pretending to be normal.

Ethan is telling some story about a board meeting. Bucky’s date listens politely. You laugh when you’re supposed to.

Bucky doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t speak much, either.

When he does, it’s short. Clipped. Measured.

Ethan orders the second bottle of wine before you finish your first.

Bucky glances at the label. Doesn’t say a word.

And then the waiter comes back.

Menu in hand.

Pen poised.

And Ethan speaks first.

The waiter barely finishes asking before Ethan’s voice cuts in, confident and smooth.

“She’ll have the halibut,” he says, flashing a smile. “No sauce. Sub greens for the fries.”

Your mouth opens. Not wide. Just enough.

Like your body can’t decide whether to protest or laugh it off.

You glance at him.

Ethan doesn’t look back.

Just says softly—soft enough that only you and Bucky can hear— “Don’t make me remind you again.”

It’s casual. Gentle, even. Except it’s not.

You go quiet.

And Bucky—

—stops breathing.

His fork doesn’t move. His shoulders don’t shift. His eyes stay locked on the tablecloth like it just declared war.

The woman next to him, his date, senses it. Her eyes flick between you and him. Something passes across her face—uncertainty, maybe. Or pity.

The silence is a heartbeat too long.

Then Bucky stands.

Not abruptly. Not loudly.

He just folds his napkin. Sets it beside his plate. Pushes his chair back with surgical quiet.

“I’ll be outside.”

You blink. “What? Buck—”

He’s already walking.

His date glances at you, at the table, then quietly reaches for her purse. “I think I’ll call it too.”

You offer to order her a car.

She smiles faintly. “He already did. Said he doesn't do rideshare apps. Too ‘traceable.’” She says it like it’s a joke. But her eyes linger on the door.

And then she’s gone too.

You sit there with Ethan’s hand on your knee and your heart somewhere in the sidewalk outside.

You stand slowly.

Ethan doesn’t even look up from his phone at first.

Then, casually, “Where are you going?”

You pause. “Out.”

He finally looks at you. His mouth twitches—half-smile, half-warning. “We haven’t even ordered dessert.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you were.”

You blink at him. “Ethan—”

He sets his phone down, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Don’t make this a thing. It’s been a nice night.”

Your stomach twists.

You don’t answer. You just grab your coat and move for the door.

Behind you: “Seriously? You’re just walking out?”

You don’t turn around.

You push through the restaurant doors—

—and the rain hits you like a wall.

Hard. Cold. Real.

And there he is.

Bucky.

He doesn't speak at first.

You stand there, rain soaking through your dress, breath uneven, watching the way his fingers clench and unclench like they’re trying to hold something in that doesn’t want to be kept.

His jaw flexes.

And then he laughs.

It’s bitter. Hollow. It dies before it even gets out of his throat.

“I told myself I could handle it,” he says. Voice low. Rough. “Told myself I could watch it happen. You and him.”

You don’t move.

“But then I saw the way he looked at you in there.” He gestures behind him, toward the glowing restaurant windows. “Like you’re something to manage. Like you’re furniture. Background noise.”

“Bucky—”

“You haven’t smiled in weeks,” he says, and it’s a knife. “Not really. Not the way you used to. Not the way you did when it was just us.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“And you—” he points at you now, soaked, shaking. “You changed your music. Your food. You stopped showing up.”

“Things are just—”

“No,” he snaps. “Don’t give me that. You disappeared. One day you were there—laughing at my cooking, stealing my hoodies, falling asleep with your head on my chest—and then you were gone. Like none of it mattered.”

You swallow hard. “You never said it mattered.”

His expression cracks.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months—he lets you see all of it.

“I didn’t think I could,” he whispers. “I didn’t think I was allowed.”

The rain keeps falling, soaking both of you straight through, but neither of you moves.

You can hear it in your chest—his breathing. Too fast. Too shallow.

“I’m in love with you,” Bucky says.

Just like that.

No hesitation.

His voice breaks like it hurts to say it—but he says it anyway.

“I have been,” he continues. “Since long before I even knew what to do with it.”

You’re frozen.

He doesn’t look away. “I didn’t tell you because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin us. And maybe I already did. Maybe I waited too long. But I can’t—” his hand gestures, desperate, “—I can’t stand by and watch someone like him shrink you.”

“I didn’t see it,” you whisper.

“Yes, you did.” His voice is gentler now. “But you didn’t want to.”

Silence.

Rain dripping from your lashes.

And then:

“I don’t expect anything,” he says quietly. “I just needed you to know.”

You step forward.

One step.

Then another.

And before he can say another word, your hands are in his hair, his name falling off your lips, and you kiss him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like your body just remembered what home feels like.

He doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around your waist, lift you up like instinct. You gasp against his mouth as your feet leave the ground, your fingers knotting tighter into his hair. The kiss breaks only for breath—just enough for you to whisper, “You idiot.”

Then your mouth is on his again.

There’s nothing soft about it.

It’s wild and soaked and years in the making.

And when he finally sets you down, forehead pressed to yours, both of you gasping—

Neither of you lets go.

The compound door clicks open, rain dripping in behind you, and Bucky barely waits for it to shut before you’re against the wall, his mouth on your neck.

You’re soaked—your dress clinging, his shirt plastered to his chest, both of you shaking from more than just the cold.

Your hands are in his hair again. You never even remember putting them back there. His fingers press into your hips like he still can’t believe you’re real.

Then you hear it.

"Uh—"

You freeze mid-kiss.

Bucky’s lips stay against your jaw for a beat longer before he pulls back, breathless.

You both turn.

Steve’s standing in the kitchen, holding a dish towel and looking every bit like someone who just walked in on a private movie. He covers his eyes with it, half-laughing, half-mortified.

"Oh my god," he mutters. "Finally. But also—Jesus."

To his left, Tony stands with a drink in one hand and a deeply amused expression.

He slow claps.

"No notes," he says. "Excellent execution. Loved the intensity. Real Nicholas Sparks climax."

Sam is silent.

Just staring.

Mouth open. Processing. Concerned.

"Y’all good?" he finally says. "Do we need to… call someone? Light a candle? I don’t know what protocol is here."

Bucky’s hand never leaves your hip.

Yours never leaves his hair.

You just smile.

"Goodnight, boys," you say sweetly, walking backward toward the hallway with Bucky close behind, his hand firmly guiding you like he’s not planning on letting go for a second.

Tony raises his glass.

Steve laughs and shakes his head.

And then you’re gone.

The door clicks closed behind you with more force than either of you intended, and suddenly there is only darkness, only the sound of your breaths and rain still dripping somewhere behind the walls. You’re tangled, desperate, skin slick.

Bucky’s mouth crashes into yours, teeth grazing, tongue urgent and claiming. His hands grip your thighs, lift you, and instinct drives you right back onto him—legs wrapping tight around his waist, pressing him closer. You're standing, but it’s like you're weightless, tethered to him.

You yank at his hair—long strands plucked free from the rainy night—fingers curling into his scalp. He groans, deep and ripping between your lips, breath rough and broken. One metal hand slides under your dress, fingertips searing over bare flesh. You gasp around a moan, head lolling back.

He lowers you to the bed with godlike care for the beast he’s just unleashed. His hands splay across your ribs, memorizing the slow-thumping beat beneath his fingers. His lips kiss down your spine, biting and worshipful both. You feel every thread of fabric around you vanish.

Your hands go straight to his belt. You undo it with swift impatience. He stops you, thumbs catching the hem of your dress, pulling it higher before lifting you so he can slip it off your hips.

Your skin shows first to each other in the soft glow of the bedside lamp—your bodies illuminated in real, flesh-and-blood detail. No choreography. Just hunger.

He parts your thighs, lips hovering near your core. A soft exhale, a whispered, "Mine." Then he’s kissing you —tongue sliding, exploring, teasing, tasting. You cry out, and your nails dig into his shoulder, leaving crescent marks he’ll wear proudly. His fingers slip inside you—gentle at first, then curl and stretch.

You feel him stop, pull away, and just when you panic, his metal hand cradles your cheek. He kisses you again, slower now, his voice husky, "I’ve wanted this for so long."

Your breath hitches. He moves, sliding inside you in one powerful thrust. You gasp, arching your back.

He moves slowly, then faster—hands in your hair, one arm around your back, holding you close as your bodies collide. The bed creaks. Your moans fill the space between words. He buries his face in your neck, chasing scent and solace.

Your legs tighten around him. "Yes," you whisper. "God, yes."

He steadies you, thrusts deep—slow, fucking deep—then draws away only to come back with everything he’s held in for months… years. You shudder, chest trembling, nails scoring his back.

"Don’t stop," you breathe. It’s more plea than command. He answers with more fierce persistence.

Something loose and fragile inside you snaps—you come apart on him, gasping in his arms. He groans low—fucking groans—and follows after, teeth clenching, whole body flooding before collapsing across yours.

The world stops.

You collapse together, chests rising, bodies sticky and slick, internal storms quieted at last by each other's touch. He buries his face in your hair, kisses your forehead in tiny, reverent gestures.

You run your fingers over every ridge of his arms, thighs, chest—like you're sealing yourself in forever.

After a long moment, you say, "Finally."

He lifts his head, voice soft with awe. "Yeah."

And with no sense of hurry, you drift into sleep together—entwined, at peace, at home.

It’s warm.

Not just the blankets. Not just the air thick with sunrise.

But him.

He’s behind you, arm slung low around your waist, chest pressed to your back, breath feathering slow and even against your shoulder. Your bodies are still tangled, your legs looped around his like you never learned how to sleep apart.

You don’t want to move.

But you do—slowly, carefully, just enough to turn and face him.

His eyes open the second you do.

Not groggy.

Not startled.

Just soft.

You blink up at him. "Been awake?"

He nods, barely.

"How long?"

"Long enough to not want it to end."

You smile, cheek pressed into his pillow. "That’s disgustingly sweet."

He shrugs, metal hand smoothing down your spine. "You bring it out in me. Don’t spread that around."

"Your secret’s safe." You shift, dragging your hand across his ribs, over the faded scars and firm muscle. "For now."

Bucky leans in, kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then just hovers there—like he wants to keep kissing you but he doesn’t want to break the moment.

You kiss him instead.

Slow. Lazy. Morning-sweet.

Then you stretch. "Shower?"

He raises a brow. "Together?"

You grin. "You really asking that?"

He laughs, full-bodied and happy. "God, I love you."

He freezes.

You freeze.

Neither of you speaks for a long second.

Then he clears his throat. "I mean—I didn’t mean—"

You cut him off with another kiss.

"You did."

He exhales, eyes wide.

You kiss him again. "I love you too."

His arms wrap around you tighter like he’s afraid someone’s going to pull you away.

You stay there for a while longer.

Because there’s no rush now.

There’s everything.

The kitchen is warm with sunlight and sarcasm. Steve’s already nursing a mug. Sam’s reading something on a tablet. Tony is, predictably, poking at a holographic spreadsheet he’ll abandon in five minutes.

You walk in barefoot.

Wearing Bucky’s shirt.

Nothing else.

Bucky follows a step behind, hair still damp, that same unreadable smugness barely hidden behind his yawn.

Sam’s the first to notice.

He glances up, squints, freezes.

Then chokes spectacularly on his coffee.

"Jesus," he wheezes.

Tony turns. Smiles.

Then full-on claps.

"Round two of the Barnes Redemption Arc," he says, grinning. "This one has considerably more nudity."

Steve doesn’t even pretend to be surprised.

He just lifts his mug and says, "Took you long enough."

You roll your eyes and walk straight to the coffee pot like this is any other morning.

Bucky follows, pulls down your favorite mug, pours for you. Like muscle memory.

Sam is still coughing. "I’m sorry, are we all just acting like this is normal now?"

Steve shrugs. "It was inevitable."

Tony raises a brow. "Inevitable and loud. The walls here are thin."

You sip your coffee calmly. "Then maybe don’t eavesdrop."

"I wasn’t the one narrating," Tony shoots back. "That was him."

Bucky, unbothered, sips his own mug. "Not sorry."

Sam just shakes his head, muttering into his hand, "This is some old-school enemies to lovers fanfic bullshit."

You lean into Bucky’s side, plant a kiss on his jaw in full view of everyone.

"I’m happy," you say simply.

He wraps his arm around your waist and murmurs back, "Me too."

Tony groans. "You’re gonna make me believe in love, and I hate that for me."

You kiss Bucky again.

Just to be sure it’s real.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #the winter soldier #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #the avengers

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grayskies2525 · 5 months ago

Text

Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion)

Just wanted to write something super self-indulgent with minimal plot.

CW: This fic includes detailed contagion! It’s gross and I spare no details — we’re talking snot strings and things of that nature. If you’re not into that, absolutely do NOT begin reading this or you’ll have a very unpleasant time. If you do, however, like contagion and messy sneezes, I hope you enjoy this 😊

Part one is just set up, but I plan to continue it with Evan spreading his germs everywhere (unintentionally).

Here are the links to all parts:

Part two Part Three Part Four

***

Part One

It’s a sneeze — a single sneeze. A simple bodily function. There’s nothing intrinsically bad about a sneeze.

These words run through Evan’s mind as he picks at his cuticle while his eyes dart to the man across from him. The elevator’s been stuck for several minutes already and there’s an unease settling in Evan’s stomach as he looks at this man. They’d walked on together, smiling awkwardly the way two strangers tend to do. Then the man had immediately snapped forward in an uncovered sneeze.

It’s probably allergies.

This is a rational thought to have, Evan thought. It is March. There’s definitely pollen in March. But then the elevator got stuck and the man started letting out chest rattling coughs.

So he’s definitely sick. But maybe he’s not contagious? It could just be a lingering illness — one of those that hang on for weeks but are no longer as easily transmissible to other people.

“I’m sor — heh — sorry — HHHH! I woke up with an awful c—hh heh! — cuuhhhh hh — cold. HH hh hhhhh HH! I’ve been sneezing all — heeh hehhhh — day,” the man says in a trembling voice before reaching up to rub his reddened, swollen nose. It makes a horribly audible squelching sound.

Evan reaches for strength somewhere deep within to will himself not to wince as he stares at the man. Evan has seen him around the college before, and is pretty sure he’s an instructor, though he doesn’t know the subject he teaches. He has dark skin, looks to be in his early-mid thirties and most notably — he’s tall; Evan would estimate him to be somewhere around 6’5. He has a nice build — muscles visible through his tight long sleeved shirt. His silver eyebrow piercing glints under the elevator’s dim lights. On any other day, Evan would find him to be attractive — exceptionally so. It’s clear, however, that Evan is not seeing this man at his best.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Evan says, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He would rather this guy didn’t talk — that he didn’t do anything that could result in more droplets entering the air they’re sharing. Can talking spread droplets? He imagines they probably can.

“I thought it was allergies yesterday, but I woke up today and I —” He breaks off coughing, holding a fist out weakly. Evan can hear the phlegm rattling around in the man’s chest, and again he has to suppress a wince.

“Sounds rough,” Evan says, giving a strained smile as he taps his fingers against his thigh. This elevator usually only stays stuck for a few minutes. He can last a few minutes without catching something off this man, surely. Maybe the germs from that first uncovered sneeze won't take.

“I probably shouldn’t have come in today,” the man says, shooting Evan a smile that would probably be charming if it weren’t for how tired it looks. “But I didn’t realize how bad this bug was going to be. I don’t think I’ve ever sneezed so much in my life,” he says, sniffling thickly. “And my nose is running non-stop. It’s a faucet. I’m not exaggerating —I’ve gone through an entire box of tissues already.”

With these words, Evan finds himself suddenly regretting his choice to go back to school for a second Bachelor’s. Yes, his creative writing degree has been practically useless for the six years he’s had it, and yes, he does want to pursue psychology and therefore needs to continue his education. But, right now, that all seems unimportant as he looks at the sniffling man, whose breaths are beginning to hitch again.

Maybe the sneezes are stuck? Like this damn elevator. Please, please, please stay stuck until I can get off this thing, he thinks to himself while digging his nails into his palm.

“I hate this elevator,” the man says, giving a nervous chuckle. Evan suppresses a groan as he realizes this man is clearly one of those people who are incapable of sitting —or in this case standing — in silence. “Breaks down almost every day. I don’t even know why I risk taking it, anymore,” he says, giving another thick, slurpy sniffle. By the way the man scrunches his nose and closes his eyes, Evan suspects the sniffle produced a particularly intense tickle.

“Yeah, I get stuck on it probably once a week,” Evan says, giving another strained smile.

“You’d think someone would do something about — heehhh —” The man trails off, his eyelids fluttering.

Evan can see the man’s glistening nostrils begin to flare.

“Do you — do you happen to have a ti — hih — tihih — tihiiiihhhissue?” the man asks, his voice shaking.

“A tissue? Sorry, wish I did, but no,” Evan says.

He truly does wish he had a tissue because this man’s going to sneeze. Not only is this man going to sneeze, it’s going to be a messy sneeze. Rarely does Evan know something with such certainty, but this is one of those times. This man’s sniffles aren’t the soft kind that can be taken care of with a soft blow. They’re desperate sniffles — the “holding back an entire tide of mucus” type.

It will be fine as long as this elevator starts up soon. He needs it to start back up soon, then he can walk off and go home and everything will be fine and —

“HhH—hHRGG’sschhHHHHEEW!!!”

Evan closes his eyes and holds his breath. He slowly opens his eyes, reluctant to see the inevitable aftermath of the absurdly loud and forceful sounding sneeze. Evan’s shoulders relax, though, as he sees the man lower his arm. He’d clearly managed to cover. There’s an obvious wet spot on the man’s sleeve, but still, it was contained. Evan lets himself breathe. That first, uncovered sneeze when they’d walked in must have been a fluke. This man is clearly polite and understands the value of keeping germs to himself.

Evan allows himself to smile sympathetically as he looks at the man and gives a polite “bless you.”

“Thanks,” the man says with another tired smile and thick sniffle. “Like I said — all day. I don’t think I’ve ever been sick like this. It’s just sneeze after sneeze. I’m sure my students must have been tired of blessing me. I can’t wait to just go home and sleep this thing off. If only this elevator would HH’REEHH’TSHOOO! HRR AHHHH-T’SHOOOO!”

Evan remembers seeing something on the news once about the amount of distance a sneeze can travel and how many droplets a single sneeze can potentially contain. It was something like 20 feet and thirty-thousand droplets. While this was distressing information, it hadn’t exactly been believable to Evan. People sneeze all the time. He sneezes everyday and it certainly doesn’t seem like sneezes can be that powerful. So, he’d frowned at the information, but ultimately moved on, mostly forgetting it.

This information now, however, crawls along back to the surface of Evan’s mind as the stranger blasts him with sneezes that can only be described as soaking wet.

They erupted from the man with absolutely no warning and through the harsh lighting of the elevator, Evan can nearly see each and every droplet — some fine, some large and clearly mixed with thick mucus. With only six feet between them — at best — Evan can now believe without any doubt that sneezes can, indeed, contain thirty-thousand droplets.

And he’s just been hit with two sneezes full of them — entirely unrestrained.

Evan wants to wipe himself off, but he doesn’t know how. Every exposed part of him has been doused in infectious spray — his neck, his hands, his face…. He decides he can at least wipe off his lips, so he finds a dry spot of his hand before bringing it up to his mouth.

The man’s head is still bent forward, which seems to be a poor decision because his nose is dripping terribly. Evan watches in something of a morbid type of fascination as the droplets hit the elevator floor before the stranger gives a thick sniff and looks back up at Evan.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his expression looking genuinely apologetic, though there’s also something about it that’s decidedly sneezy. His nostrils begin to flare again, but this time he brings a hand up before snapping forward.

“HrrRIIHHHGG’shuuuhhhh! HRR’EHHHTSHOOOO! IhhGT’SHOOOOO! MPFFX’TSHOOOO!”

Evan grimaces as the contents of the man’s nose pour out into the man’s hand in thick, visible strings. To the guy’s credit, he does try to contain it, but the sheer amount makes it impossible. He presses his hand firmly against his nose, but Evan can see moisture seeping through the cracks of his fingers. Evan is certain he's never come close to seeing someone lose control of the contents of their nose in such a dramatic way. Usually adults have a handle on containing the more unpleasant aspects head colds usually bring, but clearly this specific virus is a special case.

Evan averts his eyes because the situation is gross beyond description, but also, this must be the most mortifying moment of this stranger’s life and he doesn’t need someone staring at him.

Evan feels his own cheeks heat in embarrassment for the man.

Mostly, though, Evan is consumed by apprehension. There’s no possible way he can expect his body to fend off the innumerable germs that are surely trying to invade him right at this moment. Even if it could fight off some of them, there’s far too many to hope he can escape them all.

Evan is surprised to find a sort of peace in accepting this as fact. There’s nothing to be done now. He is coated in germ-infested spray, so he’s going to get sick. In the same way he can’t change how tall he is, he also can’t change this. In a few days time, he’s going to come down with this absolutely monstrous looking cold because it’s as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning.

Part 2

#i just had to play around with the 'germs in a small enclosed space' trope #cw: contagion #cw: mess #snz #snz kink #snzblr #snz fet

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lcriedlastnight · 7 months ago

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i'm still your boy | franco colapinto

○ tw: franco pininggg, reader is dumb and in love and i am here for it tbh. not proofread because i am lazy and i can't be botheredddd

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : w/c: 1.9k

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you were known by mostly everyone to be a complete and utter sucker for long and all that comes with it. maybe it was to do with your upbringing or maybe it was just the fact that you longed for someone to call your own but it was something you wanted so badly it felt like you were going insane sometimes. even though you were obsessed with the idea of love, it wasn't because you were going out picking up boys left, right and centre every weekend you possibly could, or because you were always in a relationship trying to find mr right. it couldn't be because you had never actually been in a proper relationship. yes, you had spoken to guys before but it had never really amounted to anything, much to your dismay. all of this is probably why you longed for a relationship so badly, maybe deep down you felt like you were missing out on something all of your peers seemed to experience with no issues whatsoever.

no you were known for being obsessed with love because of the amount of it you consumed in the media. books, tv shows and movies. name any in the romance genre and you had probably seen or read it. and if it was a movie or tv show? you had probably forced franco to watch it with you while you longed for what was happening on the screen.

forced may be an exaggeration because anytime you asked the argentine to watch something with you, he was cancelling plans as soon as he possibly could. he was your best friend, it was literally his job to be the one you confided in about these kinds of things and that is exactly what you did. you knew franco had some experience in that department so you didn't hesitate to rant out your frustrations and even ask him questions on the subject. every single time you complained about it he would say the same thing "you are just starting your life, there is so much time left to find someone. don't rush it because you are desperate", like that was any help to you at all.

★・・・・・・★

when franco moved to pursue his racing career and indirectly leave you behind, well it left you with a lingering sadness that you could never really name. it was unlike anything you had ever felt before.

"we'll still facetime though, right?" franco's departing words he had asked you, hoping for the answer he longed for. he didn't want to leave you either but he knew that if he ever wanted to achieve his dreams he would have to go and chase them, they wouldn't come to him.

"of course we will." was your reply, little did you both know just how hard that would be. with just how busy he was and the difference in time zones, you guys hardly had time for each other anymore. it broke both of you apart but you had no idea what it was doing to the other.

you would text him everyday even if you hadn't had a reply in days because when one of those days when he was finally free and could reply to all (yes every single text message he had missed) of your messages, it would be the best day of your week or even month. those days when he replied to your texts were usually the days where you guys could facetime and it would be for hours on end, catching each other of the lives you were living without the other. something you didn't think could even be possible a mere few months ago.

listening to franco rant and rave about an past race you realise that you don't know how much longer you can be without him. the only feeling you can compare it to is the feeling all those wives in all of those wars felt when their husbands left them to fight for their countries. even though you could keep in contact (though it wasn't much) with franco. even though he wasn't off to fight for his country but just to chase his dreams. even though you guys were nothing but friends.

you half listen to something he says about the car while longing for the romance you could only dream of. one where you and franco are together and he shows you the type of affection that you could only hope for from a lover. while being lost in your thoughts you realise just how perfect of a partner franco would be for you. he had everything you wanted in a lover and then it hit you-

"are you even listening?" franco laughs, pulling you out of your daydream before you can linger on your newfound realisation.

"yeah, carry on."

★・・・・・・★

the next time you get to see franco in person is at least a year later. he had just been promoted up to drive for williams f1 team for the rest of the season and you could not have been prouder. you don't think that there is a moment in your life that you have been prouder of him. he had finally made it.

of course as soon as it was offcial you were invited to his first race as an f1 driver and you dropped everything to be there for him. you told your work that you were taking a holiday and your university that you were sick for the week but would continue to work while being off so you didn't fall behind.

meeting franco outside of the track, it was like everything in your mind went quiet. he didn't look any different to your last facetime call a few weeks ago and he still had that same flirty sense of humour. so nothing had really changed with him. so it must be you that something had changed with, you just couldn't quiet work out what that was.

"you can do your uni work here while i do my media duties, yes?" franco suggests, gesturing to his empty drivers room that had a desk inside, ready for your use. it was sweet of franco to offer up the one space where he could ensure some alone time during this busy race weekend, but you supposed he wouldn't get a minute to himself this weekend anyway seeing as it was his very first grand prix.

you set up shop there and work away for an hour, maybe two at most before you get bored and your mind keeps wandering to franco and what it would be like to be the one he goes to first after a good race. once you realise where your mind had gone to, you quickly shake yourself out of it and decide to go and find the boy that was swirling around your mind.

the penny drops and you realise what exactly has changed when you see franco with another girl. they weren't even that close and if you were honest, it all looked friendly but you were still jealous.

you liked franco.

that was the thing that had changed. or maybe it hadn't changed and it was you were just, deep down, were tired of suppressing your feelings for your best friend.

franco spots you like its his sixth sense and wanders over to you, not giving you a lot of time to accept the new found information.

"can we watch a film tonight, after the race?" you ask franco, ignoring the heat that comes to your cheeks when he stands a bit too close like he always did. great, now you were going to overthink every one of his actions for the rest of your lives. that's exactly what you needed, another thing to constantly think about.

franco grins as he replies "the notebook or notting hill?"

he is going to kill you.

★・・・・・・★

while you had just realised your feelings towards your longtime best friend, franco had been living with those feelings for his entire life, near enough.

every memory he has of you has some kind of admiring thought to go along with it, if he had a diary it wouldn't be unlike one of a teenage girl who is smitten with her schoolgirl crush. and that was fine for when he was actually a teenager, i mean we all have crushes when we are going through that stage of life but franco knew the difference between a crush and whatever it was he felt for you. he had crushes on other girls before and not one of them had even been in the same realm of what he feels for you. it was a little scary if he thought about it for too long.

the first time franco remembers feeling the now all too familiar feeling of obsession, he must have been about ten years old. everyone probably thinks that ten years old is way too young to know that you love someone but franco knew. it was like those soulmate things you were always about, where they both have the first words that their soulmate will say to them tattooed on them, or they can't see colour until they meet their soulmate. franco was nintey-nine percent sure that the world was black and white until he accidentally knocked you over in the playground that day.

ever since meeting you franco has been infatuated. everyone around him knew it. the amount of girlfriends that had broken up with him because you just couldn't shut up about you and how you had actually tried that perfume that she was thinking about trying but you had thought that it was too vanilla-y for your taste, or that you used the aussie shampoo and conditioner because you thought that it made your hair healthier. it was safe to say, you were his favourite thing to talk about all the time.

moving away from you had killed him. he knew that you two would drift apart and the thought made him wanted to give up on his dream and create a new one entirely centred around you and what you wanted him to do but he knew that you would probably hang him from his balls if he told you he was giving up racing.

once he was settled in he made it his mission to make sure you teo were in touch as much as possible. it wasn't as often as franco wanted (read: every minute of every day) but he made it work.

screenshots of you from your nights spent facetimeing each other were made his lockscreen and backround. they would change every time you guys would facetime. the amount of times his engineers and racing crew mistook you for his girlfriend. it was probably because in his mind you were. he was in a completely different country to you with an opposite time zone and he had never even thought about looking at another girl. he was so down bad for you and he knows that you have no idea about it.

none of that would stop him though, he knew you would realise sooner or later, until then he had no problem keeping up this charade of "oh no we're just friends" and acting like the complete opposite with you. as long as he got to have you, he didn't care how.

even halfway around the world, he was still thinking of you.

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lilgarbitch · 5 months ago

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The Voice of an Angel- Matt Dierkes

Part One

Pairing: Matt Dierkes x PornBlog!Reader

Cw: Smut, Masterbation (f and m), sappy freak!Matt

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: Doing something a little different. The story seemed to work best if I wrote time in phases, so I hope it doesn’t ruin it😬 And I couldn’t tell you where this idea came from. I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone write something like this, but I did the best I could❤️ I hope you enjoy

Tags: @xmads-omensx @dontwantthemoney @theanarchymuse95 @badomensgoodomens

Y/N | Wednesday 2:36 PM

Kicking off the floor and rolling my chair over to my computer, I plug my phone into the cord and begin transferring the audio file. I should really get a microphone for this, but I’m still somewhat new to this… Yeah, I definitely need to start doing research on vamping up my equipment.

I plug my headphones into the laptop once the file was finished so I could listen back over the audio, making sure it’s suitable to be posted. I live alone, and literally just made all of these noises out loud, but I still get a little weirded out playing it without headphones and need to be able to listen to every detail, making sure there were no weird noises in the background.

Clicking on the file, my voice starts playing through. It took some time for me to get used to hearing me say certain things and make these noises, hell, it took me a good while to even hit ‘record’ when doing this, but once I got enough praise from people online, it just became routine.

My slightly over exaggerated moans and whimpers fill my ears, and I can’t lie, I was pleased with the quality. IPhones have good microphones. It sometimes even picked up the sound of my vibrator or how wet I was based on how close I had the mic to me, and my followers always enjoy that.

After spending about twenty minutes editing out small distracting background noises, I opened Twitter and connected the file to a post, captioning it, "You know exactly how to pull these pretty sounds from me,” before hitting post and then proceeding to do the same for my tumblr blog.

Almost instantly, my phone starts going crazy from those who have my post notifications on, and I read every comment with a smile on my face.

It may seem weird to many people, but I truly enjoy doing this. I get to turn a common activity into a side hustle, and it pleases both guys and girls when they find my pages. And most of them are the sweetest when they reply. They’re usually all horny replies, but unless I post something that instigates them to degrade me, they always choose to be super sweet.

I scroll through some replies and the likes from my followers, and even some who always come back but choose not to follow me because they don’t want others to know. It was nice seeing repeated faces. Like I created a space for them to feel safe to be open about something so lewd.

That’s when I got a notification from my Cash App that’s linked to my accounts, causing a small smile to form on my face when reading the name. ThotxPleaser had been a loyal follower for a while now. He’s following my Twitter, Tumblr, subscribed to my Patreon, and here he is again, sending me a gift.

ThotxPleaser- $250

Sounded beautiful as always, Angel❤️

I really wished that his gift had caused a bigger smile, but I knew this anonymous person’s actions too well by now. He usually gave me a sweet nickname, but today he just used my pseudonym, Angel, and it wouldn’t be worrying, if he also didn’t send the donation right after I posted, again. He always tried to send appreciation ‘when he had the chance,’ even commenting that he was too busy sometimes and felt bad for seeing my posts so late, so it was abnormal that he was so on top of it for the third post in a row, almost as if he was waiting for my posts as a pick-me-up. I know that was cocky thinking, but he’s said before that my posts have made his day, giving me a grateful gift to prove it, so it wasn’t that far off of an assumption. I just hope he’s doing okay.

Matt | Wednesday 2:59 PM

I crash into my bed with a groan. We’re getting everything situated for tour next week and I’ve been working my ass off doing almost all the work. The boys and our team do the best that they can, but I’m the one they run to when problems surface, and with the dates coming faster and faster, everyone is running rampant with anxiety and constantly on my ass needing help with the most obvious things. I know we’re all stressed but every part of my job other than actually getting them on that tour bus is done.

I told them all to give me at least the rest of the day off to unwind. Any problems that come to head today can easily be fixed tomorrow. I warned them that I was switching my phone to Do Not Disturb so even if they tried to contact me, I won’t answer.

It was a lie, though. I would never actually do that to them and hopefully they know that. I just need them to understand and leave me be for at least a few hours before I burn out. And, of course, almost right as I thought that, my phone went off.

With a loud groan, I turned my phone over and glared at it, trying to read what the hell the problem was now, but then my heart skipped as I read the notification.

Angel💋

You know exactly how to pull these pretty sounds from me

My breath hitched as I read it and I instantly felt blood rush to my other head. This had to mean that she finally posted a new audio clip. I instantly clicked on it, desperately needing to hear her to put me in a better mood. My fingers eagerly tap at the back of my phone as it takes a minute to load up Twitter, but when it finally does, I see the audio file and click ‘play’.

I shove my face into my pillow and place my phone next to my head as I let her voice and moans fill my ears. As the audio plays, I can feel myself getting harder. But I am too fucking tired to do anything about that right now. I truly just needed to hear her sweet voice in a time like this. I could listen to her for hours. It doesn’t matter if it’s her talking dirty or making these sweet noises. Hell, she could start a damn podcast and talk about the weather and it would still make my day. Something about her voice always brought me out of any rut that I’m in.

The audio ends and I finally look back at my phone. I debated on playing it again, just to hear her, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to show her some gratitude and appreciation.

I open up Cash App, using the account that wasn’t under my real name, and send her a simple note. I didn’t have enough energy to put too much thought into it, but she deserved something after boosting my mood. After I sent it, I closed my phone and shoved my face back into my pillow, this time with a small smile. Within minutes, I was out like a light, dreaming of what she could possibly look like, and having a chance to actually have her speak to me, just to be able to hear more of her voice.

Y/N | Saturday 6:23 PM

It’s been a few days since the last donation from ThotxPleaser. I try to post a few suggestive posts a day if I’m in the mood, and every single one was instantly liked by him, but that was it. No flirty comments, just what seemed like he was already on his phone when I posted and a simple like. I know I shouldn’t worry about a random follower, but he has always been so sweet and supportive. Plus, as creepy as it may seem, I end up paying close attention to my supporters, and it was obvious that he was acting different than usual.

I tried pushing the worry out of my mind the best I could, not needing to stress over a damn audio blog supporter, but I couldn’t help the fact that my mind wandered, thinking of what could possibly be happening in his life that he was too busy to show his usual appreciation, but still forcing him to be one of the first likes on every single post, audio or not. What could he possibly be dealing with that made him seem like he was so busy that he barely had time to do much, yet he still went out of his way to give me a hint of support? Fuck, I’m sounding insane. Am I overthinking this so much that I truly believe this man was using my moaning audios and lewd posts as his main form of serotonin? God, I need to fix my ego. He’s probably just losing interest and slowly weaning me off his attention…Okay, Y/N, he’s a fucking follower. He doesn’t care about ghosting you. You’ve never even spoken. Why are you so obsessed anyway?

I let out a groan, getting annoyed with my own thoughts. I realized that I was staring at the ceiling, worrying about someone I don't even know, so I quickly sat up and grabbed my phone, hoping that doom scrolling could help distract me…and make me feel less embarrassed.

I open Instagram and my eyes instantly land on the story bar. I scroll through the orange and green circles, hoping to find someone interesting, when I finally do. Matt Dierkes had a new story. I click on it and instantly giggle, seeing that, of course, it was another raccoon meme. Since this was my personal account, I liked his story and went on with doom scrolling.

After seeing only reposted memes and people living their best life, I realized this wasn’t going to give me the entertainment I needed. I close the app and look at my others, before opening Tumblr. Matt was still on my mind. I always found him so cute. I’ve enjoyed Bad Omens’ music for a while now, and definitely found the boys attractive, but something about their tour manager had always caught my eye. He said whatever he wanted and enjoyed things without judgment. I really liked how unique and undeniably him he let himself be.

I try to scroll through my feed, but with him still in my mind, my fingers trailed over to the search bar and I found myself looking up another fanfiction about him.

After a few…okay maybe a little too many one shots and short stories since I was free tonight, I landed a quite…spicy story, leading me to decide this was the perfect time to create more content.

With the story playing in my mind like a movie, I set my phone up and hit record. I was too lazy to grab a toy, and was definitely worked up enough that I could easily get this done manual style. Lying back, I slipped my hand down my pants with his face flashing behind my eyes. In the story, he had a little more dominant energy, so I began imagining him taking what he wanted.

My breath picked up as I felt his hands sliding up my thighs, using enough pressure to keep them held to the sides. He had this almost hungry look on his face as I stared down at him. His fingers finally reached the hem of my panties before powerfully yet gracefully sliding them down, like he was teasing me, making me wait.

I could feel his warm calloused fingers grazing over the softness of my thighs as they trailed towards my core. I began to squirm in anticipation, desperately wanting to grab them and bring them where I needed him most, but I knew if I did, he’d find a way to punish me.

Finally his hand reached the apex of my thighs and I gasped as he grazed his fingers through my folds.

I’m getting too desperate, I have to get this little fantasy sped up. I start circling my clit and letting out a soft whine.

His tongue passes through my slit before finally focusing on the bundle of nerves. My breath picks up as he perfectly laps at it, occasionally circling it with his tongue. As he adds more pressure, I can feel myself getting closer. I look down and see his face between my thighs, causing a small gasp to escape my lips. Once our eyes meet, I let out a breathy moan as my head falls back against the pillow. I can’t control the noises leaving me, the sound of his tongue lapping at my wet core and the image burned into my mind of him staring up at me causing the pleasure to intensify.

As I reached my peak, my mind overwhelmed with ecstasy, I forgot where I was.

“Ma-“ I let out, before quickly gasping and covering my mouth, hoping I could play that off as a gasp of pleasure and not shock at me almost ruining my audio by saying his name. After catching my breath, I stop the recording and sit there.

Fuck.

Matt | Saturday 9:47 PM

The guys and I were hanging out at Noah and Jesse’s house, telling ourselves that we needed a night off to relax and leave the stress behind for a few hours. Everyone’s mostly packed and we have at least tonight to just forget about everything, so they were all a few beers and shots in and it was getting kind of rowdy. I made sure to keep my eye on everyone to make sure they didn’t do something stupid.

I was sitting on the couch as the rest of them either destroyed the kitchen, trying to drunkenly make snacks, or hung out in the backyard, just chatting or getting excited over revisiting places on the tour they enjoyed. I was silently watching them all, using this time to try and force some relaxation into my mind, knowing we agreed that we could take a break from work. I know I could have done this at home, but doing anything with these boys was better than doing it alone, since I could always end up hunched over in laughter at any moment.

I stare off, listening to them loudly argue over which cheese to put in a grilled cheese, and just let my mind wander over how life has been going lately. Thinking about what still needs to be done and what fun things I could try to do before I was slaving away for 3 months on tour, since even when I tried my hardest, I couldn’t push the thought of work away. But then I was pulled out of my thoughts by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that Angel had posted a new audio. God, this is exactly what I needed right now. A small smile formed on my lips, but I quickly went back to a straight face, not wanting anyone to see and question who made me smile or find out that it was a goddamn porn blog.

I glanced around the room, making sure that everyone’s attention was occupied, before sneaking my way off to the bathroom. I close and lock the door behind me and pull out my Airpods. I know the house was loud, but the thought of them hearing her voice coming from the bathroom was not something I wanted to deal with.

I put an Airpod in and click on the notification. Once it loaded, I pressed play on the audio. It was a short one, but it was definitely enough to put me in a better mood. Instantly, her sweet sounds filled my ear. Soft airy moans played through my Airpod and I could feel myself growing in my pants. I debated whether it was weirder to jerk off in their bathroom or to leave the bathroom with a hard on, and decided on the latter.

As her voice played through my headphones like a beautiful melody, I reached my hands down and pulled the waistbands of my shorts and boxers down, letting my growing cock spring free. I turned my hat around, pushing my hair back to keep it out of my face as I leaned my hips against the sink and gripping the edge with one hand. I wrapped my other hand around the base and firmly gripped it.

She let out soft whimpers with an occasional ‘Fuck’ and I leaned down and let a trail of spit reach my tip, biting back a groan as I collected it and used it to slicken my movements. It was just the perfect amount of lubrication to move at the pace I needed without making any noise.

I brought my shirt to my teeth and closed my eyes, biting down as I fought back the noises collecting in my throat. I was close to biting through my lip and I didn’t need to get a noticeable mess on my nice tee. Explaining the teeth marks in the fabric would be easy, if their drunken asses even noticed. Her breath picked up, a telltale sign she was close, and that itself caused a tightening in my stomach. I listened to her moans getting higher and higher, subconsciously pumping myself to the beats of her breath. But then, she let out a moan I had never heard before. They were usually whiney and breathless, but this time she used her full chest voice, moaning out a ‘Maa-‘ before gasping and finally letting out her usual whiney sinful moan as she came.

Something in my brain took that personal. It sounded too close to her moaning my name for me to prepare for the instant rush of pleasure taking over my body. I quickly cupped a hand over my tip as my eyes rolled back, my mind replaying that single sinful syllable over and over as I spilled into my fist.

I probably bit a hole in my shirt with how hard my teeth clenched as I forced the deep loud moan from coming out. But I didn’t care. I had to hold my weight up with the sink behind me and force myself to catch my breath through my nose as the pleasure in my stomach lasted longer than it ever has before.

After a few moments, the feeling of my cum threatening to drip from my hand caused me to finally open my eyes and drop my shirt from my teeth as I spun around and turned on the sink. I quickly washed all the evidence down the sink and tucked myself back into my pants before looking up.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, grimacing in post-nut clarity as it hit me how gross what I just did was. Not me jerking off to her, that was normal, but the fact that I had gotten so obsessed that I couldn’t wait until I got home to listen and react.

I hung my head as I thought about how the fuck I was supposed to get through tour if I couldn’t stop myself from listening to her audios, but also definitely wouldn’t have a way to hide my reaction from them. I just wish I could hear her in any way other than something so erotic. That could hold me over. As long as I didn’t pavlov myself into getting hard just at the sound of her.

I reach up and fix my cap before grabbing my phone and sending her a like and a comment.

ThotxPleaser- Could never find a better way to make my day, beautiful.

I softly laughed at myself as I sent it. I knew I was a freak. She probably thought I was a creep the way it looks like I stalk her with how fast I respond to her posts. But I couldn’t care less. She brought me a happiness I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t the context of her posts. It was her. And I had to show my appreciation, even if I just looked like one of many horndogs in her comments and donations.

Wait…That was it.

I fumble with my phone to open up Cashapp, before realizing how long I’ve been in the bathroom. I make my way back to the living room as I think of the perfect way to ask. Sitting down, I debate on the most convincing price to get her to even think of helping me out here. Tour starts Tuesday and with us all together, missing a chunk of change won’t be a problem. I go back and forth in my thoughts for a few minutes, writing and rewriting my message until I think it’s perfect. Finally, I send it and cross my fingers.

ThotxPleaser- $1,000

All I want is to hear your voice more. Talk about your day, how the weather is treating you, or rant about a TV show you’re watching. I’d listen to you forever. All I ask is if you’d be willing to send me voice memos here and there to get me through my days. Name your price, sunshine.

PART TWO

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