#I WAS SO EXCITED AND I'M STILL FEELING SO

[houseofhyde]

manchild.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader mcu timeline. tfatws. synopsis. bucky can't help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you. warnings. smut ( pwp, service dom!bucky, unprotected piv, oral sex - f receiving, clothed sex for like a sec, fingering, creampie, tummy bulge, dirty talk, dry humping, possessiveness, dumbification, praise, temperature play, food play, nipple play, pussy pronouns, hair pulling - m receiving, multiple orgasms, consent kink, implied competency kink and cum eating, bucky barnes begs agenda 2025™, both bucky and reader spend the whole fic towing the fine line between horny and pervy ), no use of y/n, angst, fluff, frenemies to lovers, roommate!bucky, cocky+flirty!bucky, also guard dog!bucky ( if that even makes sense ) ( it doesn't ), jealousy, pining, so much bickering, attachment issues, miscommunication bc these two combined have the emotional intelligence of a chihuahua, bucky's hobby is baking bc i said so. reader inclusivity. bucky can pick the reader up ( but he's literally a super soldier so 🧍‍♂️ ), one mention of bucky trying to grab the reader's hair, reader has a nut allergy and does not speak russian ( neither do i, so please forgive the very small amount of google translated russian ) word count. 16.3k hyde’s input. god bless sabrina for saving the summer again. also don't let this flop, it's my birthday tomorrow and i'm not above crying over poorly-received erotica ( i'm joking ) ( no i'm not )

Bucky Barnes is not someone you’d call a friend.

He’s more of a nuisance, really. A fossil, dropped off at your door by one Sam Wilson with a simple request: “Can he crash here for a few days?”

That was four months ago, and Bucky’s still living on your couch.

Which is exactly where he’s sat right now, head buried in a book you barely even remember owning. The pages, so full of neglect, give him hassle as he tries to turn them, catching on one another and refusing to be pried apart by vibranium fingers.

“How do I look?” You ask as you step out from your bedroom, hands fastening an earring into your right ear.

Unfazed by your appearance, he doesn’t bother glancing up from his book as he sardonically replies, “With your eyes, like the rest of us.”

You contemplate plucking one of your heels off and throwing it at his head. Knowing your luck, it will fly right past him and smash your coffee table into pieces. Just like your roommate, it’s vintage. Unlike your roommate, you willingly brought it into your home.

“Ha. Ha.” Rounding the couch, you swat his feet off the table before snapping his book closed. “Now if you’re done playing comedian, would you answer the fucking question?”

“That’s your generation's problem, you know? You swear more than you breathe.”

“Better than waging a world war every few years.”

“Considering the current state of the world, I wouldn’t rest too comfortably on that one,” Bucky rises from his seat and squeezes past you, irritatingly close in a way that makes sure you feel each defined muscle in his chest as it brushes against your shoulder. “Anyway, you look fine, as always.”

“I look fine?” You parrot his words and follow his footsteps over to the kitchen. “Careful Barnes, don’t get too excited, it’s not healthy for a senior citizen’s heart.”

“You know what I mean,” a heavy sigh slips out the soldier’s mouth as he busies himself filling the kettle, glancing back at you from over his shoulder as he continues speaking. “I don’t understand why you worry so much about all of… this.” He gestures at you, water splashing off the tips of his fingers.

“God forbid a woman cares about looking good on a date,” you’re becoming annoyingly aware of the pout on your lips and try your best to correct it, whilst prying open the fridge door and fishing out a bottle of beer. “Gee if only it were still the 40s, then I could slap some mercury on my lips and hit the town with a man ready to buy me off my daddy for the cheap, cheap price of two goats!”

The frustration within you only rises as you struggle with the bottle’s cap, the skin of your hand pinching as you put all your force behind removing it. Since when are twist-tops so damn hard to twist off?

Bucky’s by the kettle, pouring boiling hot water into a mug he’s wrongfully claimed as his and looking irritatingly fine surrounded by steam — which has your mind trailing back to a few weeks ago: an early morning, exiting your bedroom to find your lodger stepping out the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and the remnant dew of a steaming hot shower trailing down his very naked, very defined biceps, and pectorals, and- He’s not even trying to mask the amusement on his face as he indulges in your failure.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little ridiculous?” He asks and pries the bottle out of your hold, effortlessly ripping the cap off with a twist of his left hand. A familiar warmth curls between your legs, awakening a response from you that you’ve sworn, under no circumstances, will happen due to Bucky Barnes. You barely want to exchange air with him, nevermind bodily fluids. “There’s no way you’re worth two goats.”

“Every day I wake up and resist the urge to smother you in your sleep.”

Your vitriol is met with a smirk taking over his lips. Watching as he brings the beer up to his mouth, you catch yourself forgetting to blink as the soldier engages you both in a staring contest, all the while he’s tilting the bottle up to steal the first sip. He presses the cold glass back into your hand. You try not to focus on his tongue, peeking out to swipe over his bottom lip and clean up a remnant drop of beer.

In a move that puts you even more on edge, Bucky shuffles closer to you. Delirium floods your mind as the smell of smoke, and musk, and a just a twinge of sweat floods your nose, a smell so masculine it has you debating setting feminism and your own self-preservation back hundreds of years by nuzzling your face into the pulse point of his neck, like you’re some damn animal being exposed to pheromones. Meanwhile, he appears none the wiser to the negative effect he’s having on you, too busy reaching his arm behind you and into the fridge.

“Those boys you entertain, do they ever pay you any compliments?” His voice is so gentle, you almost wonder if that’s how it would sound whispering in your ear. Luckily, you don’t actually wonder about that. Not at all, not even a little. “Or is that your job too, like the bill?”

As quickly as he caged you in against the fridge, he moves away and leaves the cool air to rush over your skin, dragging your mind back into reality and away from whatever thoughts it keeps trying to tempt you with. You track his movements towards the island counter as he sets down a glass bowl, marked by condensation and filled with a batter of some sorts.

It's becoming more and more common to catch Bucky pottering around in the kitchen, a recipe on his phone screen and a personalised ‘Kiss the Baker’ apron — which Sam bought as a joke for his birthday — tied around his waist. He’ll never admit it, but a part of you believes baking helps him relax, to shut off whatever thoughts are floating around in that disturbingly pretty head of his and let him focus solely on measuring, mixing, and making delicious sugary treats. You can hardly complain when he’s gifting you the privilege of an at-home bakery. Fortunately, he gives you plenty of other reasons to complain. 

“Boys I entertain? Way to make me sound like a stripper,” you huff, sneaking over to dunk a finger into the batter as he turns to grab his coffee. “And I’ll have you know, they do pay me compliments.”

Licking your finger clean, you can’t fight the humm of approval that creeps up your throat nor the way your eyes slip shut as you savour the cold, tangy sweetness of the cake mix. Something warm presses against your left side as Bucky returns to the island, setting down his mug and a cake tin.

“Really? What kinda things do they say?” Just as you go to double dip, he smacks the top of your hand with a wooden spoon, and you nearly freeze at the contact. For a few short seconds, the factory in your mind goes into lockdown as every single one of your brain cells scramble to not conjure up the image of him smacking that utensil on a very different part of you. “Hands off. It’s a lemon cake, not a lemon and your-dirty-fingers cake.”

You silence your thoughts with a swig of beer before putting a safety distance between Bucky and you, unsure whether to be relieved at his obliviousness to the less than ideal affect he’s having on you, or offended by his complete lack of reaction to being so close to you while you’re all dressed up and waiting for another man to take you out.

Not that you want him to be affected by that, or you in general, though.

Your phone lights up with a text from an unsaved number: im hear, r yu coming down or shuld i com up? You shut it off and stuff it into your purse, deciding it's best to keep a man waiting anyway; he’ll appreciate your presence even more once you finally give him it.

Besides, you’ve yet to answer Bucky’s question.

“I’d tell you but I’m too sober to stomach you yelling ‘Heaven to Betsy!’ and giving me a lecture on your medieval dating ethics.”

You earn a genuine laugh, in which his knees bend a little and his head is thrown back, while his vibranium hand winds up splayed across his midriff. The sun is setting beyond the window, lingering shades of orange warmth frame a heavenly glow around Bucky, highlighting a slight curl in his hair and the piercing blue of his eyes. The view is uncomfortably pleasant, so you bring the bottle back to your lips and turn your head away, suddenly utterly fascinated with the eggshell colouring of the kitchen cupboards.

“I think there’s a leak under the sink,” the comment is absentminded, a meager attempt at steering your mind away from the man and his mixing bowl.

Bucky ignores it and drags you right back to the actual topic at hand.

“That’s funny,” there’s a shuffle of tin behind you. You glance back around to find him smoothing batter into the cake mold, wooden spoon clasped in metal fingers spreading the mix evenly. You’ve never noticed how good Bucky is at spreading things. “Cause I swear I remember Sam mentioning something about the last guy moaning his own name in your ear.”

Beer shoots to the back of your throat.

In a spurt of coughing, amidst the burning pain of the carbonated liquid dripping out your nose, you hurry over to the sink. Mouth dropped open in a dry heave, you lean into the basin and try to minimize the mess you make in search of a breath. Heat envelops you from behind and a pair of sock-clad feet come into view next to your maroon heels. You briefly register the cool brush of metal against the back of your neck as he tries to tidy back your hair and, while you appreciate the action, you can’t help note how completely unnecessary it is. Too distracted to care, your attention shoots straight to the weight of his flesh hand pressing into your lower back. Heavy, warm, large, it pollutes your mind with the knowledge of how it feels to have him soothe your skin — even if there is a layer of silk in the way.

The moment air returns to your lungs, you shoot up straight and ache to step away from him and his wandering-to-all-the-wrong-places hands. The battle against his touch is mute, not even one percent of his strength is put behind the way he grips your forearms and turns you to face him.

Bucky’s eyes scan over you, studying your features. You swallow back whatever feeling brings salivation to your mouth. His thumb reaches towards his own and you watch, transfixed, as a pink tongue darts out to greet it, licking a stripe over the pad of it. A splash of cake batter stains his ring finger. You swallow back more saliva; confusingly, your mouth feels drier than ever. Only when he delicately presses his thumb beneath your eye and swipes over your waterline do you realise you’re teary-eyed.

“See how clumsy you are?” There’s a chastising lilt to his voice that sends blood rushing to your face, and then immediately back down to the overwhelmingly empty space between your legs. “Can’t even swallow properly without ruining your mascara.”

You need distance.

You need to move.

You need to leave.

“He’s here!” The words are almost a gasp as you turn out of his hold. The weight of his gaze trails over your legs as you rush around the kitchen island, fishing your keys out of your purse and rambling out the nerves he’s summoned. “Okay, there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge if you’re hungry, and you’re welcome to the beers if you get thirsty. Big remote turns on the TV, the little one changes the channel. Behave and take care of the place while I’m away, okay?”

“Quit talking to me like I’m some kind of guard dog,” he complains as you pull open the front door and cross one foot over the threshold to safety.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You cheer back, trailing the door behind you as you go. “I wasn’t aware you were going to start contributing rent, I’ll send you my bank details.”

With that, the apartment door slams shut and you head out for a date in which three things will happen: you’ll flirt, you’ll fuck, and you won’t think about your roommate.

Only one of those things ends up happening.

It’s not from lack of an offer that you wind up taking a cab back to your apartment. Your date had been nice… enough. He complimented your outfit, took a sufficient amount of interest in you, and he even bought you flowers — of course, he’d accidentally left them in his parent’s home. Where he lived. In the basement.

And the thing is, you’re not shallow. Time’s are tough, the economy sucks, and the world is still adjusting to the sudden return to half its population post-Blip. So you were more than game to play sneak-me-into-your-bed-without-waking-your-parents, but, as the pair of you waited on a taxi to arrive, his hand found your waist and your treacherous mind noticed something it shouldn’t.

Bucky’s hand was larger. And warmer. And more welcomed against your skin.

Sick to your stomach by your own thoughts, your night ended with you tip-toeing past the familiar figure sleeping on your couch — definitely not pausing to take in the sheer width of his naked shoulders dangling half-off the cushion — and crawling into bed alone, belly full of Thai and mind full of Winter.

When morning comes, the bedroom door creaks as you pry it open, a fist rubbing sleep out your eye and a yawn announcing your arrival.

“Did you eat my ice cream?” Bucky calls out from somewhere, voice muffled and full of accusation.

Despite barely finishing a glass of wine the night before, there’s a throbbing pain beginning in your temples and souring your already bitter mood.

“Wow, good morning to you too,” you stumble more than walk over to the kitchen, in search of the salvation of ice cold water.

That’s where you find him: laid out on his back, grey sweatpants clinging to bent knees, with everything from his shoulders up inside the open cabinet beneath the sink. His arms are inside too, tinkering away at something above his face.

“Good morning. Did you eat my ice cream?” If ever a thing such as a verbal eyeroll were to exist, Bucky would be doing it. From the lack of seeing his eyes, there’s every chance he is literally rolling them.

Your journey toward the fridge is interrupted by the troubling sight of a glass full of water, a plate hosting a slice of lemon sponge cake, and two miscellaneous white pills that anyone who suffers the unusually cruel punishment of a menstrual cycle is likely familiar with. A post-it note with your name written neatly across it sits next to the unexpected care package.

“So what if I did?” The painkillers go down effortlessly, though there’s a lingering chemical taste that has you gulping down an extra sip of water. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“I paid for it!” For all his outrage, he doesn’t care enough to poke his head out as he chastises you. “You said there was a leak, so I’m checking your pipes. I’m quite good with my hands, you know.”

Is he dense, or is he saying this shit on purpose? The double entendre in his words is glaring, yet you haven’t the confidence nor the will-power to address it, to poke the proverbial bear out of fear. Fear of him scolding your dirty mind, or fear of him doubling down on his suggestive wordplay, you’re not quite sure.

You choose to steer clear of the topic and, more importantly, the unexpected twinge in your chest in response to Bucky’s unrequested help.

“And I paid for the freezer you left it in, the electricity that kept it frozen, and the apartment you live in,” you don’t intend to sound so snappy, like a sulking child fighting against their own self-confessed crimes. “So I think you can spare me some goddamn ice cream.”

You’ve taken to joining Bucky on the floor, sitting across from him, cross-legged and back pressed against the cabinets that surround the kitchen island. In your lap lies the slice of cake, a mouthful already missing and melting its tangy sweetness onto your tongue. You almost moan, but it’s unclear whether the sugary treat just tastes that good or the visual of the soldier laid out on his back and tinkering away beneath your sink is just so stimulating.

If you mention the strange noise your car’s engine has been making recently, would he fix that too? You can already picture him slicked in sweat and oil, hands on his hips as he stands over the opened hood and assesses whatever the damage is. You’d have to watch over the whole thing, of course — not out of your own self-interest but on the off chance something goes wrong and Bucky needs help taking off his oil-stained shirt, or pants, or-

“Your date was that good, huh?” You almost jump out of your skin when he speaks.

“He bragged to me about how he and his college roommates used to play pool,” the pause in your sentences seems to capture Bucky’s attention, coaxing him out from beneath the sink. “Using a shotgun instead of cues.”

As he sits up, elbows finding rest upon his knees, you can’t help but note the five-o’clock shadow he’s sporting. For reasons that have nothing to do with the fraying seams of your sanity, you need him to shave.

To Bucky’s credit, he doesn’t laugh. Yes, his lips glitch somewhere between a cheeky grin and a serious frown, but he does not outright laugh like you expect him to. Instead, he nods down at the half-eaten cake and tilts his head — an unspoken question, is it good?, that only weakens his argument about not being a guard-dog. Between the puppy-dog blue eyes and the yearning for approval, you half expect him to sprout a tail and start panting.

Scratch that last thought, actually. Bucky and panting should not coexist in a sentence together, nevermind in your imagination.

“Mind feeding me a bite?” Yes, actually, you would mind, but one glance at his fingertips stained in whatever-the-hell is going on with your sink leaves you no choice but to tear off a corner.

Bringing the piece of cake to meet his awaiting mouth, you brace yourself for the tentative scrape of teeth stealing it out of your hold. The delicate brush of his lips enveloping your fingers throws you off your axis, and the challenge in his eyes as they hold contact with your own has your thighs involuntarily squeezing themselves together.

For a moment, you swear you catch him glance down at your lips.

Then you remember the health insurance your job provides does not cover the cost of being institutionalised, so you stop hallucinating and come back to reality where Bucky Barnes is not so much a flirt as he is a pest, a stray animal abandoned at your doorstep by a friend who decided to take advantage of your good-natured heart.

“Can you give me the exact phrasing your date used to describe this shotgun-pool?” The soldier is gone in the blink of an eye, flat on his back again and continuing his attempt to seal the leak.

“Why?”

“I’m making this list,” he says, and he must shift his hands higher above his head because suddenly the soft cotton of his white shirt has ridden up his torso, presenting your eyes with a golden platter of sun-warmed skin. “I’m calling it ‘the manchild files’.”

“That’s not even funny,” neither is the way he inches deeper into the cabinet, exposing not only the glaringly white tan-line delineating where the band of his boxers should be resting but also the beginning dark curls of a happy trail. 

“Well ‘the stupid files’ sounds so simple, I was worried you’d try to jump into bed with it.”

“Are you seriously about to slut-shame me in my own fucking kitchen?” Whilst slutting yourself out on my floor like your name is Mike and you’re about to show me some magic? is the quiet part you don’t say aloud.

“I’m critical but I’m not hypocritical,” there he does again with that verbal eye-roll. “I wasn’t exactly the image of celibacy when I was your age-”

“Yay, more grandpa lore!” Your interruption earns you a nudge from his leg, but you know it made him laugh because his shoulders gently shake.

“I’m not slut-shaming you, I’m taste-shaming. I swear, being useless must be the precursor to having a chance with you.”

“It is not!” You gasp, yet you’re hardly surprised — Bucky’s not exactly subtle in his disapproval of the men you date.

If there is anything to be thankful for, it’s the alleviation that comes with Bucky shimmying out from the sink again, happy trail redressed and a hand diving into the pocket of his sweatpants. With a dramatic clearing of his throat, he brings his phone up to his face and starts reciting.

“After being told you have a nut allergy, Carter B. said Wait, like, you’re allergic to cum?” You’d always known showing him how to use the notes app would come back to bite you in the ass somehow. “Tommy L. walked into a lampost because he got distracted… watching a squirrel run up a tree. You almost got stood up by Steve K. because he accidentally locked himself inside his own car. Lee B. asked you-”

“Bucky B. is about to lose his other arm if he doesn’t shut up.”

“I rest my case,” and he still has the nerve to open his mouth, awaiting another bite of cake.

You cave with no fight and give it to him.

Because you’re a nice person, not because you want to feel his mouth on you again.

Something cool drips onto the bottom of your naked thighs after Bucky reaches over you and grabs at the glass of water, stealing an obnoxiously large gulp; or is it just exaggerated by your stare zeroing in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks?

A thought pops into your mind.

“Did you leave these on the counter because you expected me to be hungover?” Your tone is inoffensive, and unoffended, a simple curiosity you need answered.

“You have a headache, right?”

“Uh-huh,” your eyes narrow skeptically.

“Yeah, I figured you would,” Bucky takes another sip, more condensation trickling down onto your legs. “You always have one after eating Thai food.”

Something inside of you stops.

Your heart, or your lungs, or your mind. Your goddamn liver, for all you know.

This is not supposed to be happening. Bucky is not supposed to fix things just because you mentioned it, once in passing and as a scapegoat from focusing too much on him. And he certainly isn’t supposed to notice things, useless little factoids that not even you know about yourself until he brings them to light. Hell, he’s not even supposed to still be here, sleeping on your couch and criticising your love life.

When the thing inside of you clicks back into place and starts again, a new weight rests atop your conscience.

Maybe it’s not so bad having a roommate, having Bucky be that roommate. Maybe you’re starting to get used to coming home to the smell of baked vanilla and the signature grouchy look he wears as he asks you about your day, about how your co-worker pissed you off, about why you’re home later than usual and not wearing a jacket out in the cold of winter.

“By the way,” he’s calling out from beneath the sink again. “You’ll be happy to know I’m touring an apartment next week.”

“Oh.” The bite you just took turns sour in your mouth. You struggle to swallow it down. “That’s great. Finally! You’re going, and I’m staying here, and I’ll have my apartment back to myself. That’s… Great. It’s great!”

No, really, it’s great.

“You’re joking,” a palm on your lower back guides you to the right, just in time to avoid being trampled beneath a cart.

“I wish,” you say, and saunter over to some colourful packaging that’s captured your eye.

After a moment of inspecting the product in hand from every angle, you put it back on the shelf.

“Let me get this straight,” Bucky pushes the cart along behind you, grabbing that same colourful packaging and dropping it in with the rest of the groceries. “You lean through his window, kiss him goodbye on the cheek and then he just… What, crashed his car?”

“Into a wall with street art of a cliff painted on it,” as you add the most important detail, laughter is already bubbling up your throat. “He literally crashed his car into a cliff without even getting to switch out of first gear!”

The pair of you make up quite the sight.

An entire morning of tiptoeing through the limbo of delirium, after an entire night spent trying to block out the relentless banging from the upstairs neighbours. The door to your bedroom crawled open some time past four and there was Bucky, head poking through the space and looking rather pleased to find you wide awake — despite his claims of just wanting to make sure you were asleep.

Seated on opposite ends of the couch, both of you found a quiet solace in the other’s inability to sleep. While a movie marathon played over the TV, the sex marathon above continued. When exhaustion took claim of your body, you drifted off with your arms resting on the armchair and your head resting on your arms. You awoke atop a pillow and beneath a blanket, legs stretched out over the couch and Bucky curled up on the floor by your feet — like any good guard dog would be.

After a botched attempt to sneak past the soldier, only to have him scare the living daylights out of you by grabbing your ankle as you tried to step over him, you both came to the shocking realisation that the fridge was void of any food.

Which brings you to here: standing in aisle 7, laughing an ache into your ribs over yet another one of your failed dates, with a half-filled cart and matching bags forming under your tired eyes.

“I think it’s time we had an intervention about where you’re finding these men,” Bucky says that last word like it's covered in poison, burning his tongue on the way out.

“They find me!” You say, as he reaches for the box of strawberries you just put down. “As generous as I am, do you want to maybe slow down on how much shit you load into our cart?”

His hand freezes, the box of red fruit clasped in a confusingly delicate grip of vibranium fingers

“You picked it up,” his tone is riddled with confusion. “Don’t you want them?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not made of money.”

“Okay?” He replies, like it’s the most irrelevant piece of information you’ve ever given him — and you once spent an hour ranting to him about the inefficiency of the ink cartridges in your office’s printer. “I’m paying, so do you want it or not?”

“Since when do you have money? Did your pension finally come through? I mean… You are old enough. Also, aren’t you literally a vet?”

 “You managed to say all that in one breath, yet you failed to answer a yes or no question.”

A bubble of silence surrounds you both. Bucky blinks, slowly, exaggeratedly. It’s the perfect opportunity to stare at his face and notice the five o'clock shadow has grown. A gruff ‘excuse me’, followed by a man shoving between you both to grab some strawberries, pops the bubble.

Without a word, you snatch the box and place it in the cart.

Half-way up the fruit aisle, Bucky gets the genius idea to open his mouth again: “You wanna know what my theory is?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the p and glancing back at him over your shoulder. “But you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He looks vexingly domestic like this, wearing a sweater and pushing your shopping around. Thoughts betray you, wandering off into dangerous territory as they begin to question how others perceive you from the outside.

What do strangers see: two roommates that quarrel like it’s a biological need, or a couple doing their weekly shop? Two strangers forced together by a circumstance named Sam Wilson, or two lovers unwilling to voice that the metal container between them is too much distance?

“I think you date idiots because they’re idiots.”

“Gee whiz, grandpa, that’s so insightful. I sure do hope I’m as wise as you when I’m your age, but I’ll probably just be dead.” You feel the cart meet your back in a gentle bump, a non-verbal warning to cut the teasing.

“Dating those incompetent men, it’s like…” he pauses, searching for the right words, and plucks a bunch of bananas from your hand, dropping them in with your mounting pile of fruit. “Jumping out of a plane! You get the thrill of falling but, the moment something a little too real and solid appears on the horizon, you pull out the parachute and, that’s it, you’re safe. No danger of falling flat on your face and getting your feelings hurt.”

“I don’t know when you last jumped out of a plane-”

“Remember that Karli situation a few months ago?”

“But not ejecting your parachute leads to a little more than just falling flat on your face.”

“So my metaphor isn't perfect,” Bucky trails off, eyes staring past you and mind lost in thought. You follow his line of sight and find a couple at the end of the aisle, hands intertwined and smiling at each other like they’re the only two people in the world. An unnamed emotion tugs at the soldier’s lips, but he won’t let it take over his stoic features. “But you get my point. If you were actually looking for something serious, you’d date someone better than those men.”

Unprompted and unwarranted, his words spear your heart.

Memories replay in your head, a kaleidoscope of the featureless faces you let take you out, dine you, wine you, kiss you. A handful of immeasurables: how many times you’ve brushed off mispronounced versions of your name, how many excuses you’ve made for the way they talk to you, how many times you’ve lowered your own standards to help a man feel desired. In your wake lies a graveyard of failed relationships, with no proper funeral nor mourning.

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

“Okay, psychoanalysing me aside, what’s left on the list?” You ask, making your way round to Bucky’s side of the cart.

“Well, I still need to write down Jeff G.’s cliff accident.”

“The other list.” You watch as he struggles to fish out the scrap of paper from his pocket.

“Eggs, pasta, feta, toilet roll,” his brows are furled, his eyes are glaring, and with each item he lists off, his words grow more unsure. “Grapefruit? Your handwriting is shit.”

“I was in a rush!”

“And sitting on a jack-hammer?”

“Gimme that,” you snatch the list, he yields it with no protest. As you scan over the scribbled ink, a frustrating truth comes to light. Bucky’s right, your handwriting is shit. “Is grapefruit even in season?”

“Huh,” it’s the sound of hollow amusement.

“What?”

“Just…” His presence looms over you, infecting your senses with the woodsy smell of his cologne and the arduous heat that radiates off of him. When he nods his head to the right, scoffing out a laugh and poking his tongue into his cheek, you find yourself wrestling between temptations of slapping him or pulling him closer. “You really don’t notice what’s right in front of you, do you?”

Lo and behold, on the right side of the aisle, grapefruits.

You make it through the rest of the shopping list in relative silence, with the occasional side-comment from the super soldier that either rouses a grin onto your lips or has your eyes rolling in faux disagreement. Little by little, you peruse the aisles and fill the cart; and, when Bucky picks out the only ice cream flavour void of nuts, you bite your tongue and choose to say nothing.

“I forgot to ask,” you finally speak, standing in the self-checkout zone and struggling to find something to do with your fidgety hands as Bucky scans each item — you insisted on helping and he insisted he’d get it done quicker alone. “How did the apartment viewing go?”

“Oh. Fine,” you grimace as he says your least favourite f word. “The current lease isn’t up yet, so you’re stuck with me a little longer.”

Are you supposed to feel this relieved?

In theory, you were never supposed to feel anything in regards to Bucky Barnes. In practice, it’s a lot more complicated, a pendulum that seems to swing in constant motion between red hot aggravation and red hot something else you refuse to give a name.

All you know is there are times where you wonder if his back is okay sleeping on the couch, and you contemplate asking him to come meet you during your lunch breaks, and you crave to have the anxious shake in your leg quelled by his daily check-in calls whenever he and Sam go off on another misadventure. Whatever reason lies behind your behaviour, the familiarity of ignorant bliss tempts you away from seeking the answer.

Besides, Bucky will be leaving soon. He’ll no longer be your roommate and you’ll both fall out of whatever routine convenience has forced upon you both.

A series of beeps capture your attention.

At the epicentre of the noise stands an elderly woman, grey hair pristinely curled and an outfit that screams Sunday-bests, struggling with the check-out machine. With no employee in sight and no do-gooder fellow customer stepping out of their way to help, the woman’s distress grows with each beep the machine makes at her.

Knuckles brush down your arm, and there’s Bucky at your side, waiting for you to pay him any mind.

“You mind handling the rest?” He asks, in that softly-spoken tone of his that would make anyone feel like swooning. Maybe that’s why it takes you a few moments to notice the wallet he’s holding out to you. “Cash is in the back pocket. I’ll be a few minutes, okay? Just finish bagging everything, leave the carrying to me.”

There’s no time to get a single word out before you’re staring at the back of his head and watching as he makes his way over to the elderly woman.

For every item you scan, you sneak a glance. The butter beeps onto the screen, and you peek how Bucky has effortlessly become the woman’s personal helper. You pass the strawberries through and reward yourself with the sight of Bucky’s cheeky grin — with the way the elderly lady laughs and swats at his arm, you can only assume he’s made some flirtatious comment. Clicking on the option to pay cash, you nearly give yourself whiplash as you turn to watch them again, Bucky’s just about finishing bagging her groceries while the woman opens her shopping-trolley bag.

Waiting on the receipt to print, your reflection stares back at you on the self-checkout screen: a hue of endearment glowing off your features. The smile quickly melts off your face when you realise that he… Oh no.

Bucky is charming.

Part of you has always known he was handsome — you’re stubborn, not blind — yet the sight of him now, all dashing smiles and twinkling eyes playing rescuer to a woman who, despite the difference in their physical ageing, is closer to his own age than you, it troubles you. The acid burn in your throat is not a manifestation of jealousy, no; it’s the queasy feeling of knowing you’ve never looked across at a date, caught him in a moment of content, and felt the unyielding desire to be the reason behind it.

Someone clears their throat beside you, a man with a wrinkle in his forehead and an agitated look upon his face, so you quickly excuse yourself and, with plastic handles digging into your fingers, you approach Bucky and the elderly lady.

Upon noticing you, Bucky’s quick to tug the bags out your grip, a scolding already falling off his tongue: “I told you to leave these to me.”

“Yeah, well, Mr. Frowny-Magoo over there didn’t appreciate me hogging up the cashier,” the comment is meant as nothing more than a lighthearted joke, yet you swear you see something shift in the soldier’s stance, his shoulders tensing and his jaw clenching as he glances back at the stranger.

Fortunately, the elderly woman interrupts whatever he’s contemplating doing to him.

“Она твоя жена?(Is she your wife?)” She’s looking between you both expectantly, speaking words you don’t understand. “У нее лицо ангела. (She has the face of an angel.)”

Whatever she says, it clearly has an effect on Bucky. His head turns to the side, to you, and a visible softness overcomes his gaze as it traces over your face. His shoulders are relaxing, his jaw is unclenching, and he’s switching the bags over to his metal hand, renewing his grip and freeing up the hand that now hangs right by yours, knuckles gracing over your own in a way that feels like a dare, a challenge, a temptation to lace your fingers together.

You clench your fist shut.

“Я знаю. (I know.)” He says, eyes lingering on you a few moments longer than necessary, before he’s back to smiling at the elderly woman.

Halfway home and doubling your pace to keep up with his effortless stroll, curiosity finally gets the better of you.

“What did she say back there, that lady you helped?”

A stranger rushes past you both, phone glued to their ear and stressing down the speaker. Bucky takes grip of your arm and tugs you closer to him.

“Do you spend your time getting bumped into when I’m not around?” His fingers give your arm a squeeze before releasing you. “And, if you must know, she said I was the most handsome man she’s ever seen.”

Little force is put behind the shove you give his shoulder.

You’re too busy agonising over how much you agree with her.

Bucky leaves.

Not forever, but three weeks away on some stealth mission with Sam sure begins to feel like it.

It happens on a Friday. After the week from hell at work, a friend’s mid-week engagement party, and the unexpected downpour of rain during the journey home, you walk into an unlit apartment and a note stuck to the fridge.

Sam needs me. Be safe, don’t bring strangers home. B. 

The batch of freshly baked cinnamon rolls sweeten your night up, at least.

There’s a quiet that always seems to blanket the house whenever you lose Bucky to missions.

Before he was dumped on your front door, you’d been used to living alone and the peaceful silence that came with it. Independence, the ability to need no one and want nothing, a trait of yours that once brought pride, now brings you nothing but the static sound of a muted television and the hum of the microwave spinning a meal fit for one.

Mornings become a ritual of waking later yet leaving earlier, no one is there to distract you from drinking your coffee. Though the workload is the same, somehow the slow drag of hours still finds a way to pass quicker than ever, the revolving doors of the office building spit you back out onto the streets of New York before you’re fully ready. Your evenings waste away, starved of noise and company, while you run out of shows to watch and books to read, and count the hours down until all that silence becomes necessary for your eyes to close and your mind to rest.

It’s when darkness rules over the sky and the hour is a single digit that the phone finally rings. A blocked number, untraceable, pulling you out the hands of sleep and filling your room with the noise of your ringtone. He never speaks first, not until there’s an echo down the line of your own sleep stained ‘hello?’.

“You can go back to sleep now.”

You never stay on the line long enough to find out how quickly he hangs up after he speaks. Because it’s only ever meant to be a way to let you know he’s safe, alive, somewhere out there doing who-knows-what and stopping who-knows-who. It’s just an unrequested favour he’s granted you, after the incident in which both he and Sam fell-off the grid for five days and you were nearly rounding up a search party. He’s not missed a call since, once a day while he’s away.

So, when he doesn’t call, it’s only natural that you worry.

The alarm bell rings when you wake up to birds chirping, sun spilling through the crack between the curtains, and not a single missed call nor voicemail awaiting you.

It’s Saturday and there’s no work to occupy your mind, so you force down a bagel, toss a tote bag onto your shoulder, and head out to the local market. But there’s no joy in perusing fruit stands without a six foot soldier trailing your heels and muttering to himself about how exotic fruit has gotten, and how ‘back in my day you had your apples, your oranges, and your pears.’

You wind up home by noon, and the dwelling begins to grow, still no call.

There’s a weight on your chest, and a balloon of anxiety that grows in your throat, and an unwarranted agitation burning at your skin as you read over his note again, still very much stuck to the fridge and taunting you — Be safe, says a man who clearly can’t take his own advice. 

Then, why should you?

You agree to go on a date, one you’ve been dancing around agreeing to for a few weeks yet reach for it the moment you decide you’re not pleased with the way Bucky’s lack of a call is ruining your well-earned free time.

And, hey, the guy’s not a complete loser this time. On paper, at least. He’s handsome, tall, and an athlete — ex-athlete, really, but you don’t bother to point that out while he talks about the gymnastic studio he runs. Most importantly, he’s eager to call a cab and get you home, screw Bucky’s warning. If you want to bring a stranger into your home, you’ll do it. 

Brooding, uncalling soldier be damned!

After stumbling through the dark of your apartment into your bedroom, and fumbling with your bra long enough for you to grow tired and just take it off yourself, you and Mister Gymnast tumble into the sheets for a performance so lacklustre, it warrants taking all his medals away. At least your date seems to enjoy himself, spilling onto your stomach and falling asleep the minute his head hits the pillows.

“I finished,” last you checked, he hadn't even started.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and try to will the phone to ring. Encased by a stranger’s snoring and a guilty feeling, you let Lady Sleep whisk you away. When your eyes open next, morning has broken and you’re alone in bed with a remnant trace of warmth on the sheets. But the silence is finally gone.

Beyond your door you hear the faint thud of footsteps, the ding of the fridge being opened, the whistle of the kettle. You almost trip in your rush to get dressed, and nearly rip the hinges off the door as you tear it open. Then the smile falls from your face.

“You’re up!” Everyone’s favourite gymnast is there to greet you, a mug in hand as he goes to pull you in for a kiss. The way you swerve is automatic, unplanned, leaving his lips to land on your cheek. “Uhh, I was hoping you’d sleep a little longer, I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed but-”

“He couldn’t figure out how to boil the kettle.”

And there’s Bucky, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face. Aside from the butterfly stitches above his left brow, he looks unharmed. Fine, even. Dressed in all black, with a t-shirt that’s hugging his frame a little too tightly for your liking, the double-combo of his dog-tags and vibranium arm on display. Perfectly safe for a man who couldn’t call.

Your date laughs and sheepishly scratches the back of his head before you get the chance to speak.

“Your brother was kind enough to help me.” It’s unclear who laughs first: Bucky or you. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, just…” Bucky says, shaking the laughter away with a nod of his head. “In what world do me and her look related?”

“Wait, if you’re not her brother then, are you-” Fifty shades of horror spill over the gymnast’s face, his head darting between looking over at Bucky and back at you. “Holy shit, is he your boyfriend?”

“Husband, actually,” the soldier’s all too quick-witted, pushing off the counter and reaching for a mug of brewing coffee. “But don’t worry, we’re open. What do you think of our kitchen lights, by the way? My wife here likes them dim.”

Dumb as he is, your date tilts his head up to inspect the light fixtures.

“Oh, they’re nice!”

That does it for you.

“Bucky, shut up!” You snap, finger pointed over at the menace who’s biting back a smirk and stirring away at his mug, face as innocent as sin. Is this some twisted version of revenge, a punishment for bringing a stranger home? You’d prefer the punishment to be a little more… hands on. Preferably in the form of your slapping that twinkle out of his eyes. “He is not my boyfriend, or my husband. He is the bum that lives on my couch.”

“You see how she treats me, Vince?”

“It’s Lance,” the gymna- Lance corrects him.

Moving towards the kitchen, your eyes check over your roommate once more, as though they expect some previously unseen injury to make an appearance on his skin. Come the end of your search, you’re left looking into a face that is sporting a split brow and a cruel level of entertainment from the situation at hand.

There’s a relief to having him back, and it’s wrestling with the exasperating emotions a single missed call conjured up.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you and Sam still meant to be… I don’t know, on a homoerotic getaway, fighting crime?” The questions fire out of you as you slip into one of the island’s stools.

“We finished early,” Bucky appears by your side as though from thin air, hand clasping the back of your seat and pushing you in closer to the counter top.

“Aww, don’t worry, big boy, it happens to the best of you,” you tease, an empathetic pat against his shoulder.

The mockery backfires when you notice his brows shoot up and his stare shifts towards your date, who’s too busy trying to open the sugar jar to notice the dig at his own sexual inabilities.

Wait, when exactly did Bucky get home?

“How do you take your coffee?” One-Thrust-Lance asks you over his shoulder.

Before you can answer, a cup is nudged into your grasp and Bucky looks over you with triumph, metal fingers reaching out to drag over a plate of freshly-baked cookies. The smell of warm vanilla pairs well with the soft musk of his cologne, your eyes nearly roll back inhaling it.

“Mmm,” one sip of your coffee is all you need to know it’s perfect, made exactly to your taste. “Coffee and baked goods… I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

In lieu of any verbal response, the soldier takes to dunking one of the cookies into your mug before stealing a bite out of it. You watch as he chews on the sweet treat, head nodding in approval at his own skills. After he dips a second time, you expect him to take another bite, only to find him offering the chocolate chip goodness up to your mouth. Two eyes, blue as any winter, stare encouragingly while you sink your teeth into the cookie.

Heaven couldn’t taste any sweeter, you think, as the perfect blend of coffee stained dough and the sharpness of the dark chips flood your tastebuds. 

“So messy,” Bucky tuts quietly, his right hand grabbing a steady hold of your chin while his thumb swipes away the crumbs dusting the corner of your mouth.

That thing inside of you stops again as you watch him bring his hand up to his own mouth, a pink tongue poking out to lick his thumb clean.

Arousal thrums through your blood, a pulsing rhythm that spreads straight to your clit. A squeeze of your thighs brings momentary reprieve, yet the ache fights back with renewed force, drying up your throat and knocking the sense right out of you.

Squirming where you sit, your legs switch position until one foot finds itself tucked beneath the opposite thigh, the heel of it sitting perfectly against your clothed core. You find no mercy, no chance to roll your hips forward in search of the balm only friction will bring to your burning skin. Instead there’s simply Bucky, eyes trailing down the length of you and settling on your short-clad legs. As though his behaviour is not cruel enough, he wets his bottom lip with his tongue

“You like that?” More than you’ll ever know, you almost scream until the logical side of your brain takes the wheel again and you notice him pointing down at the half-eaten cookie. Of course he’s enquiring about his baking skills, what else would this scrambled-egg-for-brains senior citizen be talking about? “Are you gonna make me wait all day for an answer?”

Something smashes behind Bucky, just in time to startle away the racy thoughts from your mind.

“My bad!” Your date — who you damn near forgot was even here — is apologising, bending at the waist and trying his best to collect the fractured pieces of a mug off the floor. “Where do you guys keep your dustpan?” 

Bucky pushes away from the island counter, taking the smell of his cologne with him; if you weren’t fully back to your rational senses, you’d miss it.

“I’ll get it, Vince, you just stand there and look pretty.”

“Okay!” Lance, it seems, is just as eager to please the ex-assassin as you almost were a moment ago.

You decide you need to move, to stand up, to stretch your legs. This has nothing to do with the lingering effect of Bucky’s antics, nor the damp patch gathering against your panties.

Slipping off the kitchen stool, you work on chugging down gulps of coffee with every intention of dumping the empty mug into the sink, dashing to your bedroom, and conjuring up the best plan you can come up with to get not only yourself, but also the trash you brought in with you last night out of the apartment and away from an infuriating roommate.

Something on the floor derails you, however, dragging you away from the path to sanctuary. The tiniest red petal, lonesome and neglected upon the cold tile. Three steps over, and there’s another petal. One step until the next petal. You follow the breadcrumb trail all the way over to the garbage can where, with one gentle push of a button, the lid opens up to reveal the unexpected, thrown away like a dirty secret.

A crumpled bouquet of roses.

Everywhere you turn, there’s tension.

In your neck, from sleeping at an unfavourable angle. Within your stomach, where a queasy feeling keeps threatening to spew your guts out onto the bathroom floor. Between you and Bucky, a foreign energy that’s grown over the course of this last week, during which you’ve been avoiding eye contact and his stare is full of accusation.

Retracing your steps, they take you back to the moment Lance left the apartment and you found yourself drowning in Bucky’s company for the first time in weeks. He was barely half-way through poking fun at the choices you made in his absence — most of his focus being on the blubbering fool you brought into your bed — when your patience ran thin and snapped.

Now here you are, bearing the consequence of your own short temper, wiping lipstick off your teeth whilst mentally preparing yourself to go on a second date, planned sheerly out of spite and the need to prove a point.

Poor Lance is none the wiser to his role as pawn in your game of ‘Screw You, Barnes!’.

“Everything okay in there?” Think of the devil and he shall knock on the bathroom door, apparently. “Thought you had your big date at seven.”

The gymnast’s text thread stares back at you, a wall of grey bubbles. You have to swallow down the lump in your throat to speak, “He’s not answering my calls.”

“You’ve been stood up? By that loser?” There’s every chance your storm of emotions is impeding you from thinking straight, but you swear you almost hear a hint of disbelief in Bucky’s voice. Disgust, even.

There’s no point dwelling on the thought.

After a quick wash of your hands, you pry the door open and watch as the soldier leaning against it nearly topples forward before catching himself against the frame. He’s entirely too close for comfort, close enough for you to notice the different shades of blue in his eyes.

“Maybe he broke his phone?” The lack of assurance in your voice has you cringing, the fear of being called out suddenly doubling.

Bucky scoffs, arms crossing over his chest.

“More likely he forgot to charge it.”

Is that what happened to him? Is that why he left you to dwell in the dark over his whereabouts and wellbeing, rendering the usual distraction of a night-time companion useless? Only for you to find him the following morning, right as rain and as annoying as ever, standing in the kitchen and casting judgement-filled glances at your overnight guest?

Thinking about it, about him, brings on an onslaught of anger you’re not willing to address. Not right now.

“Shut up!” It comes across as less independent girlboss and more petulant child, but you’re too busy noticing how firm his chest feels under your palms as you push past him out of the bathroom to care.

Prying open the freezer, you hear the soft click of the toilet door closing. Good, you think, he’s gone away. Out of sight, out of mind. Even if it is only for the short time it takes him to do his business.

That time ends up being even shorter than expected, for only minutes after you’ve dug your spoon into the creamy, frozen goodness of vanilla fudge, the object of both your fascination and your torture is making his way towards the kitchen.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop eating my ice cream?”

“Didn’t I tell you to move out?” Mouth full of vanilla, you shoot him a toothy grin and relish in the grimace it earns you.

Satisfaction melts away when Bucky invades your personal space, metal arm reaching over head and pulling open a cupboard.

“Don’t do that,” you swat at the vibranium bicep, a futile fight that simply makes you all too aware of how smooth it feels beneath your fingertips.

“Do what?” Brain of a caveman, Bucky continues his rustling through the cabinet behind you, features as stoic as a rock as though he’s none the wiser to how your chests brush against one another with each exhale.

“That,” another swat at his arm, though this time he yields. The space between you doesn’t grow, however. It worsens, his attention fully falling onto you now. “Reaching over me like you can’t just ask me to move.”

“Fine, if it really bothers you that much,” are the last words you hear before you’re airborne, two hands squeezing at your hips and moving you two steps over and out of the way.

The soldier doesn’t struggle, not even for a moment, the serum that’s altered his DNA leaving him primed and ready to manoeuvre the most steadfast of objects. Manhandle them, too. Pick them up, turn them over, pin them down, make them scream… Objects, of course, or those big, bad guys he and Sam are always chasing after.

The anger in you is renewed, burning brighter than a star ready to die. You shove his hands off of you and secure another step of distance between you.

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.” With the rate he’s going at, one would think the soldier makes a living out of deepening the frown on your face. “Is this princess’ first time being stood up?”

You’d slap him, right here and now, if it didn’t mean moving closer and touching his skin; the current top two of your ‘Things To Not Do’ list.

Luckily, the tub of ice cream sits just within reach and your eager fingers take grip of it, sliding it over the counter towards yourself. A mouthful of coolness precedes the burning question on your tongue, “Why didn’t you call?”

“Are you serious?” Now he’s the one scowling and taking a step closer.

“Deadly,” you dig the spoon back into the carton. “Now answer the question.”

“You’re pissy with me for not calling, meanwhile I’m the one who came home to some asshole in your bed?”

He’s moving closer. You try to step backwards.

“Yeah, well, if you’d called like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have ended up with said asshole.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, “Oh, so now it’s my fault that you date degenerates?”

The cackle that escapes you could break the soundbarrier.

“Wow! Everybody, give it up for another original dig at my love-life from James Buchanan Barnes!” Voice dripping with seven layers of venomous sarcasm, you give three slow claps of your hands. The cynical smile that overcomes your face feels borderline deranged, something plucked right out of a horror movie. “Okay, yeah, I date losers! Happy? Jesus Christ, Bucky, what do you expect me to do? It’s not exactly like there’s anyone else lining up to date me.”

“I am!” His voice is raised, his eyes are wide, his chest is heaving. “Maybe I’m the biggest idiot, rushing home last week to surprise you. Even brought you flowers.  I just… Fuck!”

You don’t move, don’t blink, don’t breathe.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, knuckles going white as he pulls on the tresses.

There it is again in his eyes, the accusation.

Even though he’s shaking his head, he steps closer.

The kitchen counter is right behind you, there’s nowhere for you to run.

The heels on your feet almost give out beneath you, you try to steady yourself with your hands.

Bucky has other plans and grips both your forearms.

“I am,” he repeats, softer. Slower. The icy exterior of accusation melts away to reveal vulnerability.

A hand meets your cheek and holds you like you are glass, breakable beneath his touch. Your heart’s in your throat, and there’s a current of electricity running down to your toes, and that neglected hunger in your loins creeps in again. His eyes search your face, while his thumb gently swipes over your bottom lip, prying it out an involuntary capture from your teeth.

It’s unclear who reaches for who first, whether he dips and takes possession of your mouth, or you grab him by the collar of his shirt and lay your claim over him. In a matter of seconds, a tentative press of lips against lips divulges into loss of breath, tongues in mouths, and fevered kisses.

The soldier kisses with starvation, like he has walked through the desert of loneliness and at last stumbled upon an oasis, like a bee seeking every last drop of nectar from a flower dying off with the spring, like a body clings to sleep in the throes of exhaustion. It’s a necessity, a human need, a matter of survival to keep your lips interlocked.

The hand on your face holds you steady as he tilts himself deeper into the kiss. Noses brush against the swells of cheeks, eyelids rest close, feet shuffle closer in search of eradicating the crevice of distance between you two. Metal fingers curl around the nape of your neck, a gesture you reciprocate while your spare hand lays flat-palmed against his beating chest. One of his legs winds up between yours and, as he shifts weight from one foot to another, there’s the faintest relief of friction against your cunt and a whine gets caught between your throat and Bucky’s eager mouth.

Despite how you chase his lips, he pulls back and grants you the sight of pure endearment.

“Look at you, whining already. Where’s all that fire gone?” It’s practically a whisper, spoken with fascination. “Or were you just needing Old Bucky to touch you, huh?”

Second-hand embarrassment burns the tips of your ears, while your own unspoken agreement to his question has your stomach twisting up. Survival instincts, that have never been much of a friend, scream at you to flee this feeling, to throw away Pandora’s box before you risk fully opening it and having it consume you.

Bucky intercepts your attempt to push out of his arms.

“Ah, ah, get back here. Not done kissing you,” his words divulge into a barely coherent mumble as he reconnects your lips.

Beneath the heat of his kiss, the discomfort in your chest turns to ashes. Because, while instinct tells you to run from danger, this is Bucky.

Bucky who fixes cupboard hinges, and sleeps with both eyes on the door. Bucky who carries all the shopping, and holds every door. Bucky who calls to hear your voice while he’s away endangering his life, and brings home the silliest trinkets he finds on missions. Bucky who wakes you when you miss your alarm, and knows if you’ve had a bad day simply from looking at your face.

How could you possibly be in danger when it comes to him?

While you’re overcome with epiphany, he’s taken to tracing his lips over the slope of your jaw and mouthing at the skin of your neck. It’s when he lifts you up onto the kitchen counter that your wandering mind is reeled back in, to the physical present where your legs rest on either side of the soldier and the prized possession of vanilla fudge once again sits within reaching distance.

“Are you stealing my ice cream right now?” His lips tickle your collarbone as he speaks, barely�� a moment after you’ve scooped the spoon into your mouth.

“I’m warm, and it's melting,” his head pops up just in time to accept the spoonful of vanilla you deliver. There’s a glow in his eyes, one that has you questioning if it's been there all along or if it's a consequence of touching your skin. “Don’t want it to go to waste.”

His mouth is on yours again, a rush of three chaste kisses seared against you before he replies, “Then let’s cool you down.”

At a teasingly slow pace, you feel his fingers tug down your dress’ straps, leaving the silky fabric to slip down your frame and pool around your hips. Under the golden hue of the kitchen lights, his gaze studies your bare skin like it's a work of art, an eighth wonder of the world, the greatest poem never written woven into it. Yet it still manages to pale against the face that overcomes him as he removes a final layer of lace.

Unlike Vince, he has no trouble removing your bra.

“So responsive,” he talks as though only his ears are meant to hear it, his vibranium palm gently taking hold of your left breast and rolling the hardening nipple between two fingers. 

He’s studying your reaction, bewildered by the goosebumps spreading over your flesh.

When was the last time he truly touched another person? Weeks, months, years, decades? The thought of his hands on a faceless shape makes you sick. First with envy, and then with hypocrisy, an amalgamation of all the men you’ve taken to bed flashing before your eyes. But none of them ever touched you like you were porcelain, and none of them looked at you like you held the key to eternal pleasure. None of them were Bucky.

A chill runs down your spine and a gasp rips out your chest as Bucky swipes the spoon over your skin, leaving a trail of ice cream atop your right breast for his tongue to follow. He plants a garden of kisses along the swell of your chest before pulling away to give the left side equal treatment, another creamy river along your skin for him to clean up.

Moving at their own volition, your hips grind gently against his steady figure as Bucky coats your nipple in vanilla, moaning into your chest as he lays claim over you with his mouth. Spoiling you in his kisses, the soldier begins to yearn for friction, meeting the careful roll of your hips with his own.

Your hand finds his hair and his stare meets yours, intense and all-consuming as he releases your nipple with a scrape of his teeth. You want to soothe his kiss-swollen lips but they’re already wrapping themselves around your other breast, not even patient enough to lather you in the vanilla goodness this time.

Instead, the coldness on your skin stems from metal fingers, perched on your thigh and creeping up the length of it, inch by tormenting inch. A hesitant hand wraps around a vibranium wrist, tightening its grip before you begin guiding his touch inwards, upwards, to where you need it most. Bucky's stronger, more resistant, and holds off your interceptance, left hand continuing its intended path beneath the skirt of your dress and grabbing hold of your naked waist.

He’s everywhere, all over you. Mouthing at your chest, gripping at your hip, rutting into your pussy. The sweet drag of his bulge over your clothed core sires a wet patch against your thong and has your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, winning you the hair-raising hum of a groan against your breast.

Desperate to feel more, you renew your efforts to lead his hand to the space between your legs and are met with a shake of his head.

“No,” he mutters, and robs you of a hand beneath your dress, using it instead to cradle your jaw while his lips skim over the shell of your ear. “Wanna feel you.”

The warmth of flesh brands your thigh, Bucky’s right arm now leading the charge beneath the silky fabric. With bated breath, you brace yourself against his strong chest and try not to squirm in anticipation of his touch. With one final squeeze at your inner thigh, the soldier’s hand engulfs your clothed cunt and his breath cracks in your ear, a strangled out, feral noise that has your toes curling.

“She’s so wet, darling,” his voice has you delirious, breathy against your ear. His fingers flex against your pussy and a moan catches in your throat. “You gonna let me touch her?”

Something about the way he’s speaking to you, the words he’s choosing, makes you want to fall apart. Your sex-life has always been liberal, you know what it is to have a man’s hands all over you, trying to take ownership of parts of you he thinks belong to him. Men who take, and take, and take, until there is nothing left of you to give, and not once do they care to win your favour, to plead for permission. But Bucky…

“Please, say I can touch her, wanna give her what she needs,” he’s pleading for it, begging for you — wrecked and desperate, breath run ragged from no more than the relief of rolling his groin against your thigh. “Promise I’ll be real sweat, make you feel good.”

Too caught up in his own head, he doesn’t notice you nodding, until you’re granting him salvation verbally, “Touch me, Bucky.”

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t waste time on taking off your underwear, just moves it to the side and drags the tip of his fingers down the inseam of your pussy. You hear it, more than you feel it, the moment he touches your opening, a sharp inhale at your ear telling you he’s exactly where he wants to be.

As his middle finger slips in, it’s hard to tell which of you reacts louder, both a mess of guttural moans. Once it's fully sheathed within you, he curls it and presses against your soaked walls, grinning against your skin at the reaction it coaxes out of you.

“Don’t hold back,” he chastises you as you bite back another pathetic whimper, a second finger slipping into you. “Let me hear what I’m doing to you.”

He must have a magic touch, you’re sure of it. Thick fingers that fuck into you at a steady pace, curling and teasing at that world-bending spot inside you, while his thumb makes itself useful against your clit, a firm force for your bucking hips to grind up into while you chase the pleasure he’s unleashing on you. In a matter of minutes, the room is alive with your melodic moans, Bucky’s endless hums of approval, and the damn-right embarrassingly loud squelch of him fingering your drooling cunt.

You make the mistake of letting your eyes slip shut, relinquishing yourself to the way he touches you with the rough hands of a soldier yet the delicate stroke of a musician playing his favourite instrument. He must feel the shift in you, for he’s instantly prying his face away from your neck and tightening the metal grip on your jaw, fingertips digging into squished cheeks.

“Look at me,” his words are both a command and a plea. An order you follow and a prayer you answer, eyelashes fluttering open to find his face in front of your own. His lips are a hard line, his brows furrowed in disapproval, and there’s a vein threatening to split down the middle of his forehead, but his eyes. His eyes are affection incarnate, two pools of lust and worship that pose no threat of drowning. “Do you want to cum?”

Never has a more needless question been asked. 

You nod into the force of his vibranium hand, but that’s not what he wants, frown deepening.

“Say it,” needy, helpless, spoken like he’s the one on the brink of ecstasy. “Please.”

“Bucky,” it feels good to say his name like this, brain melting into mush and heart racing in your chest. “I want you to let me cum.”

“Let you?” He’s offended by the word, fingers burying impossibly deeper inside of you while he continues to stare you down. “I beg of you.”

No warning precedes the coil in you snapping. The muscles in your core tense, your back arches into his broad figure, your pussy squeezes at Bucky’s fingers with a death grip. He guides you through it, ignoring the cramp in his wrist in favour of continuing to fuck his hand into you, a smile finally cracking over his face as he watches you fall apart atop the counter, nothing but Bucky, Bucky, Bucky surrounding you.

He tries to give you reprieve, a moment to breathe and savour the buzz in your veins, the hand around your jaw shifting to stroke at your cheek while the hand between your legs soothes you with featherlight touches.

You don’t let him, hand pawing down his torso and gripping at the belt of his jeans, delighting in the familiar clang of a buckle being undone, nimble digits that tear leather out its loop and tug down his zipper. Bucky’s bringing his lips back against yours just as you palm at his bulge, his tongue licking into your mouth when you finally release him from the confines of his boxers.

Fingers coated in your own slick grip at your thigh while the soldier makes it his mission to steal your breath, rendering you blind to the sight of his cock. But you can feel it. The weight of it in your hand, the burn of want ingrained in his skin. The width of it, and the length of it, and the perfectly mushroomed tip that has him keening into your touch as your pointer finger drags over the head.

“Is this what I do to you?” Still lost in the maze of your orgasm, you manage to gain back crumbs of your usual confidence watching Bucky fall mute. When he merely nods, you play him at his own game, fingers back in his hair and forcing him to look you in the eye. “Say it.”

He doesn’t.

He says something much better.

“D’you even realise how many nights I’ve laid on that fucking couch, hard as a rock and willing you to come out your room?”

“That’s your generation's problem, you know?” You whisper teasingly, incapable of fighting off your own laughter. “You swear more than you breathe.”

“C’mere,” he’s rolling his eyes and pulling you in, kissing you like it’s been a milenia and not a minute, hand nudging yours out the way to take a hold of himself.

Your teeth graze over his tongue as he drags the head of his cock through your folds, and he groans into your mouth before pulling back. Resting his forehead against yours, he’s teasing you both as his tip brushes over your hole before continuing its rutt up, bumping against your sensitive clit.

A wicked voice takes control of your mouth.

“Lance would have fucked me by now.”

“Vince would have cum by now, too,” he’s still rocking his hips, no sense of urgency behind the way he soaks himself in you.

Meanwhile, you’re a handful of seconds away from screaming at him to just stick it in already.

“You- Oh!” Prayers answered, hallelujah, his cock finally sinks into you. It’s a shallow thrust, barely more than the tip before he’s retreating, yet it's enough to mess with your head. “You heard us?”

“Unfortunately,” and he means it, the most subtle of pouts forming on his lips before he feeds himself a little deeper into your pussy. “I’m not great when it comes to timing.”

“I only slept with Lance because you-” Right on cue, he fucks into you even deeper and your words dissappear before they can reach your tongue.

“New rule,” a hand rests on your knee and encourages you to spread your legs wider. “No speaking another man’s name when you’re in bed with me.”

“Technically, this is the kitchen counter-” The bastard does it again, cuts you off with his dick — if it didn’t feel so damn good, you’d slap him.

He’s bottomed out at last, buried himself fully in your cunt. Hands snake around your waist, one palm flattening against your lower back while the other rests a little further up and guides your spine to arch into him, closer, like there’s anymore space left between you to devour.

His pace is still slow, teasing. A toe-curling drag of his cock out of you, letting you feel every ridge and vein before his hips promptly snap back into you and send your eyes rolling back, your head falling back — and smacking loudly against the cupboard door behind you.

Bucky freezes, one hand quick to cradle the back of your skull while his eyes scan over you.

“Jesus, doll, you okay?” 

“Please don’t stop,” you plead, ridiculously unfazed by the faint ache when you’ve got him inside of you.

Even though he rolls his eyes, he complies.

“Might have just given you a concussion and all you care about is getting fucked?” He asks, like you could possibly care about anything else when his arms are hooking themselves under your knees and rucking you up off the counter, away from any rogue cupboard that means you harm.

If anything, you’ll gladly shoulder the burden of any possible injury, if it means being granted the sight of his biceps tensing as he effortlessly stands there and fucks you down onto him. Were you in any sane state of mind, you wouldn’t think it, but god bless that super soldier serum.

“You can give me a cockcussion for all I care,” head perched on his shoulder, you watch your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt and wish it would disappear and gift you the naked view of his back.

“Adding that to the list,” he whispers against your forehead, pressing a kiss against it.

Legs bent at the knee, you watch how, with one particularly deep thrust, they bounce at either side of him and one of your heels clatters to the floor.

The room pivots as Bucky turns, you still in his arms and your ankles locked behind his back. At first, you believe he’s aiming to move things into the bedroom, where the only thing your head will be hitting is the mattress when he lays you down. He proves you wrong, however, the cold press of marble against you once more as he settles you down onto the kitchen island.

Much to your chagrin, he slips out of you, cock now sitting pretty against his clothed abdomen and glistening with the sheen of your essence. In the blink of an eye, the soldier is sinking to his knees, metal finger reaching back for your fallen shoe.

The scene plays out like something stripped right out of a morally dubious, low quality pornography retelling of Cinderella, in which Prince Charming has his dick out, Cinderella’s gown is half-way off, and the infamous glass slipper is just a pair of heels you bought on sale.

Bucky is delicate and slow, mouth tickling at your inner knee as he secures the shoe in place. He rests back on his haunches and fully takes in the sight of you, perched upon the counter, hands splayed out on marble, a tangle of silk around your waist, lips parted in search of steady breathing.

There’s an intensity to his gaze, burrowing itself beneath your skin and becoming part of your bloodstream, spreading throughout your body. It makes you want to hide, flee like you do best, but Bucky has other plans.

“The shoes stay on, but this,” Bucky’s fingertips tug lightly on the hem of your dress, exposing a sliver of new skin. “I need this gone. Am I allowed to take it off?”

There he goes again, face the model of innocence while he asks for permission to your body. If you weren’t already dripping against your panties, you would be now. Luckily, he doesn’t push you to verbalise your agreement this time, more than eager to comply the moment you nod your head.

You wiggle your hips as he pulls the fabric out from beneath you, his grip snagging on the waistband of your thong and dragging it away alongside the dress. When your ass cheeks press back down onto the cool of the counter, reality hits you like a freight-train: you’re completely nude, with Bucky on his knees before you, in the middle of the kitchen.

“Buck,” the y of his nickname disappears as you feel him peppering kisses of your leg, inching that little bit higher each press of his mouth. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to remember where your rational thoughts are stored, conjuring up images of friends, of Sam sitting at this very surface. “I don’t think we should… I mean, people eat off this counter!”

“Don’t worry,” reaching the threshold of your thigh, his kisses seem to speed up, that sauve and composed exterior chipping away to reveal a man who no longer wants to take his time with you. “I intend to eat.”

No sooner than the words reach your ears, Bucky swipes his tongue up your pussy and any fight left in you melts away as you turn to putty beneath his touch, soft and malleable, willing to sit there and take whatever he wants to give.

Give, he most certainly does. Lips latch onto your clit, hands hold your squirming hips in place, tongue dances over your most delicate areas before dipping into your entrance. He drinks from you like you’re the sweetest honey, the richest of red wines, the Holy Grail promising an eternal youth to a man whose time was stolen from him.

“You should see her, doll,” there’s a rasp in Bucky’s voice, a feral undertone to the growl that rests in the back of his throat. One hand tugs his shirt off while the other snakes between your legs, two fingers spreading your lips open in an obscene gesture that has you clamping down on your bottom lip. “She’s drooling for me, all pretty and wet.”

Dropping both your legs over his shoulders, he tugs you right to the edge of the counter and dives back in. You feel his nose bump against your clit and your hand grabs onto your thigh, nails piercing into flesh as your mouth sings a whined symphony.

Vibranium curls around your wrist, prying harm away from your own skin and silently imploring you to hurt him instead, nestling your fingers back into his hair. He’s renewing his effort, a touch that’s more determined than ever to make you fall apart, on his knees and worshipping the altar of your body — fealty and devotion seared into each lap of his tongue, each brush of his lips, each stroke of his fingers.

Who are you to reject his piety? You welcome it, with closed fist and glassy eyes. The soldier shudders — a full-body shiver that shakes down his spine — as the point of your heel digs into his back and your fingers squeeze at his scalp, no mercy shown as you lose yourself in the throes of lust.

When you cum, a silent scream rips through your chest and a burning-too-bright white light turns you blind. He doesn’t let up, tongue still buried in your convulsing walls as your thighs clamp around his head and your feet kick at his back, shoes flying elsewhere into the kitchen. He pays none of it any mind, content to prolong your orgasm for as long as you’ll allow him, slowly rising off his knees with two hands pinning you back against the counter while he continues to feast on your pleasure.

“Ja-mes,” a fractured call of his name is all it takes for him to stop, pupils more black than blue as they stare down at the picture you paint atop the counter: teary-eyes, swollen lips, heaving chest.

He’s hardly the image of composure either, red lines along the expanse of his back, hair a tousled mess, the scruff on his face covered in a sheen of your juices. And, yet, never have you wanted to kiss him so bad.

All you manage, after minutes of floating atop the cloud of your peak, is a cheeky grin and a comment that makes him roll his eyes: “For a fossil, you’re pretty kinky.”

“War camps aren’t exactly known for being fun,” as he speaks, he slowly lowers your legs off his shoulder. “You find ways to keep yourself entertained.”

“Bet you were quite the pleaser, huh?” Trying your best to play it cool, you lay your head fully back on the counter and stare up  at the ceiling, praying he doesn’t notice the hypocritical pit forming in your stomach as you listen to your own words. “Probably had all the prettiest nurses fighting over who gets to tend to your poor, aching, throbbing co-”

“Jealousy looks cute on you,” he interrupts, amused, as his hands soothe over your hips.

“I’m not jealous!” You exclaim, barely believing yourself.

One hand reaching out for him, you watch your fingers intertwine with the prosthetic digits and let him tug you back up, chest to chest when his hand finds your cheek.

“I was,” his confession is crooned whilst staring right into your eyes, the tiniest up-turn to his mouth. “Everytime you walked out the door to go date a new loser.”

“Who knew,” your voice is as gentle as his own, nonchalant as a finger dances down the well-defined muscles of his abdomen and elicits a groan out of him. “All along I had my own loser at home.”

Bucky opts for silence as your hand reaches his groin and pays no mind to his cock, red-tipped and leaking, flushed against his stomach. You’re more interested in his jeans — in removing them, to be exact. It doesn’t take much, a sharp tug at the hem before they’re slipping off, meeting restraint as they cling to his muscled thighs and implore him to finish the job on your behalf, shucking them off blindly to where the rest of your clothes lie.

You must have saved a village in a past life to be rewarded with the view of a completely nude Bucky Barnes, skin stained by lust and laced with gold beneath the kitchen light. You must have saved the rest of the world, too, to watch how his eyes roll back and his mouth falls slack when you take his length in hand and give one slow pump of your wrist, releasing it just to watch it slap back against his abdomen.

As you reach for his dick again, his hand secures itself around your own and guides it up and down the length of it. Once, twice, thrice, till he’s breathing heavily and dripping in pre-cum.

“You must be close,” a statement you make with his own bodily reaction as evidence to back it up, yet there’s still room for doubt — to what extent does that soldier serum interfere with him?

“Put me back down on my knees and I’ll cum to the taste of you,” the soldier certainly makes a tempting offer, one that it almost pains you to refuse.

Almost, if you hadn’t already felt the sweet stretch of him inside you.

“Pretty sure putting you back down on your knees might be considered elder abuse, ole buddy.”

“My age may be a hundred and six but-”

“Exactly my point.”

“But my body isn’t,” he’s using that stare of his, the one Sam always warns you about, while  you’re full-on cheesing, a rush of adrenaline shooting through your veins as you wind him up.

“Remind me, who threw their back out a few weeks ago pulling a tray of muffins out the oven?”

His flesh hand grips behind one of your knees and tugs you right to the edge of the counter, while his left one, still clasped over your own, drags his tip over your folds.

“I don’t remember hearing you complain when you drunkenly ate half the tray and then threw up over the rest,” admittedly, not one of your proudest moments.

“Shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Just like that, you’re drowning in him again, gasping for breath as you lose yourself in a flood of lust. Bottomed out, stuffing you full, Bucky barely graces your pussy with the chance to adjust to his stretch once more before he’s moving, the sweet graze of every inch being dragged along your sensitive walls.

Your nerves are still reeling from his mouth, a quiet hum of electric pleasure reawakened by his throbbing cock and his vulgar mouth.

“She fits me like a fucking glove,” his hands are pawing at your waist, your breast, your face, never in one place for too long as he begins to settle into a rhythm of thrusts. “Doing so good for me, darling.”

The softness put into his term of endearment births an ache in your chest, one that will accept no medicine other than your arms around his neck and his lips on yours. Mouths tangled in kisses and sweat dripping down your skin, Bucky halts — your hips pressed together, the swell of his balls resting right against your swollen cunt, the head of his cock resting right against your sweet spot — and grinds.

Slow, deliberate, delicious. You whine into his mouth and feel how he swallows it, feasts on your ecstasy with a willing tongue, and a smiling mouth, and possessive teeth that tug at your lip as he pulls back. He stretches out the feeling, grinding a second time as your noses bump against one another.

“Bucky,” his name is an anchor, a paperweight, something to ground you amidst the floaty feeling of being two orgasms deep with a third approaching any time now.

“I know,” he says, and you believe him. Believe that he knows, that he’s known, that he always knows when it comes to you.

You lay your head to rest upon on his left shoulder when he returns to chasing a high between your thighs, a renewed vigor behind each thrust that has your hips rolling to meet his and your nails raking over the straining muscles of his back.

“I lied,” an unprompted confession stumbles out his mouth, fingers flexing into their grip on your waist. “About the apartment viewing. I didn’t go.”

“Bucky,” is all you can manage, branded into his skin with a kiss along his neck.

“Is that all you can say? Huh?” His voice carries a teasing lilt, paired to perfection with the pad of his thumb rubbing at your clit. “I’m giving pivotal revelations here, and you’re just gonna reply with that?”

Another echo of his name, walls fluttering around his dick.

“Bucky, Bucky,” he’s mocking you, a torturer’s laugh as he moans his name into your ear. “Keep going, you sound so pathetic it’s almost cute.”

Beyond words and beyond sense, you give in to the weight of his palm splaying against your stomach and guiding your back down onto the island. The soldier hooks your legs over his elbows, deepening the angle that his cock fucks into you, and you swear you see stars dance along the kitchen ceiling.

A hand smooths over your gut and you look back at Bucky to find adoration in his eyes.

“You see that?” You almost want to cry when his movement switches back to a slow drag — innnnn and outtttt — until you notice it: the smallest hint of movement beneath your flesh, a subtle visual of the outline of his tip bulging against your skin from inside you. “See how full she is, how good I’m making her feel?”

Pressing your hand against it, you can’t help but giggle as you feel him poke at your palm, only to fall back into a puddle of incoherent noises when he keeps pushing at that sweet spot, over and over. Harder and faster with each draw back of his hips, you feel rivulets of your own arousal roll down your ass and onto the marble, tainting the counter forevermore in the sins the soldier commits against you, the sins you welcome with open legs.

You’re near the edge again, and he feels it, pushing you closer and closer as he slowly spirals into a mess of phrases that barely begin before he’s cutting them off with something new.

“Don’t deserve this-” He catches himself, rips the insecurity in his voice out by the roots. “C’mon, let me see it one more time. Need to see you fall apart.”

“Want you to fall apart too,” you manage to beg, unwilling to watch him hold back or pull out before he finishes. “Please!”

Like any good soldier, he obeys.

Crashing over you like a wave, he’s doubled-over by the waist and sandwiching you between the counter and him. You feel him spill into you, hot ropes of cum painting your walls white as a third crescendo washes over your body.

Both of you seek out the other as his thrusts grow languid and your walls spasm, milking him for every last drop he’s got. When your mouths meet, it’s less of a kiss and more of you simply breathing into the other, exchanging air and body heat.

“So,” you croak eventually, exhausted and spent atop the counter yet completely unwilling to relinquish him from blanketing you. “Are you gonna do that every time I steal your ice cream?

Somewhere between jello-ed legs and cold compresses, you wind up in bed.

Skin clammy, lips swollen, lust satiated, you practically melt into the buttery softness of your bed sheets as Bucky lays you down. Despite how you’re still basking in the glow of your third and final orgasm, the soldier seems to think, for a second, you can handle another.

With gentle hands prying open your thighs and a curious tongue diving in for a second helping, licking up the dribble of his own cum spilling out your hole, he’s quick to be corrected when you roll away from his touch with a whine and a plea, “think I might actually die if you make me cum again, Buck.”

He’s unbothered by the rejection, wholly embracing it as he curls up behind you and snakes his arms over your naked skin. It’s you who drags the sheet up and over you both, turning in his arms to plant your head on his chest. His heart races beneath it, but you hold off on teasing — your own isn't any better.

“Sam’s going to kill me,” you whisper out into the room, when moonlight is peeking through your curtains and both of your heartbeats have calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” you feel him shift beneath your head and, though you can’t fully see him, you feel that blue gaze land on you. “Have I not made it clear enough what name you should be saying in bed?”

“There’s a serious chance I’ll die and you’re thinking with your dick,” he squirms as you pinch at his nipple. “You’re no better than the men on your list, Barnes.”

Silence floats back in between you for a moment, peaceful as the slow stroke of his fingers dancing up your spine.

“Why would Sam kill you?” He pauses, hand pressing a little harder down against a knot in your shoulder.  “He knows you have a crazy guard dog.”

Your crazy guard dog just pressed a kiss against your forehead, how frightening.

“He made me swear I wouldn’t get involved with you. He said you weren’t in the headspace for a relationship, that you needed to focus on inner peace first.”

“Turns out inner peace is being inside of you,” you pinch at his nipple again. This time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, you almost swear you hear a little moan creep up his throat. “So, Wilson’s to blame? I can get behind that.”

“To blame for what?”

His hand’s now running up and down the back of your arm, leaving goosebumps wherever its tender touch goes. 

“Why it took you so long to jump my bones.”

“You think I jumped your-” Your head rises off his chest and you stare into the navy darkness of the room, trying to make a concrete shape out where you see shadows of his face. “Wait, so these past few weeks, I’ve not been hallucinating? You’ve been… flirting?”

“It’s been more than a couple weeks, sweetheart,” Bucky seems to have no problem finding you in the dark, hand cupping your cheek and dragging you up to press a chaste kiss against your mouth. “You don’t seriously think I waited until morning to check that sink without hoping to be caught, do you?”

“So you were slutting yourself out on the kitchen floor!”

“Think the kitchen’s seen worse,” worse might be the understatement of the century.

Clothes still lay discarded, counters unwiped, ice cream completely melted. Cleaning you up had been the soldier’s only priority, and you weren’t in the mood or the mindstate to argue with him on that.

A fingertip tickles down the slope of your nose.

“Stop fighting it, you’re tired,” you hear him whisper.

“I want to hear more about your desperate efforts to get my attention,” it’s nothing but a weak protest.

“We have all the time in the world for that. Sleep,” you don’t hesitate to comply when Bucky’s hand presses you back down against the warmth of his chest. “You’re going to need it. Our upstairs neighbours still need a taste of their own medicine.”

+ extra hyde ! · 70% of this fic is just dialogue, these two losers would not stfu! · writing banter + sexual tension feels more exposing than writing literal porn. · lore accurate photo of me whenever bucky barnes exists:

[hosekisama]

IT IS FINISHED.

The Past Teaches You to Be Alone is complete at 150,243 words across 40 chapters! If you were holding off because you don't read WIPs, your time is now!

Some kind comments/testimonials we've received over the past (holy shit) year:

wow.

I started reading it thinking, hmm it's very long, do I really want to invest so much time in it? And now I'm so excited that there's so much more of this story I'm practically buzzing.

This is such a grounded take on the role-swap AU.

I love how you've struck a perfect balance of following the plot beats but drastically recontextualizing and showing new angles to them.

And for the fic in general, I am really really enjoying it a lot. Not only has very coherent and nuanced takes on both AU Kim and AU Harry, but the writing is superb. I repeat what I (and others) have said about Discernment but is written masterfully. And finally, for the plot, it followed the games events and my expectations for the most part, which you manage to give new meaning and perspective while referencing the source. However, I have been pleasantly surprised

GOOD FUCKING FOOD, the best Kim Kitsuragi I ever did read

kim kickassuragi yyyeaaah

Totally in love with this version on Kim as well as the original one, as they're really feel like the same person with different turns of events

I love how you've written Harry and Kim's swapped dynamic and this has been just such a tasty treat to read!

aughh… aoghghhh… aououugughhghghhhh… ow.

I'm so in love with this story. You have to understand them SO well to pull off an AU like this and they are both just perfect. A friend of mine is already used to me screaming in our messages at least once a day about this amazing fic I've found and what a fantastic job it's doing of both Kim and Harry. Heartbroken I'm now caught up and can no longer binge-read it.

This fic is impossible to put down.

yes yes yes yes yesz yes yes yes yes yes LETS GOOOOO

this is such an enchanting and well thought out read

The writings style is so beautiful and just the right amount of flowery and detail <3

stays true to the mysterious and melancholic tones the game script has whilst being your own independent creation

HARRY SEEMS LIKE THE PERSONIFICATION OF A WARM CUP OF COFFEE. BEAUTIFUL.

AUGH I am waiting anxiously on the edge of my seat

It's amazing, and SUPER impressive- you guys ought to be feeling proud as hell!

It's really inspiring to see how much thought you guys gave put into this, and the entire fic is beautifully polished.

I'm screaming im crying

Thsi is fuckin incredible I can't wait for more, thanks for giving me my morning newspaper

Love waking up to an email notification about this fic!

there have been moments where I had to kick my feet and go hee hee! hoo hoo! god I love well written fic and this is very well written.

i just wanted to specifically state how gorgeous and well written it was and how many times i've re-read it lmao. You guys nailed the weirdness and unexplainable but still all consuming raw hurt of emotional dreams

read all of this in a day and it's so so thrilling and creative and interesting and inspiring. incredible work and such a gift

Their dynamic is beautiful and I'm so excited to see more of these two! You can so clearly tell how much thought you put into which traits and behaviours would still be present in the swap version and how they'd change and it's so much fun to read!

Their interactions have such a certain cadence to them. They feel really natural to me. They don't have everything out there, but you can feel the growing trust and earnestness. Youve done the progression of things so well.

Masterful. Touching. So full of love.

to read

I'm very pleased to finally be sharing this -- @lgbterrorist and I have put a lot of work into this Swap AU fic, and it's just started serializing on AO3.

Something happened to Kim Kitsuragi that knocked his life wildly off course. Now it’s March of ’51, and he’s woken up in the Whirling-in-Rags with an apocalyptic concussion, a chip on his shoulder, and a partner intent on solving a murder.

The Past Teaches You to Be Alone. Kimharry, rated M, final word count ~148k.

The cover art is by Sykine, definitely check out their other work!

[astraljedi]

Papasito (Joaquin Torres)

Summary: I saw him across the dance floor and knew—I needed him. And being with him? That's something I'll never recover from. Warnings: explicit sexual content. Oral sex (female recieving), mentions of drinking alcohol, sexual tension, voyeurism (in an alley, but no one sees), Spanglish, dirty talk. Word Count: 2.05K A/N: Oops, I said I wasn't going to write it but I JUST HAD TO. Also, I think this is the first fic I fully incorporate my culture and roots, and I'm so happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! -

Papacito, ay, que rico tú Te quiero pa' mí, no pa' un ratito

The moment I walked into the bar, my eyes land on him instantly. He stands close to the dance floor—not dancing, just laughing and singing with his group of friends. He looks good, the most handsome in the room in a neat white shirt with a couple of buttons undone, part of his tan chest exposed. 

God, and the way his smile glistens under the lights, the way he holds the cup of beer in his veiny hands—the cup looking so small under his grip. The wildfire that spreads through me isn’t from the alcohol running in my system, but from the way his eyes meet mine.

Even from across the bar, those brown eyes almost make my knees buckle. His gaze roams over my body and returns to mine. And I don’t dare look away, lost in a trance.

Our gaze lingers, and I lick my lips, swaying my hips to the rhythm of the song, feeling Gianna behind me doing the same. I throw my head back, letting the beat control my moves, running my hand all over my body.

The rush. The need.

It makes me lose my mind for him, spiraling just from one look across the dance floor. I want to feel his body against mine, feel his tight grip on my hips. I want to feel his lips brush over my skin. I need to taste him until it makes me dizzy and then beg for more. 

The bar is packed with flowy colorful dresses twirling between linen shirts and a group of tourists trying to learn the steps to basic salsa in one corner. The live band is electric, playing their hearts out under the glowing string lights. It’s salsa night on the back patio, and every Friday, the girls and I never fail to show up in our best colorful dresses and dancing heels to relieve our beautiful culture from back home in the caribbean.

A mural of El Viejo San Juan stretches across one wall—flor de magas, coquis and the colors of my beautiful island and home decorate the other. Behind the bar, a line of Latin American flags hang over the tall liquor shelf, celebrating our cultures all together in one small bar. 

I turn, facing Gianna. “Are you going home with the congas guy?”

“I might. Are you eyeing someone?” Gianna smirks, taking a sip of her mojito.

I nod, scanning the crowd. “Where’s Casey?”

“She went to make out with that girl she bumped into earlier.” Gianna tips her chin toward the bar. I spot Casey’s pixie-cut jet-black hair, tangled up with said girl from earlier. 

“Do you have your location on?”

“Always,” I take a sip of my drink, more for courage than thirst. “Tell them to play something hot y con mucha pasión.” I wink at her, smacking her ass as she makes her way toward the small stage. She looks back, blowing me a kiss before the lead singer helps her up stage.

The space around me crowds the moment Gianna leaves, more bodies joining the packed and hot dance floor. I move through the crowd, my way to brown eyes, getting closer to those hypnotizing brown eyes, unaware of me closing in on him. His back is still to me, just a few feet away when the band changes to a sultry, sensual rhythm. The crowd lights up, people cheer and scream excited.

I glance at the stage, Gianna flashes me a thumbs-up as she settles close to the congas on stage. 

Never underestimate Gianna. Ever.

The familiar buzz spreads through my veins. The ache in my feet from the heels fades under the adrenaline rush.My heart drums in my ears, beating fast against my chest with the hum of the congas and bongos on the stage. 

I bump my body into his side—accidentally.

I saw you there looking so good tonight

I swear to God, I'm dying to kiss you

The music is perfect, sensual, dirty y apasionada. The gritty and soulful voice of the lead singer takes me back home, the fiery and fast paced rhythm has my body gliding and moving effortlessly, melting with the velvety music. 

I feel him turn, his hand lands on my waist, and he spins me around to face him. Then he grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers as the hand on my waist slides down to my lower back, pulling me close to him. 

Our noses brush, my hand slips to the back of his head, fingers diving into his dark curls. Up close, he smells good—dangerously delicious, so good I want to drown in it. My eyes nearly roll back when I feel his cheek graze my temple, the heat of his body pressed to mine as he leads the dance.

“Where have you been all night?” he growls in my ear.

“I’ve been looking at you,” I say over the music. “Trying to get you close.” My name slips from my lips, brushing against his jaw.

“Joaquin.” I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, his hand now on my lower hips, guiding me exactly how he wants. I’m already his, ready to be used, handled. 

I would let his biceps crush me. No. I would beg him to do it. 

It doesn’t feel like much time has passed. We stay on the dancefloor, teasing each other, moving to the intimate songs the band plays, no space between our bodies as we dance across the floor. His hands stay low and hot on my body, my fingers still tangled in his hair. Joaquin’s lips linger near my ear, singing the lyrics like a prayer—like a promise of what he plans to do to me. 

I cradle his jaw with one hand, our lips hovering close but neither of us move to close the gap. Joaquin spins me, pulling my back into his chest, switching our positions. His face nuzzles into my neck, and he smooths his hands slowly down my arms, somehow still leading the dance with ease and in control. 

I bite my lip, fighting back a whimper as his breath heats my skin. His nose brushes down the curve of my neck to my shoulder, where he leaves quick, wet kisses before trailing lower along my spine. My whole body shivers as his palms settle low on my hips, guiding them side to side matching the rhythm while I glide my arms through the melody. 

I look over my shoulder, watching him stare as my hips move under his control effortlessly.

He straightens behind me, chest pressing to my back as his palms graze my skin, and I feel the hard strain in his pants against my ass. I arch into him, lips parted as his breath hits my ear.

“You trust me?” His voice is rough, like he’s barely holding on.

I nod. Not a single scared bone in my body. Not with him. He takes my hand and pulls me off the dance floor. My stomach twists with anticipation as we pass groups of people, stumbling towards the back of the bar. He pushes the side door open, the music fading behind us as the squeaky door shuts, leaving us in the soft dim narrow alley. 

The cold air brushes my skin, the red mini dress I’m wearing barely covers my chest or thighs—but that’s the last thing I care about. Joaquin crashes his mouth onto mine and I moan, melting into the kiss instantly. His tongue slips between my parted lips, taking ownership of me. 

Joaquin cages me between his body and the brick wall, one firm hand gripping the side of my neck while the other hooks under my thigh, raising my leg over his hip. I tangle my fingers into his curls, pushing him closer with the leg I’ve wrapped around him. 

“Fuck, mami.” he mutters, dragging his lips from my jaw down to my neck. His teeth graze the skin before pressing slow, wet kisses on my burning skin. 

I laugh, breathless. “Ay, papasito, qué rico.” 

Joaquin kisses his way down to my cleavage, then pauses to look up at me. “Papasito?” He grins.

“¿Quieres que te llame por otro nombre?” I play with his curls, looking down at him. Joaquin licks his lips. He places a firm hand on the side of my thigh, squeezing hard until I gasp.

“No,” he says, resting his cheek against my cold breast. “Tú me puedes llamar como tú quieras, mami.”

Then he bites down on the swell of my breast, his tongue flattening over the mark he just made. I tug on his curls, the air escaping out off my lungs as I watch him sink to his knees in front of me. 

He hooks my leg over his shoulder, bunching up the material of my dress, exposing the black lace thong I wore underneath. 

Joaquin growls, nose brushing against my soaked center as he inhales, like he’s memorizing this moment. A whimper escapes my lips, heat flooding my entire body.

His eyes darken full of lust and desire. Joaquin pushes the lace aside, and the cool air hits my exposed sex. I’m already trembling, and he’s barely touched me. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He growls, spreading me wider before crashing his mouth into my folds. I moan loudly, throwing my head back to the rough brick wall, his tongue sucking on my clit without mercy. 

I yank his curl, rough, showing him how I like it. He picks up the pace quick, fingers pressing and teasing my soaked entrance. I part my lips, feeling him ease two fingers inside, stretching me open as his tongue sucks relentlessly on my clit. 

“Ay, amor.” I whimper, his fingers curling up into that sweet, perfect spot that makes me tremble. I grind down on his face, chasing the pleasure building up rapidly. His fingers press deeper and harder, knuckles deep. I arch my back, the coil inside me desperate to snap.

“I’m so close—fuck, Joaquin.” I chant his name, my voice echoing in the alley, not caring if someone hears me. My skin is on fire, sweat sticking to my body. 

Joaquin grips my hips hard, fingers digging into my skin roughly, but I didn’t care. 

I want to have his hands dented onto my skin, a souvenir, a savored memory. There’s no way I’m letting this man go. I’m not letting this be another one night stand. 

I glance down at him, watching him devouring me like a starving man. His eyes flick up to meet mine and my walls clench tight around his fingers. Joaquin chuckles, the low vibrations from his laugh sending me right over the edge as he watches me.

I fall apart, crying out his name. My body jerks as the hot wave of my orgasm crashes through me. My vision blurs, his face stays buried in me, tongue lapping every drop of my release as soft, overstimulated moans escape my lips. 

Joaquin pants against my skin, resting his cheek on my thigh that’s on his shoulder. “I just discovered my new addiction.” He breathes, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of my thigh. 

He gently lowers my shaking leg off his shoulder, hands sliding up my body as he stands up from the concrete. It’s like he can’t fathom a second without touching me. I rest my forehead on his chest, trying to catch my breath. 

“No rehab can help me,” he murmurs. “Let me stay addicted to those desperate, pretty whimpers and moans you make when I have you coming on my tongue.” He presses his hard length against me, and I whimper, already aching for more. “Tu mirada es una que nunca quiero olvidar. No hay cura para superarte.” 

“Then don’t.” I grin, grabbing his jaw in my palm. “I want you—and not just for a little while.”

I pull him in, our mouths crashing together again as his hand tangles in my hair. My other hand slips down between us, palming the thick bulge in his pants. He groans, grinding into my touch. He melts into it, alive and hungry for more.

“Not here,” he mumbles against my lips. “If I’m going to sink into you—stretch you out with my cock—I don’t want it to be in an alley. I want to get lost in you. I want to treasure every sound, every clench, every time your walls suck me deeper into oblivion.”

For that addiction, I would need rehab

I grip his biceps, body already needy for more. “Take me home, papasito.” 

[taegularities]

upcoming… | (m)

Summary: Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No – you want this entire story to die.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: exes to ?, college!au; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: heartache, past breakup, flashbacks, memories, memory erasure (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind vibe), tears, angst angst angstttt, fights but also such tender moments, college sweethearts 🥺, smut (details to be added when the fic drops)… the ending 👁 ➵ est. word count: around 25k ➵ a/n: another angsty taegularities special :D coming next, so stay tuned!! 👁

–

"I do fear… what if one day, it's just me and my thoughts, and you're nowhere to be found?"

Jungkook laughed; not at your worries, but about how improbable the words sounded. It flooded a sense of relief through you when he promised, "To leave… I'd have to un-meet and forget about you entirely, you know?"

Summary: Somewhere out there, a sinister castle roams the hills behind the dense fog. And somewhere hidden inside, there is a man you need to find; to charm; to wreck. Provided… he doesn't destroy you first.

➵ pairing: Taehyung x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: howl's moving castle au, fantasy au, s2l / e2l; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: magic and stuff, spy stuff, frenemies?, bickering and initial dislike, fights, sexual tension, based on the movie version of HMC, multiple (2) smut scenes (details to be added but expect… quite smth :p) ➵ est. word count: 20k ➵ a/n: this has been a wip for literal years now, and i think it's time i sent it out into the world :') since i'm rereading the book (but the fic is based on the ghibli movie!), i've been feeling some sort of way, soooo… howl oneshot soon?

–

“Do you feel anything?”

You can't. There is no heartbeat, no steady rhythm, nothing. Yet he breathes, walks, smiles as if he's missing nothing.

You shake your head, and he chuckles, a crooked smirk that confuses you in the best way possible. He loosens his firm grip around your hand, but you still leave your touch right there, rubbing over his chest until he adds,

“A heart's a heavy burden.” The warmth of your fingers sprawls across his torso, his eyes closing. “Especially if you’re me.”

Summary: Jungkook and you try something very, very new.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: fwb/fake dating/established relationship; fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: smut smut smut (everything else is redacted bc that'd just spoil the whole thing ha ha :D) ➵ est. word count: 10-12k ➵ a/n: this is part of my colour me in series – for those who don't know! the series is still paused, but i might continue it sometime this year if things work out. this drabble would come next <3

–

"I've been promising it for so long now," he whispers, fingertips wandering along your bare sides, beneath your crop top. "Haven't I?"

Summary: Jeon Jungkook barges into your unproblematic life unexpectedly. He's supposed to stay for the summer; but it doesn't take long for the bright days to turn grey, stirring, bittersweet; a trigger for bleak memories and a reminder that sometimes, closeness shatters more than it heals.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: s2l, summer/college au, dancer!jk; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: love triangle!!, yearning, thin walls lol, tears, fighting, old memories/childhood stuff, (mention of) drugs, abandonment, camping, multiple smut scenes (details will be added when the fic drops), plot twists, heartbreak, THE ENDING PLS ➵ est. word count: 40k lol; might split it in 2-3 parts if it gets too long ➵ a/n: i am most excited for this oneshot (?), and i have been for so long. it's a scary amount to write and i don't know when it'll be done. if i could, i'd write and post it rn… it's hella intimidating, but i love this story and i'm also hella excited, so… stay tuned and bring tissues <3

–

“Maybe… I don't know,” he pauses, blinking, and then starts anew, “maybe I'm this much with her, so I don't end up knocking at your door.”

A sting of guilt pierces your heart; you ask, “You… you guys hook up all the time. Doesn’t she feel… that way for you?”

“She doesn't.”

“And you? Do you feel anything for her?”

“I don't.” He hesitates again, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, friendship.”

“...Don't end up breaking hearts, Jungkook.”

Summary: In a world fractured by hatred, Yoongi seems your quiet salvation. But when a boy from your past returns, cloaked in secrets and unfinished memories, battle lines blur and you find yourself faced with a choice between the peace you built and the fire you never truly forgot.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader, Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: royal au, s2l, childhood bf2l, love triangle; angst, fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: there's a battle/war thing going on, love triangleeeee of the best sort, tender yoongi and fierce jungkook, some scenes are extremely tense – again in the best way possible, sexual tension, heartbreak, hate, betrayal (and nope, no cheating), multiple sex scenes (with both yoongi and jk (but not with both of them together lol)), falling in love hard, jealousy; the… the ending…… ➵ est. word count: 150-200k (around 10 chapters) ➵ a/n: THIS WILL LITERALLY RUIN US LMAO no seriously, i'm going to pour my everything into this. it's a story with quite some angst and heavy tension that even gave me trouble breathing when i was just outlining it :') yoongi in this is achingly sweet and jk is absolutely delicious. i think it'll be a piece i'm most proud of… and someday, i want to turn it into a novel. i hope you all love this 🤍

–

"I am in love with you," Yoongi whispers; your eyes water. "Even if you aren’t only in love with me. I know how this might go. And I am not saying we should make this official because – I am scared you might realise you need him more."

"It’s not about needing anybody…"

"But it’s about who sits in your heart so deeply that it feels like you need him to survive. I don’t know if I am that for you. But you’re that for me."

–

"Why are you still here, Jungkook? Why are you always around me? It’s not me you came back for."

"Sweetheart–"

"Would you have? If not for this?"

"If not for this… I would have come sooner."

Summary: A casual hook up morphs into a fierce fever dream when roommates slash best friends Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook bring heaven and hell to you – all at once, in one single night.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader x Jungkook ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: kind of fwb, threesome, college au; fluff, hella smut ➵ warnings: yoongi and oc are fwb, teasing, flirting, kissing booth stuff, jk wears glasses and has long hair (manbun beloved), sexual tension, mid-sex convos, threesome, smut (e.g., double penetration, degradation, spit stuff, manhandling,.. (will expand on this once the full thing drops), aftercare, valentino yoongi and ck jk!! ➵ est. word count: 12-15k ➵ a/n: back to the ruin you days, i guess. am super excited for this to finally drop. gonna give y'all the best version of it possible, love you <3

–

“I’m just saying. Tonight might be a little too much for you with the two of us, you know? I’m not as easy to handle as you think.”

“I don’t think you are,” you confess. “But I don’t want to handle you. I want the opposite.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes. A hint of desire, hunger growing in the predator’s big gaze. If he wants to reject you now, you’ll walk away.

But you don’t think he will.

And once more, courageous, you say, “Handle me, Jeon Jungkook.”

full teaser that i once posted!

Summary: You carve your name into Jungkook's mind with constant affection and care, and he keeps hoping that both your hearts beat in unison, synchronised and wild. But in reality, it’s only ever him who falls – you're as still as time... until, you're not.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: singer!jungkook, bf2l but also brother's best friend; angst, fluff, smut; trilogy ➵ warnings: jealousy, another love triangle lmao, namjoon is her brother and his best friend, oc playing wingwoman, confessions, pain, tears, moving away, yearning, idiots to lovers too tbh, smut <3 ➵ est. word count: around 60-70k in total ➵ a/n: this is part of my evermore series which was supposed to have a oneshot/twoshot/trilogy per member with unrelated stories; but since life has gotten so crazy, i might not be able to write all of them. but i still have tae's fic 'cotton candy' written and want to work on timbre; so these will drop at least and i am so thrilled to share them. especially this lil mini series 🤍

–

Jeon Jungkook has been in love with you since the very first time he met you.

At least that's what he'd tell you if you ever asked.

He won’t tell you that whatever respect he housed for you since you were teenagers evolved into something far more advanced along the way.

That it was over time that your friendship started blooming like the tiger lillies he liked so much. You must have been sixteen then.

Now, around eight years have passed, and the thriving musician and your best friend Jeon Jungkook is still in love with you. Boundlessly, irreversibly.

–

a/n: hey hey!! this is a small overview of all the things i shall start preparing very, very soon. i will work on these wips whenever i can, and i am excited about every single one of them. i will ofc also drop longer teasers to each story when we reach that point!

i do also think you guys will love each story! so i can't wait to drop them one by one :') this post is also sort of to motivate and inspire me, so if you want to talk about any of these or hype them up… let's talk :p

–

also, here's the taglist! <3

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

No doubt jakeyn has my heart ☹️☹️ could i req a scenario about them having to babysit a niece/nephew and they get baby fever from it..... and possibly discuss about starting a family one day?

& this request! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡ oh my gosh this is so freaking sweet stfu rn...this is ADORABLE. oh im crying jakeyn as parents one day??? the most chaotic, but yet, cutest parent duo ever.

──── ONE DAY 🍼☁️🧸 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

"She's too fast," Jake's skidding to a full stop in front of you, hands braced on his knees as he pants, breath heaving, but still—he's smiling. Like his heart has never been so full.

Down the hall—your two-year-old-niece shrieks with laughter, her tiny feet pounding against the floor as she disappears into the bedroom, giggling like the maniac she is.

"She's impossible to catch," Jake chuckles, shaking his head as he watches her turn the corner and into the room, eyes wide with defeat.

You giggle, your hands occupied with assembling three slightly lopsided PB&Js, "You need to get her here for lunch."

"And I will," he promises between wheezes.

You reach across the kitchen counter and hand him a juice box—which he opens and takes a sip from, "Thanks, baby."

"I gave that to you to give to her, but okay. Sure."

An hour later, the three of you are tucked into the couch—your niece curled up fast asleep on Jake's chest, tiny fingers still clutching the fabric of his hoodie.

Her empty juice box abandoned on the floor.

Untouched crusts of her sandwich on the coffee table.

Bluey humming quietly from the TV across from you three.

Jake's stroking her hair gently. Your head rests on his shoulder, your breathes matching his own.

Everything smells of faint peanut butter and baby shampoo.

You glance up at your boyfriend—all soft, quiet, warm, his eyes looking down, watching your niece sleep like she's made of glass and gold.

You smile.

"You're a natural," you whisper.

Jake's eyes flick to yours. His voice drops, soft and quiet—

"Yeah?"

You nod. "She loves you. She hasn't let go of your hand all afternoon."

He glances down again—at the toddler tucked into him like he's the safest place in her world. Then, he looks back at you.

"I kind of...like this," he murmurs. "Like, I knew I'd love her—she's just like you—but this? This feeling? With you here too?"

You nod softly, your cheek brushing against his shoulder, "Yeah. Me too, Jakey."

There's a beat of quietness. Quietness, softness, everything that feels like home.

The sound of the TV. The soft hum of the air conditioner. And the three of you breathing in sync.

Jake's voice lowers again, like it's meant just for you.

"We'd be really good at this," he says. "One day."

And your heart stutters. With hope. Excitement. Wonder.

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes softening at the view.

His cheeks slightly pink. His lashes brushing the top of his cheeks as he blinks at you—pure and tender, like he's never looked at anything longer.

"Not saying we're anywhere near that," he adds, voice a little shy now. "But...I don't know. Watching you with her today—I just kept thinking. You'd be such a good mom, Y/N."

You grin, "I do already make sure you and the boys take your vitamins."

Jake chuckles, matching your smile, "And you always remind me to drink water."

"And I do your laundry and color-code your side of the closet and help you pick out your outfits."

He laughs again—a breathy, shoulder-shaking sound—and leans in you, nudging your temple with his nose. Your fingers absentmindedly go to twirl the soft ends of your niece's hair, Jake's fingers brushing slightly against your own as he continues brushing through her knots.

"Okay, so maybe I'm already the child," he mutters jokingly. "You'll have plenty of practice already."

You snort, nudging him with your knee, the both of you falling quiet again. Jake's hand reaches for yours, guiding it gently so your fingers overlap across her tiny back—closely holding her together, and—

You're smiling. Like your heart has never been so full.

"I think about it sometimes too," you admit softly. "One day."

Jake looks at you—and his eyes go soft again. Round. Deep.

Like he's falling in love with you all over again.

"Yeah?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you whisper back. "As long as it's with you."

Later that night, after your niece is picked up and the apartment is clean again—PB&J crusts tossed, stray crayons gathered, juice boxes in the recycling—

Jake wraps you up in his arms and mumbles sleepily against your forehead—

"Five kids. Minimum."

You lift your head, giving him a look that says he's absolutely lost his mind.

"Five?"

"Okay, fine," his eyes still closed, a small grin forming on his lips. "Three. And two dogs. Not including Layla. So...three dogs."

"Mmhm," you drop your head back onto his chest. "You're ambitious."

"I'm in love," he says simply, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Same thing."

no doubt m. list

tag list pt 1!: @bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[fuckfuckgoback]

As I have noticed on rewatch and others in the notes have pointed out, this is also a point in episodes 3 & 4.

Episode 4, during the "extra training" segment, he is seen being grabbed by weird arms and held up to the screen, only nervously commenting "Nobody can see this, right?" which personally feels like an odd thing to say at a time like that (instead of like, "put me down" or something). The rest of the episode he is also noticeably more upset.

Additionally, Episode 3 has Jax restrained for most of it. Its played as a joke because he got people into a worse situation on purpose, so its his punishment, but still another tally on the odd recurring theme. I'm really excited to see what all this symbolism is building towards or what it means for his character.

Surprised to see not that many people talking about a lot of Jax's anger coming from a loss of bodily autonomy?

That struck me as a huge thing from this episode. From first the vegan joke to how he gets noticeably distressed from it at the bar, to realizing his tail is gone, even the maid outfit section, Jax clearly doesn't like being controlled. He tends to roll with the punches during adventures, or finds ways to have fun otherwise, but when its his own body being changed against his will, thats when he gets actually upset beyond the point of masking it with being an ass

[yumeka-sxf]

Even though the Garden mission seems to have ended in this chapter, the arc is certainly not over!

The conversation between McMahon and Yor in the jeep was really interesting, so I wanted to break down these three particular parallels I found:

McMahon:

Got married before or after Garden?

-Married before Garden. This implies that, despite his stoic, "hardened killer" personality, there was a time in his life where he fell in love and still loves to this day.

Why are they still together?

-He doesn't know why they're still together (he mainly fights for his country)

Would they stay together if his secret was revealed?

-He doesn't think his partner would stay with him if she found out his secret, but he hopes she would. He thinks maybe that's why they're still together, which to me is his indirect way of saying that he still loves her and wants to be with her.

Yor

Got married before or after Garden?

-Married after Garden (for a cover-up, at least at first)

Why are they still together?

-She eventually realized she stays with the Forgers because they make her happy; she continues to fight to protect her loved ones, which includes them. Loid had told her that he wants her to continue being Anya's mother and his wife, but of course any mention of genuine love between the two of them is pending.

Would they stay together if her secret was revealed?

-This last point seems to be the main focus for how this arc will end. Although Yor doesn't say it, it's clear in her thoughts that Loid's words about admiring those who fight for such an honorable cause really touched her. These are the words that motivated her in the cruise arc, and she continues to think about them now, when the idea of whether he'd stay with her after finding out her secret comes up.

What McMahon said at the end of their conversation about how he'll continue to deceive his wife until the day he dies, and if Yor has any wavering thoughts about her own marriage, she should end it or else it would be bad for everyone involved...obviously we know that's the last thing Yor wants, which is why she decides to talk to Loid after getting home.

I've mentioned before that, unlike Loid who has yet to acknowledge any genuine feelings for the Forgers, Yor has come to realize that she wants to be with them because they make her happy, so obviously she doesn't want to end the marriage. But she doesn't know how Loid truly feels about it. He told her during their park bench conversation way back that Anya loves her and he wants her to keep being Anya's mother and his wife...but no mention about his feelings, particular whether he's truly happy about the whole arrangement or not. I think it's unlikely she'll flat out tell him her secret at this point, but perhaps his true feelings about her and the marriage is something she wants to confirm by talking to him now. Knowing this would allow her to better determine if he would still stay with her should he find out her secret.

I was not expecting the chapter to end here, but now we have some Twiyor goodness to look forward to in a couple of weeks 👀 Knowing Endo, this could just lead to something comedic, but I have a feeling there will be at least one really heartfelt moment as well. Seems like Yor's coat is covering the bandage she put on her neck, and her right arm might still be hurting...I wonder if Loid will notice anything?

Anyway, a couple other things I wanted to mention about this chapter...Keekee carrying the machine gun! She is actually a member of Garden, right? 😂

As I suspected, seems like Hemlock's little squabble with Yor made him even more delusional, lol. He and Fiona really need to meet (and have training sessions in the woods).

Anyway, I'm very excited for the next chapter! Interestingly, it releases on 7/7, which is Tanabata in Japan. For those who don't know, Tanabata is a traditional festival that celebrates the annual meeting of the deities Hikoboshi and Orihime (represented by the constellations Vega and Altair), who are lovers separated by the Milky Way. This date is probably just a coincidence, but I can dream, can't I? 😅

[thetrasha]

Hello again 👋 since you did such a stellar job last time, i'm here to request another Ace, Doffy, Law and Zoro story, this time about their first kiss x reader! Tysm and i hope you feel better soon ❤️

Thank you so much, anon. I feel much better, just suffering from a stuffy nose and a bit of a cough now 🫂(❁´◡`❁) It's actually so sweet to have recurring faces in my inbox~ And thank you so much for this request! I was super enthusiastic about writing this and poured everything I had into this 🫡Hope you enjoy it just as much!

PS. I'm so sorry for abusing your request like this, but I wanted to address another anon in my ask box 👀You requested a certain Corazon and hehe, yes I've just reached that part of Dressrosa! I just don't feel confident enough to portray him just yet so your request will be pushed a bit into the future, hope that's okay with you ♥ So excited to write about this man though ╰(*°▽°*)╯

PPS. I cooked. Again!!

First Kiss

feat. ACE, DOFLAMINGO, LAW, ZORO

ACE

Your first kiss was… sweet.

For quite some time, Ace and you have been inseparable. You’ve become fast friends after hitting it off, deciding to even go on missions together. Most of the others have caught onto you by now, silently offering their blessings, but you two were completely oblivious to the budding romance between you. It was perfectly normal to go up to Vista and give him a hug – why would it be different when Ace twirled you around after you returned from your little scout session on an unexplored island? Nobody blinked twice after you spent an evening playing cards with Marco in his room, but low whistles and wiggling eyebrows would follow you when Ace wanted to show you some random trinket he caught with his fishing rod. Additionally, everybody aw-ed and cooed when Whitebeard patted your hair and smiled down at you, but if Ace ever went as far as touch your shoulder out on the open deck, some other commander was always near to berate him on ‘how to treat a lady properly’.

You haven’t been around as long as most of the others, so… maybe this is just how the crew decided to affectionately tease Ace since he was the youngest commander around?

However, Ace was very much aware of the others’ constant meddling and why they were so keen on making his life miserable.

He’d told Marco to back off once – just once! – because the doctor had been acting too familiar with you when Ace was the one who was madly in love with you. That single sentence spread like wildfire amongst the crew and now he cannot even do best-friend-esque things with you without someone else trying to ruin the moment.

It was totally normal to develop a huge crush on your best friend. You are gorgeous, so loving and you care so much – maybe too much.

It was also perfectly fine and not unusual to stare at them for moments at a time, trying to muster up the courage to ask you out on a da-

“ACE!!! YOU’RE SETTING THE BED ON FIRE. OUT WITH YOU!”

Marco’s scream rang across the entire Moby Dick, alerting everyone with ears that Ace had just embarrassed himself again. Originally, he went in to see Marco because of ...certain problems, but he couldn’t quite tell him that you were constantly in his head and making his heart leap into his throat every single time he thought about your smile or how nice you smelled today and how cute you looked in the outfit you showed him…

Sigh.

Luckily for him, you were just within earshot to hear Marco’s crazy rant… that still ran its course in the background, and you immediately sought Ace out to help him.

You had your own hammock with you and let him follow you wordlessly into his room. This time, nobody was even there to interrupt.

You started talking about what you were up to before you heard Marco’s alarm bells ringing in the med bay. Of course, you were a natural at taking care of Ace… but that was very much part of the problem!!

He couldn’t help but steal glances at you with so much longing in his eyes that it would have made anyone blush. You were his missing piece, better half – whatever they want to call it.

You’ve seen him through it all, but you weren’t tired of him. You didn’t mind his quieter moments and you always offered your shoulder to him – just to lean on and cry if necessary.

Of course, you wouldn’t think much of sleeping next to him. Your actions were platonic in nature and Ace would actually quit the crew if he made you uncomfortable in any way… but he almost got pulled back into reality when you innocently pointed at his own hammock, not knowing that he was lost in thought.

“Or do you wanna cuddle?”, you questioned innocently.

...And Ace choked on his own saliva. He just knew that his cheeks were crimson red and boiling. This was humiliating… he unusually had excellent control over his powers, but you rendered him completely powerless against you and you didn’t even know it!

…That being said, of course he wants to cuddle.

He lied down next to you and wrapped his arms around your torso, feeling just how warm you were and how your steady breathing immediately calmed him down. It was like a magical remedy, but he could feel his eyes flutter –

– and that’s when his eyes locked onto yours. You wore a precious smile and you seemed to glow next to him. That’s how happy you looked… absolutely stunning.

But he did almost faint when you leaned in to briefly peck his lips to tell him that you love him, too.

WAIT.

“TOO?!”

DOFLAMINGO

Your first kiss was… dangerous.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me! You cannot push me around, Doflamingo!”

You spit words of venom at him just after you realised that you were now working… directly under his command, just like he threatened.

Doflamingo, meanwhile, could only grin in amusement. Of course you thought he was bluffing, thinking of you as nothing more than a little plaything. Oh, how utterly wrong you were. He saw right through you – you were probably testing him, just like how he tested your loyalty. You wanted him to take the bait and push you away, just so you’d have a reason to close yourself off again and go solo. He knew those tactics by heart, sweetheart.

No, he wasn’t kidding when he said that you should be working for him. If you wanted to work, that is. You could just enter the family business, love, after all… you might as well be family at this point. Heh.

He’d entertain your need for independence for as long as you want him to, though. This is how he took notice of you after all.

So what if he stole you right out of another underground broker’s filthy pawns? They weren’t fit to stand next to you anyway. You outshone everybody… especially your former employer. Doflamingo’s been watching you for longer than you may have realised, just to find a flaw within you… but when he found none, the obsession swung in the opposite direction: He was no longer pettily snappish towards you for going after his clients to boost your boss’s image, sweetheart no… you were suddenly a woman worthy of his own calibre. No mistakes, no fear and… one glaringly obvious flaw turned asset – you trusted absolutely nobody.

And just like him, your desire for unmitigated loyalty was like a noose around your pretty neck.

You’d no longer have to deal with these rats who waste your talent away for arms deals that amount to nothing, you were meant to shape the new world order alongside yours truly.

You were just waiting for him.

“Say something!”

Doflamingo smirked before he walked up to you, grabbing your jaw with such speed that you barely had the time to react. It was laughable how he didn’t even have to activate his Devil Fruit powers to restrain you. His freakish height didn’t just give him the opportunity to loom over you, it also came with unimaginable strength. He could almost feel your jawbone crack under the pressure, but you would be caught dead before you uttered a single complaint.

“We crave the same thing, you and I. Letting you rot away pointlessly… might as well break my heart.”

A chuckle echoed through the otherwise empty room, but you weren’t amused at all. You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw. He could feel the muscles beneath his fingers contract and his pupils dilated at the sight and the sensation.

“How dramatic. Almost brought me to tears.”

Your sarcasm earned yourself a laugh. He let go of you, but you could very much feel a string attach itself to your hand. Doflamingo knew better than to turn you into his puppet, but he very much wanted to remind you of what he was capable of. You were above everybody else, but still beneath him. You don’t have to submit, but you should know when to behave.

“You’re the only one to speak to me like that.”, he noted nonchalantly, “And after we’ve been on a bunch of dates, too. Tragic. Woe is me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, sighing in defeat. You knew that he was right.

Yeah, he might have… pulled some strings to get you to agree to meeting him away from glamorous galas and dangerous deals, but he got to know you and your innermost desire. You wanted to trust someone wholeheartedly.

Well, Doflamingo happened to know just the guy.

“Dates where you’ve tried to kill yourself or me.”, you added just as coolly, voice monotone and face neutral. Totally befitting for a Queen.

“And you kept us both safe, my love.”

He licked his lips before breaking out in a dark chuckle that turned maniacal for just a moment. Oh, he was ecstatic that you’ve proven your loyalty towards him. You were everything he’s ever wanted.

“Now it’s my turn to protect you.”, he vowed before he kissed your hand, looking into your eyes while doing so.

Your pupils were blown out.

Bingo.

“Lean down.”, you calmly ordered.

And it’s one of the only commands he’s ever taken from someone else.

You gingerly kissed him, not even letting him taste a drop of your essence before you pulled away, smirking at him with self-satisfaction.

He turned his head with a smile until you blew him another kiss, turning heel and then walking to your new room.

Damn.

He just let go of the string holding onto you.

LAW

Your first kiss was… an accident.

Law had been pretty nervous about this.

He’s always been a profoundly reserved man who kept matters of the heart private, but he couldn’t deny that he was actually quite excited to take your relationship to the next level. He really, really trusted you – and now that he has you, he’s not going to let go. You’re his forever love now. After all, despite seeming like he couldn’t care less, he was a romantic deep down… and terribly inexperienced. It didn’t matter to him whether you were in the same boat or not, he couldn’t actually care less about that part; he was just insecure about making a decision on whether… he was ready at all to open up like that and offer his heart to you.

Law was very much self-aware and intelligent enough to recognise the signs: He wasn’t just in love with you; he truly loved you.

This bond ran deep.

And although he trusted you completely and wholeheartedly, he wasn’t sure if you wouldn’t be put off by that constant contradiction in his behaviour… most others judged it quite harshly, after all.

He didn’t reciprocate much, aside from talking. Yes, he held you in the privacy of his room and nuzzled his head against your neck, but if you wanted something like that, you could just pick up any stray cat from the streets.

He knew! He knew that it wasn’t enough, damn it. But it was just so hard to keep his composure whenever you placed a gentle kiss against his cheek and lovingly patted his spotted hat before placing those warm hands on his shoulders. You always squeezed him with so much affection and care that he just froze in shock.

The man who couldn’t even hold your hand in public loved you so purely that he wanted to kiss you? How ludicrous.

Most of the people who knew about your relationship probably thought that he was doing you a favour and entertaining the idea of a relationship without actual commitment, but… they had no idea. Absolutely no idea.

Even if he had trouble showing it, Law was proud to call himself your boyfriend. The thought alone made him bashful, though. His breath hitched, those tattooed fingers twitched very briefly before he closed his hand into a loose fist, rubbing his sweaty palms with his fingertips and he could hear his own heartbeat echo in his ear canals.

“I brought you tea, Law. You’re working so hard… don’t push yourself too far.”

…Yeah, he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he didn’t get any work done today; his head was just in the clouds since he’s been too caught up in his own thoughts…about you. These maps weren’t studied at all – all he did was study how soft your lips would feel against his-

“Thank you, (Y/N)-ya.”, he tried to play it off smoothly, but he had to clear his throat after saying your name. His longing for you made his voice a lot softer, a lot more… vulnerable. He didn’t want to scare you off with his sudden change in behaviour, which meant that he had to keep his voice monotone at all cost.

Today, you put your hands on his shoulders first, causing Law to tense up immediately. He turned his head to hide his pathetic blush from you – immediately butting heads with you.

And-

Oh my God.

He tore his lips away from yours. That was so sloppy and clumsy, he-

Law is devastated. If you look closely, you could actually watch his soul leave this plane-

He looked at you, noting how your eyes swam around looking anywhere but him and that you couldn’t contain your smile. The corners of your mouth trembled before curling up into a sweet grin that had him melt on the spot.

“I’m sorry, Law, I didn’t mean to-”

Law couldn’t help but cut you off with a kiss that surprised the both of you. It wasn’t a good one; he was too nervous, too tense, his face was stiff and he couldn’t quite close his eyes, looking at you to burn this image into his mind instead.

You didn’t have to apologise. He didn’t want to make you feel like you had to feel sorry for anything – especially not something as meaningful as this.

Besides, the fact that you enjoyed it just as much and went lax in his arms was… everything.

ZORO

Your first kiss was… powerful.

“Again!”

“…”

“Again!”

“…”

“One more!”

“…Zoro.”

“Just once.”

“Zoro,” you sighed, “You need a break. You’ve been at it for hours now.”

Zoro knew that. God, did he know it. Frustrated with himself, he grunted lowly before lowering his swords. His jaw was already hurting from biting down on the blade’s handle for so long, but he couldn’t help himself.

He’s been living inside the crow’s nest for the past two days at this point.

Two days ago, you got hurt. It shouldn’t affect him this bad… Luffy got hurt, too, as did Usopp, but you were… his partner. Your injuries might as well have been cuts into his heart – he saw you fall into Franky’s arms with a nasty gnash right across your thigh. You were bleeding so much and that scream… it will haunt him now.

Someone thought that you were an easier target than Brook or Franky, who were standing firmly by your side as you bought time for Nami to set sail, protecting the Sunny from any assault raining down on you guys. Zoro could barely watch from the sidelines, too engrossed in fighting his own opponent as Luffy and Sanji took on their captain right next to him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the Straw Hats could defeat any enemy with enough time and focus as everyone had their unique skill set and purpose, yet as soon as Zoro’s blades clashed against the fellow swordsman’s rapier, he heard your blood-curdling scream. It must have hurt so bad – he knew what deep cuts felt like and just how badly they burnt when saltwater got into the fresh wound, but he’d been training himself to deal with any bit of pain. You were never meant to be the recipient of an injury at the hands of another, because Zoro had sworn to himself that they’d have to go through him first.

But there were you – crying and hyperventilating as Franky tried applying pressure onto your seeping wound while Brook had to unsheathe his sword and cut down those enemies all by himself now…

Well, until Zoro zoomed across the battlefield with unprecedented fury, pushing himself to his very own limits.

Usually, the crew promised to minimise casualties. In a matter of life and death, of capture or kill, Luffy would always choose capture – he knew that some things had to be done, some sins had to be committed, but overall, you were all quite peaceful…

Until that scream.

“We can ask Sanji for a drink, you know… I bet he’d even make you a snack.”, you mused happily.

Zoro’s eyes snapped up and he calmly took a deep breath in, disguising it as an annoyed huff. You were fine. Well, as fine as you could be. Your leg was swollen and the blood has soaked through the bandages on your thigh, leaving a bit of red residue that perfectly mimicked the shape of your wound. Otherwise, you were okay. You had to redress that cut with fresh bandages every night because of the humid climate, but everything was okay.

Logically, your green-haired friend knew that there was nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t help but feel like a failure.

You were important to him! You… weren’t protected when you needed it the most.

You needed him and he wasn’t there.

You were damn good at what you do. That’s why Zoro often chose to hang off of you, following you around. It was so easy to be around you. Most often, you’d even talk to him… you knew very well that your swordsman wasn’t actually fast asleep, he was just preserving energy if it came down to the worst.

Ugh, it did come down to it and he wasn’t there.

Fucking-

“This isn’t about getting stronger, is it, Zoro?” Your hands grasped at his bulging forearms, strained from swinging his swords at the objects you threw all day, and you affectionately caressed his scarred flesh. You were even kind enough to offer him a sad smile.

“I… You… I… You’re important to me.”, he confessed through gritted teeth, averting his gaze. He tried to fight being obvious about it, but you could feel goosebumps rise beneath your warm hands even though he’d just finished a workout and was drenched in sweat.

“Zoro… You’re important to me, too. That’s why you shouldn’t beat yourself up over this. You were there, in the end, as you always are. I know I can rely on you.”

He shook his head in disapproval but leaned in to press his lips against yours. It was a measured kiss, just long enough to get you to briefly feel his plush lips and get especially close to him while your hands still held onto his arms.

And when you smiled, Zoro knew that… yes, you could rely on him. Forever.

[snowstormarts]

hi ,,, what if ,,, you wrote ,,, teaching daemon how to kiss first time ,,,, hello ,,,,,, if thats okay ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,;;;,,,,,,,.,,,///,,,

I'm always down to give Daemon some more love but I do have to confess that I struggled a little writing this oneshot here ^^" But I still hope you guys enjoy it, also feel free to send in Ideas & Requests, the ask box is still open :D

This oneshot isn't beta read and was also written in like a a day & a half xD So sorry for any typos or such

"Kissing 101 for Game Bugs turned Human!"

[Daemon x GN!Reader] [Divider Credit]

It wasn't everyday that you got to date a game bug, let alone one that was very attractive and didn't try to infect the other inhabitants or break the game in any serious, unrecoverable manner. He was simply just having some fun, trying to annoy you, scare you even and then one day he just...fell for you. It was a foreign concept, he didn't know he had that code in him to feel real, actual real love and not just another empty line of Code. Quiet frankly he was a little nervous at the beginning, even if it was hard to see with his limited facial expressions.

So then, when the day came where you confessed your feelings for him, he was ecstatic he had assumed it would end in Friendship maybe even Hate. He was sure he didn't do anything that would warrant anyone to look at him with such kind eyes and yet, here you were. Confessing your love to him, making his heart speed up to the point where he thought it was programmed to spring out of his chest and burst into confetti if anyone ever choose to Love him.

After he had calmed himself he confessed without hesitation, asking almost in whisper if he could share a kiss with you. He will never forget the moment where your lips met, it was strange to you that much was clear from your confused yet delighted hums. It truly was the strangest kiss you ever had and probably will have, it wasn't bad, just strange in a nice, special Daemon way and you wouldn't have had it any other way.

You promised him afterwards that he would be the first one to be realized. He didn't even have to wait long since the first thing that happened the next morning was you walking up to him, smiling as you offered him to be realized. It was a quick process, his excitement was clear to see on his now very expression full face he was looking at himself. He was no longer full of glitched textures, he wasn't a bug anymore, he wasn't some broken sprite he was himself, Daemon.

It was sweet watching him, even when he stopped and turned to you with a wide smile you could see his excitement still burning under his skin. You had expected that at this point he would've run over to you, lifting you up and spinning you round and around but he just stood there. Not even a kiss, after a few more awkward minutes of silence he finally asked you something, something that made you realize that being a Game Bug was very, very different from being a fully programmed object.

"Why doesn't my code work? I gave it in right way, Player_Kiss = true...Am I doing something wrong? Do humans have a different code they use?"

Seems like it's your job to teach him how to human, starting with how to kiss you.

⊱ ─────────── {⋅. ☣🪲 .⋅} ─────────── ⊰

The first lesson you taught him was the importance of breathing and taking breaks from kissing, you rather not risk one of you passing out from lack of it. You don't need yet another embarrassing story on your pile of embarrassments that would be used by your anxiety in the middle of the night or Doug.

The second lesson was an unplanned one, you two were enjoying watching a movie on Telly when it showed two of the characters giving each other a forehead kiss. It was a rather sweet moment which only got even cuter when you turned to Daemon who had been nudging your arm, his head was tilted to the side similar to a confused puppy.

"Why are they kissing each others forehead? Did they miss the lips or is this some form of enhanced kissing? But then why didn't I have a code for it...Is it because they had a fight the last time? Do you get banned from kisses when you have a fight?"

"It's another way to kiss someone, forehead kisses can be platonic or romantic. Many parents kiss their kid on the forehead. Sometimes friends will also kiss your forehead or your cheek, in some country's cheek kisses are a way to greet others.

"Are forehead kisses also a form of greeting someone?"

"Well, I guess if you know the person well and they're comfortable with it you could kiss them on the forehead as a greeting. But normally at least from what I know, forehead kisses are reserved to show care and love for someone."

"You humans are truly confusing..."

"Hey! You're human now, don't forget that!"

"Hmm, true..."

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you continued to watch the movie, in the end all was good even if the main character had sacrificed himself to safe his love and his clone. And just as you were about to ask Daemon his opinion on the movie he turned to face you, his hand lifted up your chin as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly.

"I need to gather data about this Forehead and Cheek kissing, would you allow me to practice on you, my love?"

"Of course we can, what would you like to start with? I myself prefer to go with a-" you cut yourself short as you saw your partner lean closer at top speed. "Wait! Daemon, that's too fast!!!"

You both groaned in pain, holding your foreheads as you slowly recovered from the sudden headbutt. The lesson was cut short as you both suffered from a killer headache, at least the next day you explained that he needed to lean in slowly and to aim for the top or middle of the forehead and not between your eyebrows.

A few days later you decided that he was ready for third and last lesson, well it's more like kissing practice but still you count it as a lesson instead of a test or such. You had enough talking about it, kissing needs physical practice anyway and you were the perfect test dummy! Especially since you don't think Amir or Betty would be that happy if Daemon started kissing them out of nowhere...

"This is the last lesson, today you will learn how to properly kiss another person, well more specifically me but you get what I mean!" You waved your hand ignoring his teasing smile as you continued to speak.

"Today there's much more touch needed, you will learn all the different ways how to kiss another. From kissing someones hand to a regular kiss, maybe if everything goes right I will even teach you how to french kiss."

"...I don't want to kiss, Scandalabra."

"No, no that's just what its called it has nothing to do with Scandalabra. I would never let you go through that, trust me your lips are only for me."

"Good, I don't wanna be near him." You nodded in agreement.

"Same here but back to the lesson! First we will do a hand kiss, it can be romantic or to show respect to someone or both. I will demonstrate it and then you do the same with me, got that?"

"Got it." He replied, holding his hands out to you. You gently grabbed one and caressed the back of it before placing a kiss in the middle of it.

"Now it's your turn and remember, be gentle. Theres no need to rush." Holding your hand out you watched him as he grabbed your hand a bit firmer then he usually does. It took a minute or two before he had gathered up the nerves to lean down and place a kiss on each one of your knuckles.

When he looked up at you, eyes meeting one another as he smiled with so much joy that you were sure he could've replaced the sun in this very moment to bring light to even the darkest spots in your home.

"Did I do it right?"

"Yes, you did a great job. I just didn't expect you to go for the knuckles, it was quiet sweet though so no complaints from me." His smile grew wider as he intertwined your hands together.

"Now to a kiss on the cheek, you have to watch to not bump noses besides that don't add too much pressure into the kiss. Our cheeks are quiet soft and squishy but they can still hurt, let me show you." Without hesitation you poked and squished his face all the while he was trying to nip at your fingers in retaliation.

After you had your fun, you followed your own instructions ignoring the way your partner was pouting at you. His cheeks turned rosy from the mix of affection and the cheek squishing from before, which only deepened after you placed a kiss on his cheek and then another and another and another.

You only stopped once he complained about having his turn. One thing you always noticed and loved about him were his hands, they always felt tingly, static-y. It reminded you of those old, heavy TV's that when you touched the screen would having this energy around them. His kisses on the other hand were normal, maybe it lingered a bit longer but you didn't think much about it. But you could swear that sometimes you felt something brush gently against the back of your neck and when you turn around there would be nothing, maybe it was just your hair or some dust floating around?

"Was that good?" He asked again, if he had a tail it would be wagging back and forth wildly as you nodded again. His foot tapped against the ground in anticipation. "Can we kiss now? The regular one, not the other one."

For a second you thought of staying on track but the mix of his excitement and the worry of him trying to speed up the progress and causing another headache fiasco made you rethink it. You were getting a little impatient yourself if you were honest, so why not?

"Fine but only because you're that adorable. Now, listen closely" he leaned closer to you, hands resting on each side of you or well hand though it did feel like the couch had dipped from some unknown weight not even a moment ago.

"We both will have to angle our faces, when you need to breath do so through your nose or break the kiss up ok? No holding your breath until you pass out just because you wanted more, we can always kiss again after we caught our breaths."

"Of course." Without much a due you pulled him closer, letting him fall onto you and cage you between the couch and himself. Pulling his head down by the neck and kissing him like he was going to fade away any second now, he let out a pleasant groan and then you felt it again.

Hands all across your body, on your neck, hips, arms and even your tights and those were soon followed by the feeling of kisses. Your neck was the main target but you could feel it also along your back, hands and even your legs, they left behind the static again which soon turned into a comforting heat.

They only disappeared when you two parted, taking in as much air as possible. Foreheads resting against each other, you with your eyes closed and Daemons white, pupil-less eyes staring right at you with a wide grin.

"Did you like it my love? I can give you more if you want, I need all the practice to perfect my kissing techniques after all~"

You never could deny him, especially now that he had stocked the ember into a burning, hungry flame. So you continued to share kisses and sweet nothings until the sun went down and the moonlight illuminated your body's. What was to come next is only to be known between you, Daemon and the moon.

[hirasunny]

Unforgotten Vow

pairing — k-drama! yeon sieun x fem! reader

synopsis — you and sieun made one simple promise when you were kids, and you continue to do so as you got older.

warnings/reader notes — mentions bullying, you and sieun r crybabies (in a good way), sunshine reader and sieun absolutely adores it, he thinks you're a goddess, references to season 1 plot

genre — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slight angst

word count — 2.5k+ words

note: hi! it's me again <3 i want to thank you for enjoying my fics! i read all of your comments and appreciate it a lot :( it really motivates me to write even though i'm not the best at it. much love u guys ^^ as a thanks, here’s a story dedicated to this precious boy 💛 p.s: should i make a part 2? TT

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　 　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sieun was 7 years old when he met you.

He was celebrating his birthday at the park before he accidentally tripped and scraped his knee.

His mom and dad sat by the picnic table a few feet away from him, yet he moved unnoticed to a nearby bench. He sat down in pain as he tried to stop himself from crying.

But it was unsuccessful, his tears fell on his lap continuously. He had a feeling that his father was going to scold him again.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice was small and chirpy when you went up to him in question, tilting your head while he wiped his face and nodded—he was not one for talking.

However, you spoke again, “Do you need a band aid? I can give you one.” You asked shyly.

Sieun looked at you closely, your clothes dirty from possibly playing a lot, your hair was in decent braids but some strands already sticking out, and your legs were visibly decorated with dirt.

He moved to your face, chubby cheeks and (e/c) eyes that held curiosity in them. The boy didn’t mutter anything but still took the band aid in your offering hand, ripping it open.

You smiled and sat down beside him as you continued to talk with newly found confidence. Sieun didn’t even know what you were saying—was it about the kids at the playground? He wasn’t sure. You were talking too fast and too much.

Nonetheless, he listened.

It felt like an eternity when his mother finally called out for him; she seemed surprise as soon as her eyes landed on them.

“My mom is here.” Sieun stated, having a glance at his parental figure. That was the first time he opened his mouth, you thought. You pouted at him.

“Already? But I was going to invite you to the slide.” You responded, upset. He didn’t talk—but you liked his company. He was the only one who didn’t cut you off from speaking!

Sieun gazed back at you weirdly. Why weren’t you telling him mean things like the other kids do? And you even want to play with him. It puzzled the poor boy.

Then, he noticed your lips change from a frown to a big grin instead. “But you’ll be back right? We can play next time!” You say in excitement, nodding to yourself.

“What’s your name? I’m (Name)!”

He took a long time to process it before he answered, “Sieun.” Honestly, he had no idea why he replied, but maybe it was the way you were determined to make him your friend.

It made him feel normal in some way.

“Sieun..” You repeated slowly, just to get used to the sound of it rolling off your tongue.

A shout of your name stopped him from speaking up, you took a glimpse in that direction with a pout, “It’s my mom! I gotta go.” You huffed, looking at the boy beside you.

“Come back, okay? I’ll be here tomorrow!” You added, giving a wave as you ran to your mother. He stood up, observing you.

He disliked going outside. But if it meant that you were there, it might be bearable.

—

“Sieun! What happened?” You breathed out after running. The boy was sitting alone at the swing as he stared into abyss.

To everyone else, he looked completely fine.

But you knew him—if you stare in his eyes long enough, you would see how much emotion he actually keeps by himself. And right now, you had no doubt that he was going through something heavy.

“Your mom’s really worried, she called and said you weren’t at home.” You inform softly, settling at the swing next to his. The night was quiet, you heard nothing but the sounds of trees brushing against one another and the creaking of your swings.

You got comfortable as you admired the starry sky.

“My parents..” Sieun started, following your gaze. You hummed, an indication that you were listening.

“They’re getting a divorce.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock, looking back at him. “What..?”

He avoided your look, the ground being more interesting than the look on your face. He felt disappointed that you had to see him like this. Again.

Yet you never cared.

The word was quite new to you, it was only recently when you discovered its meaning—though you knew it was more than just a word that hurt Sieun. It meant something to him.

So you placed a hand on his shoulder and peeking your head closer to his, “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. You have me.”

Sieun finally looked at you, his eyes speaking to you more than words could express.

Thank you, they say.

You laughed lightly, ruffling his hair. He hated when people touch his hair, but you? He never minded.

“But if you have to move someplace else..” You rest your hand back on your lap. “Promise me you’ll come back?”

Oh, why were you looking at him like that?

Like you never want him to go?

Sieun’s shoulders eased and his tense look melted as he studied you. Then, he slowly raised his pinky finger. “I promise.” He told you truthfully. You smiled at him, finding the sincerity in his words.

You hooked your pinky with his, “Okay.” You whispered as to not ruin the peaceful moment.

Sieun was 10 years old when he promised you that he’d come back if he ever left someday.

—

Fate jinxed the both of you.

It must’ve laughed for the reason that it was you who had to move away instead of him.

Here you were, crying uncontrollably in front of your best friend at the airport.

“This is so unfair!” You sobbed, violently wiping your tears as Sieun gave you a tissue. He hasn’t said a single word since the ride to the airport. He seemed out of it, you noticed.

On the other hand, this was his first time to skip a few classes. You were surprised when he showed up at your house unannounced. You kept asking him several times if it was okay for him to do such a thing the whole car ride, he would simply nod as he stared at you after, you ignored it out of nervousness.

You never knew that he was memorizing you, because it could be the last time he’d ever see you again.

The star hair clip he gifted you on your birthday was neatly on your hair, the way you bounce your knee rapidly each time you get anxious, your backpack had all sorts of keychains that you buy from school trips with him, and the looks you give him—every smile, every funny face, every pout and cry. He'd remember it all.

Sieun took a mental note of all the little things, like he was studying: because if this test is about you, surely, he'd ace it.

Though, he wasn't the only one who notices, you also recognized a few things. Like his tight grip on the strap of his bag was evident, the slight twitching of his fingers—a habit he does when he’s overthinking, and his brown orbs that look at you to tell you everything you need to know.

He's...wait.

Is he tearing up?

You widen your eyes as he shuffled awkwardly and looked down, trying to maintain his posture.

"You're.." You were hesitant, but you took a step forward, bringing him to your embrace. You heard sniffles on your shoulder as he laid his forehead there while his arms remained by his side. He didn't know where to place them.

"Don't cry, you big baby." You murmur, your tears slipping out for God knows how many times today. "I'm gonna come back, you know that." You assured him. His hands finally moved to your back, gripping your shirt as he nodded.

You two stayed that way for a few minutes before his gaze lingered at you, "Promise me you will." Sieun lowly spoke with trembling lips. You exhaled from your nose, bringing his hand close to your chest as you do the same, then interlocked both of your pinkies.

"I promise you, more than anything."

Sieun was 13 when you left South Korea.

—

Three years had passed by as Sieun faced everything alone.

The problems, the bullying, the guilt—

Suho.

Every step he took felt like he was getting pulled down further and further away from the light he once saw.

From Suho, and most especially from you.

What would you think of him if you knew what was happening in his life right now?

He got his answer when he saw you.

You.

Your figure stood patiently outside his apartment door, a plastic bag containing all the snacks you used to share together was held loosely in one hand and your phone on the other.

Your appearance had completely changed. Your hair grew a bit longer, and the baby fat on your cheeks now reduced. You looked different, but deep down, Sieun hoped you were the still the happy-go-lucky girl he knew.

As you raised your phone to your ear, you check your left. You paused as the phone of the boy you were waiting for rang loudly in the pocket of his jacket.

The two of you stared at one another as the ringing continued, you, however, smiled knowingly at him.

"I kept my promise."

Sieun couldn't believe he could run that fast when he brought you into his arms.

Slowly, the chaos in his mind went silent.

Finally, for once. He was at peace.

Momentarily, he realized he was crying because you had to wipe the tears away, "I know," You still told him in a caring tone. "I'm here."

No other words were needed as you both remained in each other's arms for a while that day.

A few days had gone by rather quickly, and you started to see more of Sieun. He had grown taller since the last time you saw him, his voice was deeper from the timid, high-pitched one you always heard, and his eyes that used to shine at you were now dull as an unsharpened knife.

Regardless, something else had brought your attention—his walls that broke down when you met him was building itself up again. He became distant. The Sieun you cherished was back in his little shell, the one who refused help and locked himself away from people. You knew you had to pull him out.

So you were present, just like before. In every visit at Suho's hospital, you sat beside him when he typed out his messages; in every school he got rejected to, you had a list of backup schools he can apply for; in every night he had nightmares, you were only a call away; in every session at therapy, you were there outside, waiting.

Despite all the hardships and troubles he was facing, you smiled warmly at him.

He never understood any of it. It resembled the times when you were kids. Where you stayed with him more than anyone else.

How can you, someone so beautiful, still smile adoringly at something so broken, with its pieces gradually falling apart?

One time at the bus stop, it was extremely cold when the rain poured heavily around you.

Even as you laughed at a sarcastic comment he made about freezing to death, you still took his cold hands to yours, blowing on it. "What are you doing?" He questioned, startled as he tried to withdraw his hands.

"Keeping you warm, dummy."

You were glowing, and you gaze at him with the same loving grin. His heart fluttered, feeling his frigid fingers soften and warm up because of you.

He pretended not to know if the cause of his face and ears going red was also you.

You never complained and never rushed. You were there, patient and supportive.

Soon, he thought of himself from a few years ago. Whatever 13-year-old Sieun had realized when you went abroad, he was right.

Because he loved you. For the longest time.

And he was not going to let you go.

Just before the day he would move to the new apartment in Yeongdeungpo, where he was accepted in a school named Eunjang High, he knocked on your door, with your favorite food and drink.

"Wow! Is this your goodbye gift?" You teased him, taking the bag from his hand as you let him inside.

He wordlessly sat down when you invited him to the couch, you tilt your head. When Sieun was quiet, he had something in his mind. There was a sparkle of certainty in his puppy-look eyes as he stared at you.

"You okay, pretty boy?" The nickname was familiar, you always called him that ever since your playground hangouts. He often tells you to stop that—but you couldn't, not when you notice his ears getting red and his lips that tries to refrain himself from smiling.

“…” Crap. What was he going to say again? He made efforts to practice in front of the mirror only for him to fail at the moment he needed his words.

To you, it looked like he was struggling. It worried you.

You took the guts to place a hand on his cheek, fixating his focus on you. "Sieun, what's going on—"

"I love you."

You let out a surprised sound, your eyes wide at the sudden words.

You felt a sense of rushing emotions inside you. Was it excitement, shock, or bashfulness?

Whatever it was, you were just sure it was making your face hot.

Okay. That was straightforward.

But it was Yeon Sieun, the boy who always had a sure answer.

You pinch his cheek lightly, he squinted his eyes at you as if it could help his ruddy ears from turning back to its original color. "Hey, are you crazy?! Why are you saying such things?" You asked just so you can lighten up the conversation.

"Because I do. I love you." He calmly told you again, the three magic words made you cover your face. "Okay, okay! I get it." You were embarrassed, could he not act so nonchalant?! You were freaking out here!

"Is it.. bad?" Sieun mumbled, watching as you grumble something in your hands, somewhere along the lines of: "Curse those cold-blooded veins in your body!"

You looked at him, red faced with a pout. "No, of course not! It's just that..."

You trailed off, finding the strength to face him again and held his cold hands in your warm ones. You took a moment, "I.. I love you, too. Since forever." You breathed out, smiling shakily at him.

Were you a Goddess? Sieun thought. How could you look so beautiful?

He leaned to you, initiating first. "Can I kiss you?" He asks in a deep voice, pulling your hands.

You gulped nervously, nodding as no words could come out of your mouth.

He moved, closer and closer, until your noses touched and the two of you closed your eyes. The world around you stopped moving when his lips gently settled on yours.

Sieun was 16 when he kissed his first love.

[sydwritess]

The Silence Behind The Camera

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: You had just got hired for F1 as a photographer. You were excited to say the least, but when it came time to create your work, You found it awkward, and as a struggle. That is until someone certain encourages you.

Second Person POV

You had recently got hired in the F1 workforce for photography. You were surprised you had made it through the interview, being shy was a big factor in your life.

You weren't always great about speaking up for yourself, but you thought that this job would bring out your true colors, making friends, getting to know people. All of it.

Right now, you and a group of photographers were at the Canadian circuit entrance, a herd of cameras around the gateway, also making a sliver of a path for anyone who had to get through.

You were standing off to the side, near the pathway, leaning against the gate.

You were looking at the camera setting when all of a sudden, the group of photographers started cheering and screaming.

You instantly snap your head up to see George Russell walking towards you.

You were going to capture some pictures, but it felt... odd.

You felt weird taking pictures of someone without their permission. You understood that's what your job was about.

But you never realized how awkward it felt. You lowered your camera back down. The strap tugging on the back of your neck.

George was walking through the thin path, waving at all of the camera people.

When he had gotten closer to you, he stopped slightly, looking at you like you belonged in a museum.

He held your gaze, looking at you deeply, opening his mouth like he was going to say something, but his guard tapped him on the shoulder, telling him to keep walking.

By now, all of the photographers had scattered around, going off to find new moments to capture.

You were still standing at the gate, feeling defeated at your job already.

"Hi y/n, glad to see you here already." A voice said behind you. You slowly turn around to see your boss, Toto, standing there.

"Hi." You say quietly.

"How's it been for you so far?" He said. He nodded his head back, signaling that you should walk eith him. So you did.

"It's... alright. I haven't got much, though." You say, walking through the aisle of garages together.

"Well that's alright then. It takes a while to get used to it." He said, patting you on the back lightly.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to relax in here? You can wait until media is gone." He said, turning towards the Mercedes garage.

You both stood slightly outside, Toto was talking to some engineers while you looked through your camera roll again. Seeing everything but Formula 1 content.

"Where's Kimi and George?" Toto asks an engineer. The engineer shrugs and walks away.

"Jesus Christ." Toto mutters.

"There uh... over there." You saying, pointing to the media tent.

"Thank you." He raises his arms. "At least someone knows what's going on." He says, smiling before walking to the tent.

"No, I don't." You mutter under your breath. You look back in the garage, looking through all of the commotion when you see a man walk up to you.

"Hi, I'm Valtteri Bottas, your y/n right?" He asks, stretching out his hand for you to shake.

"Yeah, nice to meet you." You say, shaking his hand.

"Your our new photographer correct?" He asks.

"Yeah, I am."

"How's it going so far? Capture anything good?"

"No. Actually I haven't gotten a chance to. It's kind of... awkward." You say.

"I understand that. Do you like it here so far?" He asks.

"Yeah, it's nice. The people are welcoming."

"Yeah-"

"Valtteri. How are you mate?" A voice behind us asks. We both turn to see George walking up to us.

"Good, you ready for tomorrow? Got the new car prepared." Valtteri said.

"Yeah, looking forward to it."

"George, this is y/n. Y/n this is George." Valtteri says.

"Oh yeah, your our new photographer, yeah?" George said.

"That would be me." You say with a smile. Valtteri silently walked away, leaving the two of you standing there.

"Yeah, I uh.. saw you at the gate's this morning. Quite the crowd there." He said.

"Yeah. I really didn't expect it." You say quietly.

"You know, out of everybody there, you were the only one not taking pictures." He said. You looked hesitantly at him.

"Yeah. I was ready but I guess... it felt to awkward." You say.

"Why's that?"

"I don't know. I've never taken a picture of someone without asking for their permission first." You say, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Well you have my full permission from now on. People do it all the time, it's just about getting in there, taking your shot." He says. You nod.

"Um, Kimi is going to do an interview in a minute. Would you like to get some shots there?" He asked, pointing behind him.

"Yeah... sure, I can." You say quietly.

"Great." He said. He led you through the large crowd of people in the garage, walking back through the main area of the paddock.

"Here, just in here." He said, opening the door to a small room. You walk in slowly after him to see Kimi starting his interview. You and George sat on the floor to the side, watching the interview.

George suddenly leaned over close to you "You should get a picture." He whispered

"No... nobody else is." You say quietly. He suddenly took your camera from off your lap and got three pictures, with surprisingly good quality.

"Here. You should try. Way better then me." He smirked, hanging the camera back to you.

You playfully roll your eyes and smile, taking a couple of pictures, adjusting the lighting and IOS as needed.

"See. There you go. Let's see." He said. You turn the camera to him, shuffling through the pictures of Kimi.

"Those are really good... wow."

"Thanks." You say softly.

"Do you want to shoot more?" He asked.

"Sure." You nod. Both of you stand, quietly exiting the room and going out the the track again, this time leaning on a balcony.

"See that?" George says, pointing to a car on the track.

"Yeah."

"Wait until it starts going 'round, probably take a picture, along there." He said, pointing to a curve to the left.

"You telling me how to do my job now?" You say, smirking up at him.

"No. It's called George's wonderful advice." He says, smiling, putting a hand on his chest.

So after the car out on the track started moving, going at a fast pace. You held up your camera, following the car with your lens. It soon got to the turn George was talking about, so you started snapping picture after picture until it stopped, coming up to the pit lane.

You quickly started going through the pictures, George leaned into your shoulder, looking with you.

"Your really good." He said.

"Thank you." You say. A moment of silence appeared between the two of you Both looking out at the track, fan's cheering on, getting signatures from different drivers, media still going.

"You want to get more pictures?" He asks.

"Of what?" You ask. He stands there silently, looking out at the track.

"Follow me." He smirks. You and him walk away, through the paddock again.

He leads through crowds of people, mostly being fans. When you get near the garages, he leads you up a staircase that connected to a small hallway, eventually bringing you out on to a balcony.

You stand at the rails, watching the sun go down and the people still wandering around.

You slowly bring your camera up, taking pictures of the sun mixed with the people, creating the perfect contrast of colors and different shades.

"What- do you mind if I see that?" George asks.

"Sure." You say.

You hand him the camera and he zooms in very far on a certain driver, not knowing who. George laughs.

"Ahh Jesus Christ, I'm going to blackmail him with this one." he laughs. He turns the camera to me to show Lando making a disgusted face behind his bosses back.

"Oh my God. Who is that?" You laugh.

"That my friend is the one and only Lando Norris. Who, if you capture at the right time, certainly loves these pics." He said.

"Come on." He nodded, you follow him quickly down the stairs and both of you go out to Lando, who is standing, texting someone.

"Mate! Look what I got." George said, shoving the camera in Lando's face.

"Where did you get that!" Lando said, trying to reach for it, but George held it up in the air.

"Doesn't matter. Just watch yourself, these might find it's way to Pinterest, yeah?"

"I- oh hey, who are you?" Lando says, turning to you and smirking.

"Y/n." You say.

"Well, are you new?"

"Yeah?"

"Hm. Cool. You should let me take you out for dinner some time." He says, nonchalantly.

"Uh- I'm good."

"Really?"

"Really. I can... tell who you are."

"What?"

"You look like the type to party a lot. Go out, get wasted, hook up with everyone in the room. I'm okay." You say.

"Uh- what are you telling her?" He says, looking at George.

"Nothing. Maybe you should die down on that rep though. She doesn't even know you and she told you off." George laughed.

"Right, calm down Max." Lando smirked, walking away.

"What the actual hell?" You question.

"You got everything right about him and you've known him for five seconds." George said.

"Guess I'm just good a predicting." You say.

"George!" A voice yells.

"Ugh, turn your backs, maybe we won't here him." George teases, you look back to see Toto calling him.

"George!"

"Georgie!" Toto yells teasingly.

"Georgie?" You question. George rolls his eyes and the two of you walk over to Toto.

"Mate, did you not here me?" He asked George.

"We did."

"You like that nickname?" Toto smirks.

"No, but I prefer the name Georgie. It reminds me of the 'It' movie where I'm getting summoned into hell by a clown." He says, matching Toto's attitude.

You couldn't help but snort out a laugh. Toto looks at you.

"i- I think it's pretty cute. I mean, gotta have some fun at work right?" You ask.

"She get's it." George said, pointing to you. Toto nodded, and went to go get paper's from somewhere in the garage.

You look at the time on your phone and notice it's getting later.

"I have to go, will I see you tomorrow?" You ask.

"Yeah. Hey, do you want me to walk you out?" He asks.

"Sure." You say, he grabs his phone of the desk and turns towards you.

"George-" Toto says.

"I'll be back, we'll discuss strategies later." George says, walking out of the garage with you. You couldn't help but bring yourself to laugh.

"Christ, strategy after strategy, it's like I'm back in math's again." George says sarcastically. You laughed more.

"Is it really that hard?" You ask.

"Oh my, you have no idea." He smiles. You continue walking towards the gate exit when Kimi stopped George.

"Mate, are you good at math's?" kimi asked.

"I'm alright, yeah."

"Perfect, tomorrow, my teacher gave me an exam. I really need your help with it. Like all the number and stuff." He said.

"Sure, I can help." George said, Kimi patted him on the back before going into the paddock.

"Never mind, change my answer. I'm now in math's class." He said.

"Might as well be in school." He mumbled. You laughed again.

You continued walking out into the parking lot, eventually stopping at your car.

"Wait, this is yours?" He asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Wow, this is nice." He said, gently putting his hand on the hood of the car. A BMW

"Yeah, I bought it a few years ago. Brand new 2023 model." You say, putting your camera and purse in the car.

"That's amazing." He says softly. There was a quiet pause between the two of you.

"Uh- thanks for today. i really appreciate the help." You say, opening the drivers side door.

"It's no problem, really." He says, smiling.

"i do have one question though, very... related to work." He says.

"Shoot."

"Do you want to go out? Like not- like to talk about work things, like..." He trailed off.

"Like a date?" You ask.

"No... not a date, just work... maybe a date." He said slyly.

"I'd love to." You say.

"Great." He smiles.

"I'll see you tomorrow." You say.

"See you tomorrow." He says, turning around to walk away, but he stops a couple of steps ahead.

"Wait- why did you turn down Lando and not me?" He asked, walking back to you.

"I've known Lando Norris for years, not face to face but I know what he's like. You... you don't seem like that."

"Oh so your a liar." He smirks. You giggle at him.

"Look, I get going out for a drink once and a while, but... sorry but sometimes he's on a whole different level."

"I get that." He pauses. "Are we still on?"

"Of course. Unless you make me think otherwise."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then." He says.

"See you tomorrow." You say.

Hey loves! This has been sitting in my drafts forever! Finally getting it out there. Comment to be added to the tag list for F1, also requests are open!

[psycholuvrgirl]

the 6 date disasters: a friendly walk in the city | series masterlist

featuring... megumi!

summary: a romantic walk in the city quickly turns into what feels like a group field trip.

warnings: none

a/n: i have so many series ideas i'm so excited to post them all

the mission was long. not particularly dangerous, but exhausting in a way that left your bones aching and your brain melted. megumi doesn’t say much on the train ride back, but he keeps close to you.

but now the city is quiet, the sky a soft blue-grey, the late afternoon sun tucked behind some clouds, and the breeze carrying the smell of food from nearby stalls. with both you and megumi still in uniform, you walk around with nowhere to be.

megumi buys some taiyaki from a cart, not even having to ask for your preference because he knows it by now. a quiet way of saying here, i was thinking of you.

you bump his arm with yours. “thanks, gumi.”

he shrugs, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. “it’s not a big deal.”

you both snack as you walk, fingers sticky with the filling. he treats off a piece of his own to feed it to you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. it kind of is.

“hey! hey, hey, hey!”

you turn just in time to see a blur of pink hair barreling towards you.

“no!” megumi says flatly.

“yes,” you mutter back with a sigh, bracing yourself.

yuuji skids to a halt in front of you, panting like a golden retriever who just chased after a tennis ball. “there you guys are! i’ve been looking everywhere!”

“we’re walking,” megumi says, but his tone implies something harsher. something along the lines of we were avoiding you.

“yeah, and now i’m walking with you!” yuuji grins, unbothered as ever. “i got out early, and i figured you two might be wandering around too, and bingo! here you are. it’s like fate, isn’t it?”

megumi inhales sharply, letting out a long drawn out breath as his patience wears thin.

“anyway,” yuuji continues, already falling into step with the both of you. “have you guys eaten? oh. wait! is that taiyaki? i love those! are they fresh?”

“just have it,” you mumble, handing him the rest of yours. he beams like you’ve given him the moon.

megumi mutters something under his breath that could very well be a curse.

you try to salvage the mood. “we were just gonna wander for a little while. you know? decompress.”

“oh, perfect,” yuuji says through a mouthful of food. “let’s decompress together!”

you sigh at the fact that he doesn’t catch the hint. megumi lets out more annoyed huffs, probably forcing himself to count backwards from ten just to calm down. 

ten minutes later and yuuji has bought food from nearly every stall you’ve passed by, dragged you both into a shop that sells phone accessories, and is now leading the way to a cat café that he swears is life changing.

we don’t have time for this,” megumi says.

“look at this flyer,” yuuji says, slapping the paper to megumi’s chest. “they’re dressing the cats in little hats today only. this is important.”

“please,” megumi begs, deadpan. “just let me suffer in peace.”

but yuuji is already halfway across the crosswalk. 

the café is in fact full of cats in tiny hats. one of them is even wearing a little wizard costume to match, another naps in a teacup. you and yuuji coo at them for twenty minutes while megumi sits in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, being used as a human perch by a very sleepy orange tabby.

“he likes you,” you whisper.

megumi glares at the cat, but it only blinks slowly and snuggles deeper into his lap. “i’m cursed.”

you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. “well, you’re very cute when you’re suffering.”

the tips of his ears flush along with his cheeks.

yuuji reappears with a bunch of drinks from the vending machine. “i got us some soda! i even have this weird one that says it’s supposed to taste like ‘clouds and nostalgia.’ you want it?”

“why would anyone want that?” megumi asks.

yuuji shrugs. “it seems promising.”

you end up wandering again. you somehow get pulled into a secondhand bookstore wheere yuuji insists on finding the ‘most depressing novel possible’ for megumi. then a novelty shop where yuuji poses dramatically with a fake katana, nearly knocking over a rack of keychains.

by the end of it, you and megumi are trailing behind yuuji like exhausted parents.

“i wanted to hold your hand,” you whisper to megumi.

“i wanted to kiss you at the train station,” megumi says dryly.

you glance over at him. “next time.”

he nods. “next time.”

just then, yuuji stumbles out of a shop wearing three different novelty sunglasses on his face.

“do i look mysterious?”

“you look like a lawsuit,” megumi says.

finally, yuuji ges distracted by a claw machine and waves to you both. “i’m gonna win a plushie. you guys go off and do whatever in love people do. i’ll catch up!”

megumi grabs your hand immediately, both of you power walking in the opposite direction of yuuji. he doesn’t let go until you’ve safely gotten out of sight, tucked in a quiet alley behind a bakery. the smell of sugar and cinnamon lingers in the air. he exhales, pressing his forehead lightly against yours.

“i love him, i do,” megumi says, voice strained, “but i really would like five minutes alone with you. a moment that doesn’t involve being force-fed mystery sodas and watching cats wearing fedoras.”

you laugh. “at least the cats were cute.”

“you’re cuter.”

that earns a blink from you. “say that again,” you say with a grin.

he looks away. “no.”

you press a soft kiss to his lips. “well, i think you’re cuter too, megumi fushiguro.”

[zombee04]

The full description for those curious.

Unfortunately I was a fucking excited dumbass and bought the patreon yesterday before scrolling down to see her latest works.

I think one of the things that bugs me the MOST in all of this is the aged up design used is diffrent to the one she has made in the past, this uh 'aged up' design resembling more towards Aliza when she first fell but w b**bs (sorry idk tumblrs censoring system too well), than the adult design SAS posted in 2022. I do have access to the full pic bc again I was the idiot that bought the patreon thing before noticing the uh top posts but here's a comparison of the free to view thumbnail (again even tho I have access to the premium one I dont wanna download it or share it both for personal morals and also idk patrons tos that well and also PERSONAL MORALS)

Left is the.. mmm.... right is the adult design she posted on twitter in 2022. Again this is nit picky but just a personal uhm idk the word it hurts? Feels gross.

Again at this point in time I have no idea what to believe rn and ik I'm just being bias and uh parasocial to the media but I truly truly hope shes not a pdf and is just an idiot that drew it in poor taste as like a self insert type thing but again I DONT THINK SO?? I THINK IM JUST IN DENIAL??? IDK it's horrible it's a nightmare and thank you to those who came out abt it on my behalf, genuinely I don't know how to feel about this

Horrortale has meant so much to me, as it has for so so many other people. The fandom has been so wholesome and I want to send my love to the others that were really attached to this fandom too. It's been such a long going series with alot of original and interesting stuff I just hhhtkhdihskhshahananaaaaaa. I know its an escape for alot of people not just me. Both the cannon and fannon stuff

Althought personally I'm still ripped apart, i think it's fine to still read the comic as long as you don't interact with the material? Idk. It's up to you. I am still personally torn and just really wish this never happened

Anyways I'm still very new to posting on tumblr but if your able to comment under here without it bugging froggo (idk if tumblr let's you do that if you repost or if it goes straight to the original post??) But if if is just like a thing where it's only under my post then feel free to type out your own feelings qnd experiences with the fandom

I wanna thank my friends for being there for me the past 24 hours, it's genuinely meant alot being able to talk about this with others and their patience with my rants about this really really means more than I can say, so uh I wanna pay that fowards I guess, feel free to rant in the replies or anonymously in the asks if you want, I wont post them unless like I have something to add to it ig

Uhm yeah heart goes out to everyone and big thank you to my friends (idk if I should say here or not bc yk but yk who you are) uhm genuinely ik I haven't shown it much but after the irl shit that's happened before this and then discovering this, your support has meant everything to me

Ok I'm rambling bye

Horrortale’s creator caught proshipping

This just in folks, Horrortale’s creator Sour Apple Studios caught not only proshipping BUT making suggestive art of an original character WHO IS A MINOR

June 1st, the pride month before the fall, the patron unveiled this here post featuring not only Aliza’s rear end as front and center but said rear end being on Sans Horrortale’s lap. Thats right, the creator is stepping above and beyond in “what the fuck”age by not only inventing a minor character but making self-described mature art about them.

Using my newfound knowledge of how to DO a read more Ive even included the proof below the read more, it’s also publicly viewable on the website at this point in time and while the way back machine doesn’t seem to be loading the images you can at least confirm the text matches with these disgusting, distasteful screenshots

[asraxfile]

Break up with your boyfriend!! (cause I'm bored)

sypnosis Of course the most popular girl in your school would want your boyfriend, the most popular guy in school, or so you thought? genre fluff, suggestive warnings partying, making out, mentions of alcohol wc 1.6k

A/n: kinda rushed tbh lost the feeling for it at the end but I still wanted to feed yall soo enjoy reading ^^

As Ningning walked into the house where a loud party was happening, she found herself feeling a rush of nervousness and slight uncertainty. Wherever she was she was always alone, even if she’s the most popular girl in school, she always felt quite empty with herself. 

As she walked down the stairs she was met by a lot of greetings from people she couldn’t remember if they even went to her school. The smell of cold champagnes, vodka and any mixed alcohol filled her nostrils the deeper she walked into the crowd of people. This party was made exceptionally for the end of the school and to signify the start of summer. Ningning swung her long, silky, black hair off her right shoulder to her left as she went over to the counter, literally taking anything to have to drink. 

Her mind was empty, blank and her face was impassive. She couldn’t quite remember what made her go to this party if everything is the exact same—well, maybe this time she was eager to come as soon as she heard you and your popular boyfriend were invited too. 

Ningning walked over to the couch. She didn’t even bother to sway along her favorite songs that were playing. While she was sitting down she looked through the crowd of people who were onto each other and dancing, having the time of their lives. Her piercefull eyes searched for the familiar duo, moreover, for you.  

High school was always so boring for Ningning. Many say girls like her were always immersed into boys because of her attractive appearance, but that was just a saying. The full truth was that Ningning never had many friends and boys just couldn’t do it well. Ningning just tends to get bored.

At times she thought something was wrong with her—Why doesn’t she like any boys like other girls do? Was it their appearance, lack of maturity or perhaps just non attraction? 

It was the question in her mind, until you showed up and cleared Ningning’s path.  

When you showed up the first thing Ningning noticed about you was your boyfriend who, in her opinion, looked so unnatural next to you. You don’t look good together at all.  

Ningning always came into hardcore whenever she thought about someone longer than a day. She was excited to go to school because of you. Hoping you would approach her, even if she was the one who felt the attraction. For school, Ningning never let herself look chopped or ugly, meaning she wore makeup and always did her hair in one way. But for you, she tended to get ready even more. Spraying her perfume a few times more than usual, especially on days she knew you’d pass by her. 

Rumor has it, since people caught the little things, that Ningning wants your boyfriend—which was far from true. 

Even at the present moment, her eyes lingered on your figure, wanting her hands wrapped around your body not his. 

You, clueless as ever, believed the rumors. But something made you feel weird about the popular girlie. You noticed how she, whenever you weren’t with your boyfriend, never walked up to him or even looked at him. In fact, she looked even more impassive whenever she saw him. You didn’t think of it too much, but you noticed her eyes on you once again. 

She was distantly not so far away from you both. Ningning was watching you dance along to the hyper music. You were having fun but with her eyes on your whole figure didn’t make you uncomfortable. 

At times you thought something was out of ordinary for you, just like Ningning thought for herself. To fill in the loneliness you felt for such a long time, you agreed to go out with your present boyfriend a month ago. He was really sweet but you never really felt it how you expected it to be. And so, you just suck it up and enjoyed it while it lasted. 

You couldn’t keep avoiding her gaze, her dark eyes, shiny lips and silky hair were the only thing in your head. 

‘No, I have a boyfriend, why would I approach her?’ a bitter thought occurs in your mind. You didn’t even know Ningning, you can’t just ask her for a dance. “Imma go get some fresh air, can you get us more drinks while so?” you loudly spoke into your boyfriend’s ear due to the loud music. In response he nodded as you both went separate ways. 

As you opened the large balcony door, the nice view of the city met your eyes. A harsh cold breeze hits your body, making you more away the second it hits. Taking a deep breath, you emptied your mind. Enjoying the silence, the sound of cars distantly driving and the sight of the city lights. It all felt comforting up until you turned around to go back inside and got met by a figure you were afraid to approach the whole night. 

Her eyes looked at yours, you felt starstruck and you felt your breath hitch within seconds. “Sorry, I needed some air too.” Ningning excused herself and took a step back with a friendly smile. You nodded as you stepped back as well, leaning on the balcony railings and you eyes her. “Yeah, it’s crazy hot in there.” you chuckled forcefully to lighten the mood. God, you were sweating. 

A small smile formed on Ningning’s face as she leaned on the railing, half a meter away from you. She looked down and around the view of the city. “I always forget how pretty it looks from up here,” she murmured. Her voice was quieter now, softer  “It’s always so peaceful.”

You glanced at her, stealing the moment to admire her profile—the way the city lights lit the skin on her face, how the breeze teased strands of her hair across her face.

“Yeah,” you replied, taking a listen to a familiar song, muffled from behind the door. She looked at you, her head turning slowly. Looking at you as if you’re someone she ‘d ever known.

“I thought you weren’t gonna come tonight,” she said, tone still casual, but her eyes said something else. Curiosity in her eyes as she waited for your reply. 

“I wasn’t sure either,” you admitted, holding your gaze down. “But... my boyfriend wanted to, so I changed my mind.”

A pause occurred as Ningning let out a soft hum in understandment. “Right. Your boyfriend.”

The three words hung between your emotions like crazy. The empathise on the word ‘boyfriend’ made you feel nauseous. You didn’t know why—why it felt like you were disappointing her just by confirming he existed.

You tried to break the silence, swallowing past the dryness of your throat. “People always assume you like him.” Ningning turned toward you once again, the same impassive face lingering as she asked. “Do you?” 

You blinked. “What?”

“Do you like him?”

The question repeated in your head like a clock, do you like him? You weren’t sure if it was love or just a stitch to fill the void. You opened your mouth to speak, answer the tough question, but Ningning talked once again. 

“‘Cause from what I’ve heard he isn’t enjoying your presence much...” The absolute no emotion behind her voice made you drawn to her even more. You were shocked, but also confused—was it really true?

“What?” you asked, turning towards her too as you watched her nodd. Slightly exhaling while looking away, Ningning tilted her head to her left. Compulsively admiring your reactions. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Call me crazy but,” Ningning started, taking a second to form the right words. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “He’s not good for you.” 

Your brows furrowed further, your heart stumbling over the meaning of her words. “You don’t even know me,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. Ningning’s lips parted, then curled slightly—not into a smirk this time, but something softer. “I’ll make time for you.” her soft spoken words were the ones making you feel warmer on this cold wind. 

What’s happening with you? Why are you feeling butterflies at her words and not his? 

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, blinking fast. Looking anywhere but at her. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Then where is he?” she asked, a serious tone filling the color of her voice. “If you’re out here feeling like this, why isn’t he the one noticing?”

The silence filled the balcony once again and the weight of the words held down both of you to make a move. Ningning didn’t say it but you could feel it. You couldn’t answer cause you knew she was telling the truth.

Millions of thoughts rushed through your mind—but one thing stayed true in this silence.

In your opinion, she was much more interesting than him anyway. She was so hard to read but it was so obvious when you find out what’s really on her mind. That’s when you got closer to her, words not forming in your head—your eyes only lingered on her face. 

As she looked up at you, you noticed her slightly biting her lower lip. Your eyes constantly running around her eyes and lips, couldn’t choose where to aim. Then you realize she’s right there, without anyone watching, just the two of you. He was obviously not here, but she was. 

That’s when you pulled in, not being sure if she agreed. Inches, almost breaking between you. “Go on,”she whispered, her hand accidentally touching yours. And that was a sign for you to pull in even closer and finally kiss her. At first it was short with no touches. 

As you fastly pulled away, you were met by her cold hands wrapping round your shoulders. No words were shared, it was just her who was leading you into this bittersweet chaos. One look at your face and Ningning wanted to know how you taste.

Your lips met hers again—soft and hesitant. Her lips were warm, slow, and patient, moving with a tenderness that made your stomach flip. She didn’t rush. She didn’t push. She just kissed you like she meant it. The world blurred for a moment—no music, no boyfriend, no rumors. Just the cold air curling around your bodies and the heat between your mouths. 

Taking a step forward you cornered Ningning to the railings, making her lean onto them as you were in front of her. Not caring if you were breathless, Ningning pulled you by the collar of your shirt and kissed you again. 

Her lipstick smudged all over your lips as you groaned into the kiss. “Ningning…” you managed to stammer out. 

The sound of kissing filled the air as Ningning slightly moaned into it. Immersed and intoxicated booths heads moved in sync. 

With your hand on her cheek and waist, Ningning perfectly knew she finally stole your heart from your boyfriend. 

[ao3commentoftheday]

When I was in my first fandom in ~2013 everyone was commenting on everyone's fanfiction for the sole reason that it was impossible to advertise your story in any other way (individual blog sites). So it was totally normal to finish your first comment with "oh btw I check out my blog too if you want I write this too ^^" (obviously the comments themselves were longer than two sentences long so it wasn't a bland advertisement)

(basically almost always commentators == fanfic authors and if you were a not-writing commentator there was some small expectation that probably one day you'll make a story too)

And. I don't really ever see it on ao3? Is it just not the done thing? I suppose it's much, much easier to find the stories for your fandom there so it's not necessary... But I think it really helped to build the community. Still, I feel like if I did it now it'd be rude

(was it even ever a thing in English fandom? I mean I doubt that it was my country's fandom specific thing but who knows)

I don't specifically remember that happening? But I was on a fic reading/writing hiatus at that point so I'm not the best to know.

I will say, as a member of a small fandom with some very supportive people in it, that it's actually also possible for authors to shout out other authors either in comment replies to readers or in their author's notes. It's a great way to cheer on your fellow writers and also guide readers (or listeners, in the case of podfics!) to other content they might enjoy.

Another way that I see more often on AO3 is to make use of the inspired by feature and the gift work feature - both of which help creators share their love and excitement and build on each other's work. (can you tell I'm a fan?)

I'm also a huge proponent of making use of your profile page to let folks know where they can find you. And while you're there, maybe throw up a fanworks permission statement so that other fans know whether you'd appreciate art or podfics etc. of your works!

[pohtaytoh]

𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ a touchy/clingy gf!Lara x f!reader

You know Lara Raj is affectionate, but nothing prepares you for game night at the Raj residence. What starts as a casual family gathering quickly becomes a delightful (and slightly embarrassing) showcase of your girlfriend's affection.

You know Lara Raj. Everyone knows Lara Raj. She's the embodiment of talent—a total powerhouse in KATSEYE. On stage, she's fire. In interviews, she's sharp, funny, and has that undeniable "don't mess with me" vibe. That's her public face.

Her private face? That's where you come in. Because behind closed doors, Lara Raj is a secret, super-clingy, touchy-feely marshmallow. And she absolutely hates when you point it out.

"Clingy? Me? Never," she'd scoff, even as her head was buried in your neck, her arm a vice-grip around your waist. "I'm just… comfortable. You ruin my brand, Y/N."

You'd just laugh, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

But tonight, her carefully crafted "badass" image was about to face its biggest challenge yet—the Raj Family Game Night— where you are adamant on proving her wrong.

"My mom insisted," Lara had explained beside you, left hand on the steering wheel, right hand on your thigh, as if she hadn't been practically vibrating with excitement for days. You were both on your way to her house, having been invited by her Mom. Of course, your girlfriend and her ever so charming traits, insisted on picking you up from work.

"It's just… a few relatives. No big deal."

No big deal, she said. But the little flutter in your stomach told a different story. Meeting the family is always a milestone, but meeting Lara's family, knowing her secret side, felt like walking into a playful ambush. Would they confirm your suspicions? Would they expose her? More importantly, would Lara actually manage to keep her hands off you?

You had your doubts. Big ones.

The Raj Residence was warm and inviting, the kind of house that smelled faintly of spices and laughter. As soon as Lara opened the door, a wave of voices washed over you. "Lara, beta!" a woman's voice chirped, and Lara's mom, a kind-faced woman with sparkling eyes that mirrored Lara's, pulled her into a hug.

"Mom!" Lara said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. She quickly pulled away, then turned to you, her arm immediately sliding around your lower back, pulling you flush against her side. "Mom, Dad, this is Y/N."

Lara's dad, a tall, calm man, gave you a warm smile. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N. Lara talks about you all the time."

Lara instantly tensed, her grip on your back tightening slightly. "Dad! I do not!"

Her mom chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Lara's arm around you. "Oh, she certainly does, dear. Mostly about how you're 'so understanding' and 'don't judge my weird habits'."

Lara's cheeks flushed a light pink, and she elbowed her mom playfully. "Mom, please!"

You offered a polite smile, feeling a blush creep up your own neck. This was going to be exactly as you expected, wasn't it?

As you stepped inside, the living room opened up into a lively scene. People—who you assumed to be your girlfriend’s relatives— were scattered around, some setting up snacks, others already debating the rules of a game you couldn't quite make out. Lara, still with her arm firmly around you, navigated the room like a seasoned captain, introducing you to everyone.

"This is my sister Rhea, Auntie Meena, Uncle Sanjay…" With each introduction, Lara would subtly (or not-so-subtly) draw you closer, as if afraid you'd float away. Her hand found yours at one point, interlacing fingers, and didn't let go, even as she gestured wildly with her free hand while explaining something to her Uncle.

Auntie Meena, a vivacious woman with a hearty laugh, gave you a knowing look. "Oh, Lara! You finally brought Y/N! We were wondering when we'd meet the famous 'Y/N who keeps Lara grounded'." she said, air quoting the last part, earning laughs from the others.

Lara groaned, rolling her eyes. "Auntie! Please don't listen to her, Y/N. She’s exaggerating." But even as she said it, her thumb was gently stroking the back of your hand.

Uncle Sanjay, a jovial man, leaned in conspiratorially. "She's been attached to something since she was a baby. First it was a teddy bear, then her blanket, now… you, Y/N." He winked.

Lara let out an exasperated sigh, but a tiny smile played on her lips. She wasn't mad, not really. Just a little embarrassed to be exposed.

"Alright, everyone!" Lara's dad clapped his hands. "Let's get this game night started! We're starting with Pictionary!"

A huge whiteboard was set up in the corner of the room, and markers lay scattered nearby. Teams were quickly formed. You found yourself on Lara's team, along with her mom and her sister. Lara, of course, immediately positioned herself right next to you, hip-to-hip, as everyone gathered around the table.

"Okay, first up," Uncle Sanjay announced, pulling a card. "Rhea, you're drawing!"

Rhea, a few years older than Lara, grabbed a marker and looked at the word. She started drawing furiously, sketching what looked like a series of wobbly lines.

"Noodles?" Lara guessed immediately, leaning so close to you that her hair brushed your cheek. "Pasta? Worms?"

You tried to concentrate on Rhea’s drawing, but Lara's constant presence was a sweet distraction. Her arm was now casually draped over the back of your chair, her fingers resting lightly on your shoulder. When Rhea finally drew a little bowl, Lara shouted, "Soup!"

"YES!" Rhea cheered. "Good job, sis!"

"My turn!" Lara declared, practically bouncing in her seat. She grabbed a card and read it, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Okay, this is easy for our team."

She walked up to the whiteboard, but not before giving your hand a quick, firm squeeze. "Wish me luck," she whispered, as if the fate of the world rested on this Pictionary round.

Lara started drawing, and surprisingly, she was quite good. She drew a series of distinct shapes, then quickly outlined a familiar object. Her mom called out, "House!" Lara nodded vigorously. Then she added some details, and her mom changed it to "Mansion!" Again, Lara nodded. She then drew a quick, tiny figure near the mansion.

"Rich person!" Priya shouted.

"Celebrity!" her mom added.

Lara looked at you, her eyes wide, silently urging you. Her free hand, which wasn't drawing, reached out and gently nudged your arm, then slid down to briefly hold your hand.

"Hollywood!" you blurted out, without even thinking.

Lara's eyes lit up. "YES! Y/N! You're brilliant!" she cheered, giving your hand another squeeze before quickly letting go and drawing the next part.

You blushed again. It was just Pictionary, but Lara was acting like you'd just solved a complex quantum physics problem. Her mom and sister chuckled, exchanging a look.

"She always was enthusiastic," Lara's mom murmured, loud enough for you to hear. "Especially when she thinks someone is particularly clever." She winked at you.

The game continued, and Lara's "comfortable" touches became more and more frequent. If you leaned back in your chair, she would lean back with you, her arm sliding from your shoulder to settle around your waist. If you leaned forward to get a better look at a drawing, she'd shift, mirroring your movement, her thigh pressing against yours. It was like you were tethered together.

At one point, Uncle Sanjay drew something incredibly abstract. Everyone was stumped. Lara, frustrated, leaned heavily against your side, letting out a frustrated groan. "What is that, Uncle? Is it a potato wearing a hat?"

Her dad cleared his throat, a small smile playing on his lips. "Lara, dear, you're practically sitting on Y/N."

Lara straightened up slightly, just enough to look at her dad. "I'm not!" she protested, but she still had an arm draped around your shoulders. "I'm just… getting a better angle."

"A very close angle," Auntie Meena teased. "Are you two glued together?"

You laughed, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth. Lara, meanwhile, simply huffed, turning her attention back to the drawing, but her arm remained exactly where it was. You could feel the warmth of her body, the soft fabric of her shirt against your arm. It was incredibly sweet, even if it was a little embarrassing.

After Pictionary, it was time for snacks. The dining table was laden with delicious Indian treats, savory and sweet. You grabbed a small plate, trying to look casual, but Lara was already there, hovering.

"Get some of the Samosas, Y/N, they're amazing," she instructed, her hand on your elbow. As you reached for one, her other hand reached for one on the same plate, her fingers brushing yours. She pulled hers away quickly, but you felt the lingering touch.

You moved to a quieter spot near the window, hoping to get a moment to yourself, but Lara was right behind you. She stood so close that your backs were almost touching, and when she talked, you could feel her breath on your neck.

"So, what do you think?" she murmured, taking a bite of her Samosa. "Pretty good, right? My mom makes the best Samosas."

"They're incredible, Lara," you agreed, turning your head slightly to look at her.

"Here, try this," she said, holding a small, sweet pastry up to your lips. You hesitated for a second, then took a bite. It was delicious.

"Mmmm, what is it?" you asked.

"Gulab Jamun," she replied, then without missing a beat, she took another bite from the same pastry, right where you'd bitten. It was such a natural, unconscious action for her, but it made your heart do a little flip.

Her mom walked by, carrying a tray of drinks, and stopped. "Lara, are you sharing your Gulab Jamun with Y/N, or are you just... using their mouth as a second plate?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Lara nearly choked on her bite. "Mom! No! I was just... offering a taste!" she sputtered, her cheeks heating up again. She quickly pulled the pastry away from your face.

"Of course, dear," her mom said, her eyes dancing with amusement. She then turned to you. "You know, when Lara was little, she would always share her food by taking a bite, then insisting her dad take a bite from the exact same spot. It was quite something."

Lara buried her face in her hands. "Mom, you're embarrassing me!"

"Just telling Y/N stories about you, darling," her mom replied sweetly, before moving on.

You patted Lara's arm. "It's cute, Lara. Don't worry about it."

She peeked up at you through her fingers. "It ruins my whole 'mysterious and alluring' vibe for KATSEYE."

You chuckled. "I think it makes you even more alluring, actually. Shows you're human."

Lara dropped her hands and gave you a small, satisfied smile. For a moment, her cool facade completely melted away, revealing the soft, affectionate person underneath. She then leaned in again, almost imperceptibly, her shoulder brushing yours. "You're just saying that because you like it."

"Maybe I do," you whispered back, a smile playing on your lips.

After snacks, it was time for the main event: Ludo. This was serious business, Lara informed you. Family bragging rights were on the line. The board was set up on a large coffee table, and the atmosphere grew more competitive.

You and Lara were still on the same team, along with Uncle Sanjay. Lara, naturally, sat as close to you as humanly possible on the sofa. Her arm was casually thrown over your shoulder, her fingers occasionally brushing your collarbone as she leaned in to see the dice roll.

"Okay, Uncle, you first!" Lara urged, practically vibrating with excitement.

Uncle Sanjay rolled the dice, and a five came up. He moved one of his pieces.

Your turn came. You picked up the dice, feeling a nervous energy. Lara's hand immediately covered yours, a warm, soft weight. "Good luck, Y/N," she whispered, her voice low. "Roll a six."

You tried to roll, but her hand was still on yours, guiding it, almost like she was rolling with you. You managed to shake the dice and let them tumble out. A three.

"Aww, so close!" Lara pouted, her grip on your hand still firm. She then used her thumb to rub the back of your hand gently, as if comforting you for the low roll.

Her dad, on the opposing team, cleared his throat. "Lara, are you... helping Y/N roll the dice?"

Lara instantly removed her hand. "No! I was just... making sure they didn't drop them."

Auntie Meena snorted from across the table. "Right. Because Y/N looks like they've never held dice before."

Lara shot her aunt a glare. "It's called support, Auntie. You wouldn't understand."

You just smiled, shaking your head slightly. Lara was truly something else.

As the game progressed, Lara's clinginess became even more pronounced, fueled by the competitive spirit. If you rolled well, she'd squeeze your arm excitedly, or even briefly hug your side. If you rolled poorly, she would lean into you, commiserating with a soft groan. At one point, you were trying to decide which piece to move, and Lara, completely absorbed, draped her chin over your shoulder, peering at the board.

"Move this one," she mumbled, her breath warm against your ear, her fingers pointing directly at the piece you were already considering.

Her sister, on the opposite team, giggled. "Lara, are you actually playing for Y/N?"

Lara straightened up slightly, feigning innocence. "No! I'm just offering tactical advice! It's a team strategy!"

"Tactical advice with your face in their neck?" Rhea challenged.

Lara rolled her eyes dramatically. "You guys are so dramatic. Y/N doesn't mind, do you, Y/N?" She turned her head, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes.

You couldn't help but smile. "Not at all, Lara. It's... very supportive."

Lara beamed, as if she'd just won an Oscar. She then settled back into her position, chin on your shoulder, making herself comfortable. You could feel her cheek pressed lightly against yours. It was impossible not to feel incredibly warm and cherished.

The game became a hilarious dance between competitive Ludo and the family teasing Lara about her inability to maintain personal space with you. Each time a family member made a comment, Lara would briefly pull back, protest violently, and then slowly, inevitably, find her way back to touching you. It was a cycle that repeated endlessly, and you found yourself enjoying it more than you thought possible.

Her dad, at one point, paused his turn and looked at Lara. "You know, Lara," he began, a nostalgic smile on his face, "when you were small, you would cling to your mom's leg everywhere. We used to call you our little koala."

Lara groaned again. "Dad! I was a child!"

"And now you're a big koala with Y/N," Auntie Meena chimed in, making everyone laugh.

Lara buried her face in your shoulder, letting out a muffled protest. You could feel her shaking with silent laughter against you. "See what I have to deal with?" she whispered to you, but her arms tightened around your middle.

You just squeezed her back gently. "I think it's sweet."

"Don't tell them that," she mumbled. "They'll never let me live it down."

As the evening wound down, the board games were packed away, and empty snack plates were cleared. The air was filled with contented chatter and lingering laughter. Lara, somehow, was still attached to you. When you moved to help her mom clear the table, Lara's hand found yours, holding it as you both walked to the kitchen. When you leaned over to pick up a stray napkin, she leaned with you, her hip bumping yours.

Her mom gave you a soft smile as you placed a stack of plates on the counter. "You're very good for her, Y/N," she said quietly. "She's always been a very... tactile person. Needs that closeness. She pretends she's too cool for it, but it's just who she is."

"I like it," you confessed, looking over at Lara who was currently "helping" her dad by leaning against him and chatting animatedly. "It's one of the things I love about her."

Her mom's smile widened. "We can tell. It's lovely to see."

Soon, it was time to leave. You said your goodbyes to Lara's family, each relative giving you a warm hug and a knowing look.

"Take care of our little koala, Y/N!" Uncle Sanjay called out as you headed for the door.

"Don't let her suffocate you!" Auntie Meena teased, earning a final, exasperated groan from Lara.

Lara's mom pulled you into a tight hug. "It was so wonderful having you, Y/N. Please come again soon. And don't mind her; she's just a big softie underneath all that “cool” image she's been saying."

"Mom!" Lara wailed, her face turning crimson. She was already holding your hand, practically dragging you out the door.

Once you were in Lara's car, the moment the door closed, Lara sagged against you, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Oh my god," she muttered, her head falling onto your shoulder. "That was so embarrassing. My family is the worst."

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. "They're not the worst. They're hilarious. And they love you."

"They exposed me!" she grumbled, but her voice lacked any real bite. She was too comfortable, too relaxed. Her hand found yours again, lacing her fingers with yours.

"They just confirmed what I already knew," you said softly, squeezing her hand. "That my 'badass' girlfriend is actually a giant softie who can't keep her hands off me."

She lifted her head, looking at you with mock offense. "I am not a softie. And I can totally keep my hands off you." As she said this, her other hand reached up, gently cupping your cheek. Her thumb stroked your skin.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your face. "Oh really? Prove it."

Lara's gaze dropped to your lips, a small, mischievous smile playing on hers. "I mean I could but why would I want to? Maybe I don't want to prove it tonight," she murmured, leaning in close. "Maybe after a night like that, I just wanna lean into it."

And she did. Her lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss that slowly deepened. Her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. It was a kiss full of the kind of affection that only Lara could give – possessive, warm, and utterly consuming.

When you finally broke apart, both a little breathless, Lara didn't let go. She simply rested her forehead against yours, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

"See?" she whispered, her voice a little husky. "Not clingy. Just... very, very comfortable. With you."

You smiled, knowing that her "cool" reputation was safely tucked away until the next KATSEYE appearance. For now, you had your own private, wonderfully clingy Lara. And you wouldn't have her any other way. You settled into the embrace, feeling completely cherished, and ready for whatever delightful display of devotion her "comfortable" nature would bring next.

a/n: My first time writing here! Some of these names are fictional, I hope that's okay with you. I do apologize for grammatical and typographical errors, English is not my first language. To 🥛 anon, here is your request, I hope it lived up to your expectations. I had fun writing this and I hope y'all love it. Thank you sm for helping me try to get my passion in writing back. 💗