#MAT is incoherent

[crwbannwen]

Dating App Profile: What are you looking for?

Me: My house keys! Where did I put them?

[m1d-45]

Hello I'm back :)))

I had a rough exam season and took some time to rest so now I'm interacting with ppl again

Now pls let me know what you think of the Zhongli statue? I'm honestly going nuts over it

Fun fact: the gold bits on his hair and hand means ppl are frequently rubbing it, like those dog statues with golden snoots🥰🥰

I LOVED THE STATUE IT WAS SO GREAT SEEING THAT I COULD GET IT AFTER DOING THE WEB EVENT

side note the art kn the web event was so PRETTY MAN like !!! for what purpose. what need was there to make him look so nice. for what.

morax my beloved. zhongli is so SILLY as a character and i’m genuinely somewhat surprised they gave us a statue of an archon like that tbh. i will find some way some how to put it in my teapot though—reminds me i need to redecorate like half my layouts ough—and probably make a ridiculous shrine for it or something for the fun of it. most normal genshin impact player.

[al-the-remix]

The answers to the D/s verse poll bring up an interesting angle I hadn't really considered.

For some people what I'd been calling "whump" is not just an added trope to be sprinkled on for extra spice but like "the inherit baggage of an unequal society" you're writing about.

I guess from my perspective I don't think D/s universes need to be inherently bad on a civil level?? Like if D/s relationships in real life are not inherently unequal or abusive--and that relationship dynamic is the base line for a society--then it would just be considered the status quo the way like monogamy is considered the status quo in ours. Of course these relationships would still sometimes enable inequality and abuse the same way marriage can in ours, but not necessarily egregiously so? Like some people have terrible experiences with monogamy and marriage and maybe we'd all be better off in some kind of thrupple but i think most people are just happy chilling with their one special buddy like a pair of mated swans and don't really want their world rocked that much. I feel like charcters in D/s verses could be the same but the swans are just wearing leather bondage.

Aha, but you say, what's the point of writing it without the thematic reflection on our society's flaws? You're probably right about that. I just have been curious about the D/s universe thing for a while now and ^ this aspect of it hasn't really occurred to me until now. The appeal to me is all in the BDSM and the potential for interpersonal whump not necessarily societal. Like if that stuff is there it's in the background.

idk-- tl;dr i found this distinction interesting 🤷‍♂️

[scarskelly]

[mylonelylife135]

My pathetic Family

Vigilantes.

TW: Injuries, violence against (you).

.

.

.

Dick's parents died.

You found that out when you were eventually asked by Alfred how it went 'bonding' with your new brother.

You told the truth. Why wouldn't you? it's not like you had played with stuffed plushies and ate cookies together.

You tried to get to know this new sibling, and got yelled at.

What else was there to say?

"(____), The reason why Master Richard got angry is because... Because his parents are gone." Alfred's voice sounded guilty, like he didn't want to tell you this information without Richard's consent.

Gazing up at Alfred, you couldn't help but blurt out the words "Like my mommy?"

Alfred eyes widened in surprise momentarily before he regained his composure and ruffled the top of your head. "Yes, just like your mother, (____)."

You couldn't help but wonder why it was such a big deal, then? you didn't even know your own mom, let alone your dad.

Then again, if it was Alfred you would be very sad. So I guess you sort of understood where your new brother was coming from.

Of course, once Alfred found out that you and Richard had what could be honestly said as a horrible first meeting: He told Bruce about what had transpired between the two of you.

You didn't expect that it would strain your relationship further with your new brother when Alfred had informed Bruce of your unfortunate interaction with Richard.

It hadn't been more than a day after your interaction with Richard that he had barged into your room while you were playing by yourself, slamming the door open and looking furious.

It wasn't hard to find your room. Especially since Alfred and Bruce had Richard's room set up right next to yours in the hopes you would body with each other by being in close proximity.

Of course, that would never happen.

"You told on me!? Thanks for getting me in trouble you little-" Richard cut himself off, hands clenched tightly.

You stared at Richard wide-eyed on the floor, clutching a teddy plush to your chest tightly.

"I didt-didn't lie. Y-You yell at me bev-before and now." You responded back, confused since it wasn't like you lied.

Alfred told you to tell the truth! Like when you accidentally broke a plate or you took snacks from the fridge!

What was so wrong with telling the truth?

"It doesn't mean you have be a snitch!" What was a snitch?

"I-I am not!" You denied, clutching your stuffed teddy tighter.

You didn't know what a snitch was, but it sounded like a bad thing with how your new brother was saying it.

"Whatever, just don't do it again!" Richard turned on his heel, about to leave.

Your eyes were to the ground; You were tearing up again, you didn't like being yelled at.

It made you feel like you did something wrong.

"Are you mat-mad at me bew-becawse of your mommy and daddy being gone?" You asked, eyes teary and your voice shaky.

"...What did you just say?" You could hear your brother stop in his tracks, his voice suddenly quiet.

Maybe now you could try again, another chance. Another chance to get on the right track.

You didn't entirely understand your brothers situation but you did have something in common.

"My mommy is aw- also go-" you couldn't even finish your sentence before the back of your head hit your bedside table and both your face and back of your head burning with pain.

An ear-piercing shriek of pain escaped you, your tiny hands going up to clutch your face, blood gushing out of your nose and tears dribbling down your cheeks.

You looked up with blurry vision only to see Richard's baby blue eyes full of fury, then watched as it quickly turned to shock as he had realized what he had done.

He kicked you in the face.

He had just kicked Bruce's child in the face.

Richard took a step closer to you with a hand outstretched, and you instinctively backed up only for your back to hit the bedside table.

You immediately screamed, crying incoherently at Richard to go away and for your daddy.

Just as quickly as you had screamed, footsteps came rushing towards your room to the sound of screaming and crying.

You didn't remember much of what had happened afterward other than stumbling towards Alfred's legs and hugging them tightly before you were picked up. You rested your head on his shoulder, sobbing and clutching his neck.

You looked back with blurry and glassy eyes as Alfred rushed you out of your room; seeing Bruce standing in front of Richard and Richard's pale expression. Droplets of blood stained the wooden floors.

.

.

.

It was a miracle you didn't have to go to the hospital.

Fortunately, you only had a bloody, bruised nose and a bump on the back of your head.

Other than a slight headache and your face burning, you were fine.

You were fine. You were fine. You were fine. Alfred was furious and didn't leave your side, making sure to keep gauze in your nostrils, a cold compress on the back of your head and once your nose stopped bleeding some ointment to ease the pain and bandages on your nose.

Only when did you manage to fall asleep late into the night did Alfred leave your side to have a discussion with Bruce and Richard.

"Master Bruce, this is unacceptable! Do you know how badly he could have hurted (____) very badly if he hit any harder!" Alfred cried out, his voice full of anger at how the man he considered his own son was so apathetic. Bruce inhaled sharply, putting his cowl over his head "Alfred, I've already forbidden Dick from crime fighting as Robin. He will also apologize to (____)-"

"Master Dick has hurt your child! What good is an apology if (____) starts crying at the mention of his name!?" Alfred raised his voice, a hand on his head as he let out a heavy sigh. "Bruce, (____) is too scared to tell even me the truth about what had happened. All she is saying is that she 'fell.' No child manages to get injuries such as this unless she has fallen from a high tree." "..."

Richard was standing off to the side in the batcave, his head hung low in shame as he listened to his mentor and his butler arguing.

It was around 8 or 9 PM last time Richard checked, he didn't get the opportunity to find what time it was now since he had been yelled at for the last hour by Bruce and now was listening to Bruce and Alfred arguing about what he did.

Bruce was putting on his batsuit as he argued with Alfred, it was clear that what had happened was not going to stop him from going out and fighting crime tonight.

Richard glanced upwards as he heard small movements that he was positive wasn't Bruce putting on his batsuit as he argued with Alfred. He swore he could hear tiny pitter patters of footsteps- "Oh jeez!-" A curse almost escaped Richard's lips, causing Alfred and Bruce's to turn towards Richard before becoming dead silent.

You were in the batcave at the end of the steps, your eyes dead set on the three and clutching your favorite chameleon plush close to your face, as if to cover how bad your nose looked.

How did you even get into the batcave? Alfred was sure he put you to bed and the grandfather clock entrance that covered the stairs was covered as usual and even then there's a code that you shouldn't know unless-

"I heard yelling." You say quietly, a sniffle escaping you as you tried to breathe through your nose and it ached.

Your eyes were on your dad in a bat suit.

Batman.

He was Batman, You've seen him on T.V before with a boy in a red suit. You chattered excitedly to Alfred many times whenever you saw Batman on T.V about how Batman and Robin were so cool.

If Batman was your daddy, then Robin was Richard.

"A-Are you Batman, da-daddy?" your voice was scratchy from how much you cried before, you didn't like how your own father could choose to spend time with some lost kid over you voice sounded so full of pain.

Bruce and Alfred exhanged shocked glances, unsure of how to proceed.

Richard took a step forward, "I-"

"I will never forgive you or forget this. It-It is okay." You murmured tiredly, taking a step back instinctively and averting your gaze away from the older boy.

Alfred would gently pick you up and

That was it.

It may have only been two bad interactions, but these interactions would cement your relationship with Richard Grayson.

Or lack of a relationship, that is.

After this incident, you no longer played with your toys of stuffies to Alfred's concern.

You didn't really do anything until he gently suggested that you find a new hobby if perhaps you didn't enjoy your stuffies or tea party's by yourself anymore.

You would eventually chose a new hobby in a couple of months after this incident. That hobby would be (___________).

Alfred swore to himself to keep more of an eye on you after the incident since you were starting to act oddly.

Bruce would move on from this incident after a couple of weeks.

Richard? You didn't speak to him. He didn't speak to you. His room was moved away from yours after he hurt you.

You were scared of him and avoided him.

You had to give credit to Dick, though. He taught you something very important that you would never forget:

Lying is better than telling the truth, telling the truth would get you hurt.

Relationship Status!

Bruce Wayne (Your father): 0/100

-Why does he care more about some orphan over you?

Alfred Pennyworth (Your only friend): 85/100

-At least you can count on Alfred.

-He chose you.

-That means he loves you.

Richard Grayson (The one you fear): -30/100

-You don't like Richard.

-You're scared of him.

-Are you why my father doesn't spend time with me?

-He broke something inside of you.

A/N: You thought Damian would be the one to hurt you? NAHHHHHHHH THAT'S TOO COMMON IN THESE STORIES, HERE'S SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. If you did cry my bad. If you end up hating Dick? GOOD. It means I did a good job. ALSO there will be a poll up today! It will be up for until maybe tomorrow and will be relevant to chapter 4 and what your hobbies will be! (This will totally not have consequences later on.) Taglist!

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@sirenetheblogger

@bellethesleepypotato

@mev-fizzah-writes

@tsxukikami

[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★ part one, part two

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ word count 8.4k+ (this was going to be 5k but then i ended up writing about 2.5k worth of smut... so!! beware)

ᯓ★a/n: this is weeks late, life happens, shit happens we get back up to write bucky barnes faniction. {para @dove4444 te amo, perdon por la espera <33333} (minor grammar edits on mar 11)

ᯓ★ summary: Tensions rise when a ‘friendship’ builds that leave both of you wanting more. Everyone can see how his eyes never leave you. If only you could get your head out of your ass and see for yourself.

ᯓ★ series warnings/ tags/ tropes: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, separation, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication  Soft Bucky Barnes, Mentions of torture off screen ------[PART TWO WARNINGS: unhealthy coping strategies, miscommunication, smut, dry humping, cursing in other languages (Spanish and Russian), dacryphilia, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, p in v unprotected sex]

You needed time to heal after— two days of bed rest, stitches, and recovery from a heavily sprained ankle. And unfortunately for Bucky, that meant no clandestine meetings at quarter past two in the morning. 

He tried his best to keep away. After the initial reunion, he handed you into the infirmary and avoided everyone like the plague. They avoided him right back; he couldn’t blame them. He felt as if a storm cloud enveloped him without you, knew he had murder in his eyes. It cost him to hand you up to the doctors, a pang in his heart at having you taken from him once again. He told himself it wasn’t like that, and you would be back in his line of sight before he knew it. His subconscious disagreed, so he trained for hours until he passed out on a mat, warring voices in his head quieting down with exhaustion that pulled at his body and made gravity stronger. Phantom hands yanking him down into oblivion mid-workout. He toed the line of danger training without a spotter, but once the black started to spot his vision and his dry throat burned with rage —he was a super soldier, neglecting hydration helped him pass out faster— he knew to go to the mat so when he did pass out, at least he wouldn’t injure himself.

One of those days, he came to the Black Widow frowning from above him.

He grumbled an intentionally incoherent sentence, not feeling like interacting. The redhead’s brows furrowed further. Unimpressed with his antics.

“Get a grip, Barnes, this self-pity schtick has to go. Here.” 

He felt more than saw the weight of a water bottle against his stomach. Almost snarled before remembering himself. It was a bit embarrassing. He sat up and grabbed at the water with resentment in what was meant to be one fluid movement but came out clumsy and sluggish. His head pounded, his vision clouded. Embarrassing. Begrudgingly, he unscrewed the water bottle and finished it in slow, measured drinks under Black Widow’s judging gaze.

Said redhead dropped to a crouch, eye level with him, frown unfurling, and even he could see the concern in her eyes and the unpleased twist of her lips.

“Barnes, look. I long ago forgave you for the scar you gave me, and I know that you hold yourself guilty for— don’t give me that look. You know you do. Anyway, the others wanted to stage an intervention— No, before you start, let me finish! They care about you. —No. I know that face. I’m going to ignore all your passive-aggressive expressions now, you petulant child— I know you don’t like to think much about what happened during— well, yes, I know you remember. Haven’t you ever stopped to think why the fifty-sixth floor stayed destroyed? Huh? Yeah! Thought you didn’t. I know you pay close attention to Tony, so I know you know he is prideful and a perfectionist. He wouldn’t leave a floor wrecked just because. And before you get angry. No, he didn’t tell anyone why he let it be. And I know for a fact that he turned off the cameras. I couldn’t find any trace of the feed for the floor, and I am Black Widow — it didn’t take me long to figure out he had forgiven you no matter how much he teases you. Yes, he was hurt, but he ultimately understood that it wasn’t a choice, and he cares in his own asshole way. He— We care about you, Barnes. And I know things have been awkward with Steve— since you tried to kill him and all--, but if you don’t see that he cherishes you, then you have been lying to yourself. And she cares, too! Did you know she has been accepting visitors? She’s about to be discharged to her own room tomorrow morning. She didn’t need to stay in the infirmary, but Tony worries, and I know you do too. So there is no reason to stay away from your friend— no rational reason. And it pains me to see hope bloom in her eyes once the door opens and how she tries to cover up its shatter when it’s not you. You two understand each other. You are best friends. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. We live together. She wears her heart on her sleeve. You just have to learn to read her tells. She will never outright say what she means to say. She will veil her true feelings with insults and sarcasm. Now take a shower and go to her, you big fucking idiot. You reek.” She sprang up in one smooth motion, leaving him with a fond stern look and scolded, all of which reminded him of his sister.

That was the longest she had ever spoken in front of him, even putting every interaction together. He didn’t have time to unpack everything, though. Bucky was left reeling, jaw clenched to prevent it from slacking open in shock. His breaths came in faster and faster. He missed you so much. He couldn’t stop thinking about having you in his arms, wanting you back there forever. But Black Widow was right. He reeked. 

His thoughts ran a mile a second, his body going through the motions without instruction. He went to his bathroom, showered, and did his night routine on autopilot. 

 It was late… you were most definitely sleeping. His every thought is hyper-focused on you. On the fact that you weren’t there, your absence was a heavy and loud presence in his heart.

Bucky stared at his bed, bones weary and freshly showered. He would lie to himself if he said he contemplated sleeping there and visiting you tomorrow. He needed you now— needed you always— But his need for you felt more pronounced at that moment. His body was tired, but it yearned to hold you more than it did sleep. He needed his nightly dose of you. And even then, that wouldn’t be enough; he needed you close, needed you in ways that had him blushing and running himself a cold shower. He shook his head, trying to lose memories of him jerking himself off at breakneck speed, to find some sort of release of the lustful torture he found himself in just by thinking about you— never mind breathing in your scent.

He threw himself on his bed. He tried to keep away, but truly, he did. But between the lands of consciousness and unconsciousness, he saw you. Screaming for him, crying out as you were tortured. He couldn’t take it. His heart pounded as he ran his fingers aggressively through his hair. 

He knew you deserved all that was good in the world, and that excluded him — but that didn’t calm down the tension in his body palpable through his teeth. Bucky tried to breathe in and think rationally, but his limbs moved on their own accord as if deciding for him. 

His mind was a passenger to his body as he was pulled by an invisible string holding his heart hostage, tethered to you, throughout the building to your door.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You couldn’t sleep, or rather, you had been knocked out for a while, sleeping on and off, drifting between the blurred line of realistic nightmare and nonsensical reality, dozed in a wide array of medicine, and found yourself squirming at two a.m. in the morning. 

You were unable to move much. Your leg was elevated to aid your heavy sprain.

Your eyes were heavy, blinking slowly in the darkness. You were so uncomfortable and had to sit with one big fact. Squirmed with it. You wanted to see him. You distracted yourself from any other thoughts, from processing whatever the fuck happened in the warehouse, the new drops in the bucket of blood and death, with memories of his arms around yours. You had relished in life-giving away beneath your hands, just as they had relished in breaking your bones. You glared at your palms as if they would give you an answer to why you didn’t feel guilty. You had to kill your way out. No one was coming to save you. He would’ve. You could see it in his eyes. He was about to fight Captain America to get to you. You shivered, not knowing how to take it. He had been so relieved, and so had you.

Your inhale was shaky. You tried to think of him, but— your greatest fears had come true those long hours before you escaped. Half unconscious with pain, you thought you were back in Hydra. When you screamed in pain from the torture, you thought those nights with him had all been a nice dream. That the beautiful man with the sad blue eyes had been a hallucination. The cruel eyes from not too long ago blurred into those of your past, of older memories from Hydra. A variety of eyes, twin flames, mirrored each other with sadistic pleasure and glee. There was a twist in your gut that didn’t let you give up and told you there was a man with soulful eyes and a gorgeous smile waiting for you. Pure grit brought you back online, moving your body in ways you hadn’t since your Hydra days. Killed so many. You were scared that you didn’t care. Bucky was real, had hugged you so tight—

But an anxious, paranoid part of you still thought so.  You hadn’t seen him in days, and the rational part of you knew he was real, but a dark and needy side of you needed him here to believe it. A heavy sensation of being trapped grew in your body; your limbs, heavy and achy, impeded you from moving much. Frustration built in your chest, rising and rising. Your breaths came out fast and shallow. You didn’t know how to manage it, needed to move, needed him. 

A knock at the door dragged you from your haze. Hope failed to bloom in your chest. Too often, it had grown only for someone who wasn’t Jamie to enter the hospital room.

You couldn’t see through your distress. It was late, and you didn’t want to be bothered— not by anyone who wasn’t him. You slid a hand under your pillow, fingers curling around the grip of your knife. 

You knew those soft footsteps, familiar with them even in their uncertainty— you were dreaming. “Doll?” Oh, how you missed him.

You placed the knife on the bedside. “Jamie?” You weren’t able to keep the excitement and relief from your voice.

“I had a nightmare. I had to check for myself. I’ll let you sleep.” His voice was gruff, worried. Worried.

Yes, you were, in fact, dreaming a pain medication-induced nice dream. Your Jamie was proud. He would never— this was your dream where you could do whatever you wanted, and you wanted him around you. “Come here. There’s enough room for the both of us.”

Dream Jamie didn’t hesitate. The bed shifted with his weight. You flinched when you felt cold metal against you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I can move—”

You giggled softly.  The dark haze dissipates from your mind by his presence. “It’s alright, Jamie. You’re so cold. Get under the covers with me.” You yawned. Now that you weren’t in distress, your subconscious pulled you towards sleep—deeper sleep since you were already in the sandman’s territory.

There was an awkward shuffle as he got inside the covers.

You curled around the cold metal arm as best as you could with restricted movement. You yawned again. “G’night, Jamie. Try to get some sleep. We’re safe here; nothing can hurt us in my dream. I’m so glad to have you in my arms. I missed you so much. So happy you’re real and here, even if it is a dream, Jamie.” Your words murmured. You rubbed your face into his cotton shirt. The pounding of his heart lulled you to sleep.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You thought you were dreaming! Did you dream of him often? It didn’t matter. He would ponder this new revelation later; now, he would focus on your soft, pliant body against him and tiredness overtaking him.

Bucky’s consciousness came to him in phases, each more forceful than the last, crashing into him in waves. The first sensation he became aware of was warmth. His body relaxed against it. It was familiar, as he had dreamt of it. The next thing he noticed was that the warmth was tangible, had a soft give to it— he could feel it. He rolled his neck against foreign pillows… His eyes flew open, muscles tensing slightly with alarm. 

Your soft sleeping body cocooned his left side. It enveloped his usually cold metal arm— which was at that moment the same temperature as your body. He so badly wanted to give in again. Burrow into your warm, soft skin. He barely had time to overthink it. His groggy mind almost reached consciousness before a soft murmur from your lips brought his thoughts to heel.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, s’early Jamie, sleep.” You didn’t seem to care about him not being a product of REM. You curled up tighter around him. Your smile bigger than last night, cheek pressed against his metal arm. And never had he felt any semblance of gratefulness toward Stark. But the new arm sent feedback to his brain. A weapon of destruction cradled and enveloped softly by your body. Somehow, you trusted him. He felt less like a weapon with no agency and more like a person. He liked touching you with his metal arm. He knew that it was tainted, but your touch made it pure. Bucky acknowledged that he would’ve never gotten you here with him without that still-wrecked floor. Unwanted tears prickled in his eyes. Would he ever live up to this forgiveness?

He didn’t want to think anymore, so he followed the laced command in your sweet, sleepy voice, urging him back to dreamland and succumbing to his dreams.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The air around the two of you shifted after the one-person intervention. And yes, of course, the team noticed, but they chose to say nothing. They were glad that Natasha had gone in to talk to him by herself. Although she never did retell what happened, it seemed to work. And while they liked to tease Bucky— some billionaire philanthropists more than others— they were happy for him; he seemed a little calmer than before. Settled into himself. 

While he never directly came out and touched you in front of them. He started orbiting you blatantly. Taking a seat next to you during the rare shared meals. Glaring at anyone who dared take his spot next to you on the couch. Walking into a room and making his way to you. 

Two particular instances engraved themselves into the team members' minds who were lucky enough to behold it. 

The first event took place in the morning. It started like any other. You chit-chatted with Steve and Nat as you made two breakfast bagels. They might’ve thought you had woken up hungry that day were it not for the two cups of coffee you set in front of the plate holding the two halved bagels.

Tony tinkered with a toaster in the background, his eyes looking up slowly when Bucky walked in, fingers not stopping their ministrations on the machinery. 

And the team had been so wrong. Yes, Bucky had a strong disposition, but the way he always stared at you so intently was. It should have been obvious. It was like their eyes opened after the mission had gone wrong.  The man was so obviously besotted with you. 

It couldn’t be clearer as the usual dark storm cloud over him dissolved when his eyes found you. He strode toward you with one track mind. 

You spoke to him before your gaze found his as if sensing his presence. “Hey there, I just made you my favorite breakfast. Grab our plate. Here’s your coffee. Dark and joyless like you.” You turned to look at him with barely veiled glee.

Steve’s brows furrowed slightly, concerned. He used to make those kinds of jokes with his Bucky, but he didn’t know how this Bucky would react.

Tony’s eyes furrowed with concern—

Bucky huffed and pursed his lips. But his eyes. They were accustomed to his eyes being perpetually set in a glare. 

His gaze was soft, voice softer, “Doll… You know me so well.”

Your grin was dazzling, and you were the only one who missed the way his stare lingered a bit too long on your lips.

DOLL??? Oh, you guys were clearly fucking. Natasha smiled, amused, and raised an eyebrow at Steve. 

Steve gaped at Bucky, lost and forlorn. He had spent so long tiptoeing around the man who used to be his best friend. 

Bucky didn’t seem to care that there were other people in the kitchen; the man who didn’t show up for breakfast was long gone. You curled your fingers around the handle of the two coffee cups, concluding the chit-chat. He grabbed the plate with his metal fingers. Then, so slyly as if with half a mind, he reached out his right arm toward you, near your hips. His fingers slid inside the loop of your jeans and yanked you toward him.

You let out a surprised yelp and laughed. “Jamie! Careful. The coffee will spill!” You didn’t seem the least put off by his actions. 

They had no clue when it started, but somehow, in a few months, you had gotten through the broken and hurting Winter Soldier and got to Jamie. 

Jamie. Bucky never let Steve call him that. It was bittersweet. Your chattering voice faded as he dragged you out of the kitchen. It was then that he came to a conclusion. Bucky was a different man, and he wanted to get to know this version of him.

And they felt guilty. They had given a half-ass try to get to him, put off by his glower. You weren’t perturbed by his grumpiness or his mood swings. Letting him be silent whenever he got too in his head. Chatting to him about whatever until you eventually drew out a small smile perceptible in his usually clouded expression.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You had found yourself in the proud position of Bucky’s friend, closest and best — you did sleep in the same bed—yet you still felt like screaming in frustration. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t unhappy per se. You had him in your arms every night…Your cheek pressed against his warm, sturdy chest. The only thing between keeping your skin from his was a thin, flimsy shirt. And maybe it was wrong for you to, but you longed for more, to touch without restraint. Had feelings with more-than-friends connotations. Not that you had many real friends before you were recruited here. So, while you knew there was a difference between platonic and romantic love. You tried fooling yourself into thinking it was platonic. But you wouldn’t go and kill around 15 people for just about anyone, and it hurt. You wanted him to see you the same way you did him. Rare nights were you holding him instead of the more common inverse. 

You’d scrape your fingernails softly through his scalp. Hope would make your heart full, inflating it with every hum of pleasure he let out in his sleep. But then he’d wake up shy and closed off, cheeks red with what you perceived as embarrassment and your heart would collapse once again, hope seeping out and leaving acid in its wake.

But he’d do certain things that would make your heart race, exhilarated and frustrated, leaving you reeling and confused.

Your feelings grew despite your protests, so you kept them locked in nice and tight, hidden even from yourself, for as long as possible. 

You were full to the brim with tension, and one particular instance made you lose it, the container breaking with pressure and spilling all over the place. 

It went like so. It was early afternoon, and sunlight spilled from the high windows of the tower, casting a warm glow on the room. 

Natasha was telling you about these two guys; they invited her and you to a double date. You were certain in your decision not to go. The man you’d be paired up with was the same one who frequented the bar with the team; he had brown eyes and a sleazy smile. Nothing like your Jamie.

You were doubling down on your decision when he walked in.

“Hello, Doll, Nat.” His greeting was gruff, but a few months ago, you would’ve thought him possessed.

Natasha’s eyes glinted with mischief and calculation. She gave you a feral grin before turning around, her expression slipping easily into neutrality. “Bucky, it’s so good that you’re here. You can help me convince her to go out with me.”

Jamie cocked his head, expression unreadable. “Sounds fun, Doll; you need a girl’s night.”

This was it! The perfect opportunity to gauge his reaction to you going out with someone else! “It’s a double date with the guys from communication.” You deliberately omitted the part where you didn’t want to go, wanting to push a grand reaction. —It never came.

You saw his full body tense for a moment, and for a second, your heart soared… only to crash instantly when he gave you a terse smile. His voice was disappointingly steady, “Why don’t you want to go?”

You knew your body was overreacting, knew you were blowing it out of proportion, but your heart shriveled nonetheless. You tried still, but you couldn’t swallow down the frustration. Try as you did. “I like my men a little bit older…” Your mouth answered for you, giving him a cheeky grin. 

He turned his full attention toward you, and your body viscerally recoiled from the look in his eyes. An angry and resentful glint in his eyes. So familiar—how he used to stare at you before the first meeting at two a.m.

“You should go.” His words were final, a command. 

You didn’t understand, and you almost sobbed then. You prided yourself in being able to count the number of times you had cried on one hand. A chasm was growing between you, distance expanding with every word. He didn’t want you that way. Pinche ilusa! How could he ever want you that way? You snarled instead of crying, “Alright, I will, but don’t expect me here at two in the morning.”

His smile was bitter and mean. “I won’t.” 

Your returning smile was filled with spite. Anger bubbling in your throat, you saw red. “Pinche pendejo, deveras.”  (Such a fucking prick) It hurt to smile. You didn’t even want to think about the last time you used your Spanish. But his hardened eyes and clenched jaw brought out your most impulsive sides. 

Beside you, Nat and Bucky tensed. You lifted your downward gaze toward them. Their heads were cocked to the side, assessing… You’d never slipped into your native tongue.

You took a deep breath before speaking, “I’m going to get ready, Nat! See you at eight!” Smiled at them both before prancing to the elevator, assuming a mask of joy, heart sunken in.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The elevator doors closed in front of you, taking you from him. The Winter Soldier’s gaze lingered on the spot where you’d disappeared, his eyes burning with a mix of longing and frustration before snapping toward his adversary.

The soldier was full of rage. Flowers had bloomed through the cracks in his stone heart only to wilt because of her.

The redheaded sensed the obvious danger and spoke in a language the soldier didn’t understand. He understood her disappointment with him, which displeased the soldier.

“говорить демон.” The soldier growled, beckoning the demon to speak, try to save herself. 

She had been a friend…The redheaded demon responded in his language. “You were taking too long, and I couldn’t take any more of her sulking… So speak up or forever hold your peace, soldier. You don’t get to wallow in self-pity and watch life passing you by, cursing time for moving on and not standing still. You can’t unwind the clock, soldier. You can only go forward… So decide carefully before it’s too late.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe, bereft of oxygen. What had he done? Had the soldier really come back because of you? The threat of losing you?

He somehow found himself in his room. He didn’t quite remember how he got there. His brain was a haze of frustration and defeat.

His room felt wrong, empty, and cold. He didn’t even approach his bed, knowing how that whole schtick would go. So Bucky paced and paced, his mind running around in circles. 

And what was that whole thing about liking older men? How was he supposed to take it? 

He knew he had fucked up. But he wasn’t about to go crash your date… So he went to his training room. Came back to the land of the living hours later, an unknown familiar face framed by gold hair staring down at him. Warmth pressed against his mouth, and he drank greedily.

“… can’t keep hurting yourself like this, Buck.”

Bucky groaned in response and in acknowledgment. Looked at his friend’s concerned eyes. His chest ached with nostalgia, love, regret… everything. “That’s my line, punk.” His voice came out unsteady.

The ground moved underneath him, yanked by his metal arm toward Steve into a tight hug. Bucky’s arms hovered uncertainly for a moment, and he could feel Steve’s large body shake against him. So he hugged his friend back. He had been neglecting Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, Stevie, it’s alright.” His voice was fond. He was yanked once again. Twin grips on his shoulders shook him with more force than merited. 

“No, you stupid idiot! It’s not alright…” Steve looked like he wanted to say more for a moment, but he knew how Bucky was, so he kept in his spiel and sighed dramatically. “Come on, get some food in your poor body.”

Steve tried to help Bucky walk, which ended up with Captain America being whacked upside down. The blonde turned to Bucky with a fake offense, instead deciding to drag him to the kitchen by force. Oh, how things changed…

Steve had changed…he managed to beat Bucky in a stare-down. Even in his forties after the serum,   that only happened once in a blue moon. So Bucky found himself eating a sandwich and a big glass of electrolytes with resentment. His leg bounced with vigor. 

He kept his eyes on his plate, avoiding Steve’s too-observant eyes, eyes that had known him since childhood.

As soon as the last bite had been swallowed, Bucky looked up. Only to regret it instantly. Steve had a resolved expression. A glint in his eyes that told him to run. So he did. He was not ready for whatever conversation he wanted to have.

“Where’s Banner?” He pushed off the table in a harsh, sudden movement.

Steve’s face fell, confused and hurt. “Huh?”

“I need a cigarette.”

He got furrowed brows and a cocked head in response.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

A few blocks away, your leg bounced anxiously. Unbeknownst to you, mirroring the person who caused your stress.

You sat across from Nat, your date an uncomfortable breath away.  The tension between you was palpable as you struggled to make small talk with him. Thigh pressed to bouncing thigh. You wanted to turn pleading eyes to Nat. And for what? You had come here out of your own volition. Fuck. You needed a smoke. You tried to convince yourself you wanted to be here. If he didn’t want you, you deserved someone who did.

A meaty hand slid against your bare skin. Ala mierda… Yeah, no… Abort.

“Calm down, baby… you are all… amped up… how about we go outside and—”

“That’s a good idea.” 

You got a sleazy grin and a flash of eerily perfect teeth. His were charmingly imperfect; he wouldn’t call you baby. He would call you doll….

“I am going outside by myself. I need a smoke. Besides— I left my lighter at home.”

“I-”

“No, thank you. Sorry, Nat.” You flashed your not-so-sorry gaze toward her. 

She was amused. “Go! by all means. I’ll get the check.” She moved her hand, shooing you off.

A grip on your arm stopped you. “Don’t tell me it’s because of that creepy guy with murder in his eyes.”

You shivered, giddy with pleasure. It was too obvious of a response for it to fly over your date’s head.

“It is! He stares at you like you hurt him. Like he wants to tie you up in his bed and never let you leave!”

Your wicked grin was enough for him to let you go with a huff of disgust. You didn’t care, kissing Nat’s cheek. “Goodbye, you evil woman.” 

She spanked your ass, sending you off. You turned one last time toward her, grinning. Your smiles reflect glee and mirth.

You walked around the city for a while. Savoring being able to do so without recrimination. 

You weren’t delusional; you should’ve known better. Yet you were so blinded by self-doubt that you closed your eyes.

Bucky wasn’t loud with his emotions, ever. He swallowed them whole, drowned in them. He was too prideful and scared of being hurt, even if he wanted you. Countless sleepless nights and nights where it was avoided deliberately to see each other told of a man who was interested in you in some capacity.

You weren’t dumb. You just chose to ignore the evidence. Turning a blind eye to the staggering difference in how he spoke to you versus anyone else. He gave you preferential treatment. You cuddled every night for fucks sake! And you doubted that he cared for you? He couldn’t sleep without you, and vice versa! 

You checked your phone. 2:03 A.M. What were you stalling for? 

You smiled all the way back to the tower.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The third time the elevator doors pinged, Bucky’s hope had worn out. Expecting Steve or Natasha. The latter had come from the double date alone. “I told you to leave me alone to— what had you called it?— wallow in self-pity and the consequences of my actions or whatever.” He raised a shaking hand, knuckles cracked and bleeding— he was embarrassed to admit he had succumbed to his baser needs and punched a wall out of frustration— taking a drag of a cigarette. It tasted radioactive… but it smelled like you. He coughed softly.

An achingly familiar laugh startled him from his stupor. He swerved around with wide eyes. A kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar… “What are you doing here? If you’re here to tell me about — I don’t want to hear it.” He grumbled. Yes, you were friends, but he really, really didn’t want to hear about you sleeping or even breathing in near another man. He took another drag of your cigarette. Filled his lungs with smoke, his blood with chemicals. Okay, yes. He got it now.

“You big, stupid man.” The candor of your voice dripped with irritation. You stomped toward him, heels clacking against the floor, and snatched the smoke from him in harsh movements.

He grunted in response, out of his depth, and turned his gaze toward the skyline. He was aware of your every movement. You took two drags and stomped a perfectly good half of a cigarette with your heel.

He turned to glare at you, giving you a once-over. Fucking helllll….. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Bucky needed to dump cold water on himself ASAP. He was reminded of the many, many long showers he had jerked off in before joining you in bed. They were always futile, super soldier refractory period, and your soft skin, and— you were wearing a mini skirt and a top that accentuated your tits. Bucky mentally clutched his 100-year-old pearls. His breath hitched. Eyes catching on thighs— THIGHS. And boobs—BOOBS!Before meeting your pleased predatory gaze. 

You took one step toward him. He took one step back.

“I’m going to ask you something. Please answer me honestly— Why don’t you want to hear about my date?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” he ground out his non-answer.

“Why are your knuckles bleeding? Why are you smoking my cigarette?”

“Why are you here and not with your date?” He repeated, body tense, ready to pounce, touch, taste. You looked so beautiful. The soft night lights illuminate your tinted lips and glittery eyelids, bringing the color out of your iris.

“Well, I found myself seated next to him and thinking: Jamie wouldn’t say that— but you weren’t there. And he wasn’t you.”

When you advanced toward him this time, his feet stayed planted. You took your time advancing toward him. And you were taller now, easier to reach with those long heels. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed up against him.

His arousal grew to unavoidable levels. Pushing against your hip. “Fuck, doll. You can’t— I’m wrong for you, all messed up and angry. And from the forties…” His fingers clenched and unclenched on his sides. He was lacking in excuses to touch you. His limbs itched to hold you. Dig into you.

“Well, I hate to repeat myself, but I see I have to. I’ve told you I like my men a little bit older… And maybe I’m a bit messed up, too. Because seeing you all fucked up and angry…. Well, I wasn’t upset.”

“I can’t sleep without you. I dream of you, I—”

You smiled with glee, “I know; Natasha was all too pleased to explain to me the mechanics of ‘morning wood.’”

Bucky groaned in response. Letting his hands, metal and otherwise, slide against your hips. It was nothing like cuddling; his intentions were impure. They had always been, but he had not felt any past guilt over his arousal. Unashamed in his guilt, he felt no need to neglect his urges — unless you told him otherwise.

He could tell you had some snarky response in the makings. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off your face. You were gravely mistaken if you thought he would be taking the subservient route. At least right now, he needed to be in control, and you needed to trust him. Needed you. 

Your eyes glinted with snark, your mouth opening to tease. His hand coasted up your back to your nape, his fingers gliding into your hair to pull you toward him. Your eyes widened in surprise, pupils blown out. Good, you thought too much; he needed to make your brain shut up.

He held his breath as he leaned in, humming with satisfaction once your lips pressed against his. Your lips, so soft against his. He needed more. He gripped your hip, conscious of the strength in his metal arm. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, but he did want to leave a mark. You gasped in pleasure. Your hands yanked on his hair, and he groaned against your lips.

He set his sights on a wall three paces away, pushing against you. So malleable under him, succumbing so easily to his ministrations, like putty under his hands. His blood sang with the escalating volume of your noises. With each step he took forward, you met with a step back. You gasped as your back met the wall.

“Jamie... please,” your voice was so whiny, so desperate, it made his cock hurt with arousal. Blood rushed in his ears; he needed more, needed you begging. Undone.

He yanked on the base of your hair with one hand, exposing your neck for him. He was oh so happy to kiss and lick your skin. You whined and shifted against him... sensitive. His other hand slid down your skirt until it met your skin. Groaning against your neck, he slid his hand up, finally reaching your perfect ass. He couldn’t feel any underwear... Fuck... he might’ve been from the forties, but he had internet access, and he could call a spade a spade, or in this case, a thong a thong. He yanked on the flimsy thing so it snapped back against your skin.

You whimpered and panted, eyes closed in bliss. He could feel your hips shift as if chasing after stimulation. And who was he to deny you?

He placed both hands just below your ass, lifting you up and pulling them apart, a silent command you gladly followed with a whine and a curse word in Spanish.

You locked your legs around his waist; his erection pressed against your warmth, and his soft cotton pants were doing nothing to help his desperation. He gave up on holding himself back when your lips met his once again, your hips jerking against him.

It was the best thing he had ever felt since... ever. His fingers spread on either side of your ass, your back supported by the wall. He was beyond words, and so were you.

His cotton pants were soaked with your arousal, hiding nothing. He could feel everything: your pussy open for his cock to grind on, and your underwear had twisted to the side. He lost all ability to think, his conscious motor skills deciding to go offline, the only movement he could do was jerking his hips. His lips opened to pant like a dog. It was your turn to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated, as he ground against you.

He had half a mind to be aware of his strength, but each time he tested the waters, pressing harder against you, you moaned louder. So it wasn’t long before he realized you could take all of him.

His body trembled with built-up tension. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced. His hands flexed and tightened on your ass, pressing you harder against him, making the friction so much sweeter. He chased the pleasure with a one-track mind, couldn’t think of anything but your scent, skin, taste – for years, he had felt numb, and you brought him back to life. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to feel such exquisite pleasure; it was you who had his hips jerking, dry humping like teenagers. He didn’t care.

Your fingers clawed at his back, nails scratching his skin; you had long ago stopped kissing him, opting instead for panting against his neck.

Pleasure built and built, mind-numbing. You were saying something... begging for him... He threw his head back and groaned as his pleasure crested, stars exploding behind his eyes; he couldn’t see...

His hips jerked with aftershocks, breaths harsh against your neck; his pants were soiled with his come and your arousal. Your legs slackened, dropping to the floor. Most of your body weight rested on the wall, the rest supported by his hands. He had two functioning brain cells, both reminding him of his selfishness.

You didn’t look displeased with him; your skirt was bunched up at the hips, and your top in disarray. Your eye makeup was a mess, and he loved that. Your panties were slid to the far side, showing off your glistening cunt.

His knees hit the floor before he even realized what he was doing. He felt your thighs shake against his skin as he leaned in to look closer. Your clit was swollen and dark. He leaned in to kiss, to suck. Fingers pressed against his face, pushing him away.

“S’ too sensitive,” your voice wavered.

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking up inquisitively at you.

“Came. Twice,” you clarified, tone shaky with satisfaction.  Your gaze followed his movements as he stood up to cradle your face, tilting your head to kiss you softly. He sucked on your teeth before stopping the kiss.

“Huh, didn’t notice. You felt too good. I went crazy. Too bad, though, I want to feel you come on my face and on my cock.”

You smiled, satisfied, a cat who finally got the cream. “Sure, later,” you muttered against him.

“Whenever you want, doll face,” he smiled down at you. You looked fucked all the way to next week, and he hadn’t even dicked you down yet. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

You hummed, wrapping your arms around him in a silent request; he obliged happily, carrying you bridal-style to his room.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie was so soft, so careful with you. Your head was hazy with the aftermath of pleasure. No orgasm in your past could hold a flame to the explosive bliss from the earlier encounter.

Your head was hazy as he led you to his bathroom, your mind too fucked out for processing his room. You complied with whichever way he tugged your limbs, sliding off your rumpled clothes until the only thing on your body were your high heels.

He knelt in front of you, his touch tender as if apologizing for moments ago when he ground on you without thought. His cool metal fingers skated up your calf, reaching up to support your knee as his other hand worked on the latch of your heels. He pressed a kiss to each ankle before standing up in front of you.

You blinked slowly, your eyes trained on him. He was still clothed. Why was he still clothed? Your gaze caught on the wet patch on his pants, outlining his half-hard dick. Praise super-soldier metabolism.

You planted your feet on the white marble floor, your arms stretching toward him, fingers curling into his shirt and yanking. “Off.”

He grinned softly – you would never, ever get enough of his smiles – before sliding his shirt off in one swift movement.

Your breath caught in your throat—fuck, he was beautiful.

“Beautiful Jamie,” you said, taking a step closer. You slid one hand up his chest, using the other to trace fingers along scar tissue. He was so… captivating, so utterly himself, that you felt like you were the only person in the world who got to see him like this. “Only for me, only I get to see you like this.” You turned to throw him a challenging glare.

“Doll, I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I don’t share either. Call me old-fashioned –”

“If I see you with another woman, James, I swear to God, I will break my killing streak. And all three of us will end up in a –” Rage had barely simmered from the image before he had yanked on your hips to pull you into another kiss.

“Easy there, Doll, there’s no one else,” his voice was so satisfied, an assured tinge to his candor, in a way you knew it only got for you. You were so fucking stupid for not noticing.

“Good,” you yanked on his pants. “So... super-soldier dick... how long can you go? I bet we can get Jamie Junior tired.”

He laughed loudly, the sound enough for you to shiver with pleasure. “Doll, I don’t think you could keep up with me; you’d pass out. You don’t understand how long I can go if it’s with you.”

“Well, surely you can keep count if I’m passed out... set a record.”

His laugh was disbelieving. “I don’t want to fuck you when you’re unconscious; I want you awake and making those sweet, delicious sounds.”

“Another time, then – take off your pants.”

“As you wish.”

You tried, you really did, to focus on cleaning yourself once you’d gotten inside the shower. But you didn’t fight the urge to slide your fingers into his scalp and help him wash his hair. Forcing him into a crouch to aid your reach and resting his face on your shoulder.

His touch was gentle, a silent decision to wash each other. He went first. You pressed your fingers, massaging the soap against his skin, fingers traveling lower, your eyes fixed on his cock. He was beautiful. Your fingers reached his hips; he was fully hard at that point, leaking. You couldn’t stop yourself; you had planned on teasing him, but his cock was too pretty, red and wet with pre-come. Your soap-slicked hands circled his cock... and damn, the groan that fell from his lips was unlike anything – the groans before had been rough, taking. This one was desperate, needing.

You took him in both hands, dragging your thumb against his leaking tip. He threw his head back and groaned, fingers digging into the skating over your waist.

You dragged your touch up and down his length, your eyes studying his every movement: his clenched jaw and tightened face. He was holding his sounds back; that wouldn’t do. You tightened your grip and fastened your pace – only to have his tight grip on your wrist halt your movements. His gaze was heavy on yours. “The next time I’m coming, I’m doing it inside you.”

Tension filled the air as he had his turn and took his time cleaning you. He was so clinical it was driving you insane. But you could tell he was restraining himself. His movements rushed; he had an end goal in mind.

You dried off quickly, and showering would prove futile with what you had in mind. The night was young; it was barely 3 A.M.

The anticipation was thick in each deep breath you took. As soon as you had crossed the doorway to his bedroom, you couldn’t restrain yourself. You turned toward him, but he beat you to the first move, yanking on your arm and throwing you over his shoulder; you laughed as he spanked your ass.

Your body was airborne the next moment before your back bounced softly on his bed.

You leaned on your shoulders, breasts heaving with each breath, thighs open.

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted you, how long... I thought I was going to go crazy with how much I needed you,” he said, crawling on top of you. Kissing you once chastely, your breath hitching. You were out of your depth; this was a completely new situation, and you loved every second. His featherlight kisses peppered over your jaw, below your ear, along your neck – your body twisted and turned – over your collarbone, down... “You’re so beautiful, doll— I had to restrain myself. You deserve worship.” His gruff voice was all the warning you got before he latched on to a nipple and sucked, cool metal fingers rolling your neglected nipple between his fingers, awakening erogenous zones that made their debut with a bang.

“Ala puta, mierda..." This bliss was unlike anything. Your hips jerked, your cunt pounded with need. Warm fingers slid your pussy open, circling your clit. You could feel every nerve sing with pleasure. Your toes curled, the balls of your feet pressing down against the bed.

He slid one finger into your cunt, and your whole body jerked in response. “Ala madre – ala madreeee!" Your head lolled, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You couldn’t form coherent thought; your brain decided to go offline.

Pleasure built and built, still sensitive from the past two orgasms. Just when you found yourself at the precipice, you were left bereft of pleasure, cut off from his touch. You looked at him with betrayal.

“No need for that, Dollface— you’ll come soon. I want it to be on my cock— give me a second I’m going to get a condo –”

“NO!” You wanted to feel him, and you wanted him inside you now.

“All right, Doll, and while I would love to put a baby inside you, I’m not sure I’m ready to share you yet –”

“I’m on birth control! I’m clean; I haven’t – in years.” Your voice was desperate. He smiled slowly at the neediness in your tone.

He shut you up with a kiss, fingers digging into the soft of your thighs, holding you open for him.

You felt yourself lose clarity, tears streaming down your face. You needed his cock inside you now.

You didn’t have to wait long; soon enough, he pressed his tip inside you. He was big... You babbled and pleaded for more to no avail. His fingers traced your skin, grounding you, as he slid in inch by delicious inch until he was fully sheathed. Your body writhed under him with pleasure. It was a tight fit, bordering on a little bit painful. The slight pinch only made the feelings more heightened as your cunt pulsed around him.

You tried to beg him to “move,” but none of the languages in your repertoire seemed to be available. So you were left a whining mess. He got the message. Felt his cock slide out of you only to slam into you so hard you saw stars. You could feel the exact moment he lost control and went feral and pussy-drunk. His thrusts were severe and hard, thrusting himself until your pelvises slammed together, the sound of your skin meeting his echoing through the room.

You were crying out, nails searching for pleasure on his back.

It didn’t take long for your pleasure to peak; it ebbed and rose in waves. You weren’t sure where your orgasm ended, and another one began. Had started to come down only to have him pinch your clit and –

It was so good; you took everything he gave you greedily, you had been fulfilled a while ago, and your needs were met ages ago. You were there for him to fuck however many times he wanted—  drenched with your arousal and his come. His hips would stutter, and you’d feel a rush of his come, warm and drenching you. He’d slow down for a few moments, making you think it was over, hips sputtering softly inside you. He’d kiss your skin softly in apology and harden inside you again.

He made good on his promise. Once you were close to passing out, he stopped.

Your full body shook as he cleaned you with warm towels, your mind unresponsive as he moved your limbs softly to slide on one of his hoodies and boxer briefs.

You were halfway to dreamland when he wrapped his arms around you, the room reeking of sex.

“… doll... Mine... Love... Love you...” His voice was soft and barely processed as you fell asleep in his arms.

Did process enough for you to reply a sleepy, “Love you more.”

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments (they fuel me), and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading love ya hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻!!!!

[sttoru]

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. spit. hair pulling. p in v. two cawks -> double penetration. reader gets called ‘brat, little girl’

“what did you just say, brat?”

sukuna stills all movement for a good second. his hips are flush against yours, buried balls deep inside both your tight holes. he thought it might have been his vulgar imagination, but when he looks down at your embarrassed expression, he can confirm you did in fact just ask him that question.

your nails dig into his biceps, angry red streaks forming on his skin due to your constant scratching. you look the other way, staring at the shoji in the distance, before glancing back into those red eyes.

“i— uhm,” you swallow thickly before repeating your perverted request, “could you please spit in my mouth, my lord?”

sukuna’s jaw clenches with an effort to hold himself back. he didn’t know his little concubine had it in her to request such a bold thing. though that’s exactly what makes you so interesting, and what causes him keep you around.

“…fuckin’ hell,” sukuna breathes out with a low growl. he drinks in the lewd vision of you splayed out beneath him. your hair is matted to your forehead, chest heaving and eyes glazed with lust—it’s a captivating sight. or dangerous more so.

if you’re asking for such a thing, it must mean he’s doing a good job in fucking you stupid. stupid enough to make you act like a common whore. it certainly boosts the king of curses’ ego.

thus, it isn’t long before a wicked smirk tugs at sukuna’s lips. his fingers instantly tangle into your hair before yanking your head back, crimson eyes glowing dangerously as they focus on your glistening lips.

“you request such a filthy thing, yet ya don’t even take the required actions to receive what y’ desire,” sukuna clicks his tongue in impatience before using one of his other hands to cup your cheek. he starts off with a gentle caress to your bottom lip with his thumb before using the single digit to roughly force your lips apart, “open up.”

you do as told and open your mouth, staring up at the pink-haired man through your wet lashes. he takes in your pathetic yet erotic self, feeling his cocks twitch as he enjoys the display of such vulnerability in his presence.

sukuna can’t help but roughly connect your lips, kissing you passionately, fangs peeking out as he grins against your mouth. only after a few seconds does he realise that he has a job to do.

he slowly pulls away and your lips part with an almost inaudible pop. he gathers the saliva that is pooling on his tongue before gripping your chin with his thumb and index finger, ensuring your mouth stays open.

sukuna tilts his head, your breaths mingling and your noses nearly touching as he parts his own lips. a thick rope of spit slowly drops onto your tongue, some of it escaping and staining your chin down to your bare tits.

the king of curses feels a surge of pride run through his body as he roughly spits the remaining clear liquid from the cavern of his mouth, into your awaiting one. “swallow,” he commands in a low voice, tightening his grip on your jaw.

“fuuuck, there ya go,” sukuna watches, transfixed, as you do as told. the warm globs of spit trickle down your throat and you can’t help but moan at the feeling. that was quite arousing—to both of you.

but for some reason sukuna got even more worked up about it then you did in the first place. he grunts something incoherent before continuing the ruthless pace, hips ramming into you as he keeps all four eyes on your face.

“nasty lil’ girl. didn’t know you had it in ya,” sukuna lets out a mocking chuckle as he gathers your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. he lowers his head and bares his fangs before sinking them into your bottom lip, “i must say.. i do enjoy it—this side of y’rs.”

you’re moaning wantonly as you’re being pounded into the mattress, the lingering sensation of his spit in the back of your throat only adds to the deprived pleasure.

sukuna grins as he roughly grabs your jaw again, eyes glinting with sinful promises.

“don’t tell me y’ think i’m satisfied doing it just once? open that pretty little mouth and maybe i’ll give ya somethin’ else to swallow after.”

[nephynes]

really controlling and possessive bf jay and y/n cant even fight him cause he takes care and comforts her the best😛😛

honestly i need this icl

MDNI

════════════════════════════

Your life started feeling less like your own and more like something curated by him a long time ago, polished and planned down to the last detail. Jay's hand is in everything. The apartment you live in, the clothes hanging in your closet, the yoga mat rolled neatly by the window—all filtered through his preferences. And he never hides it. He doesn't need to.

He buys you a car, a matte black one you never would've picked yourself, and had it delivered with a big ivory bow on top. Every Sunday, he takes it to get detailed himself, always filling the tank and slipping a couple hundred-dollar bills into the middle console. "For when I'm not around," he says like that ever happens.

You try to buy something small one afternoon—just a purse you thought was cute—and he spots it the moment you walk in the door. "That's ugly," he says flatly, already pulling out his phone to process the return. "I would've bought you something prettier if you told me you wanted a new one." And he means it. He already has the sales associate on the phone before you can argue.

Groceries? He's got someone delivering them. Fitness? You've got three classes a week—a private pilates class, spin, barre—prepaid months in advance. All you have to do is show up. He even checks your step count at the end of the day, not because he doesn't trust you, but because he cares. At least, that's what he says, murmuring it against your hair while you sit curled into him on the couch.

"Did you eat today?" You nod.

"What'd you have?"

"Um... a smoothie?" He raises a brow. "That's not food, baby."

You call him Jongie and that’s the only time he softens instantly, brushing your cheek with his thumb and kissing your jaw with a sigh. And no matter how controlling he gets, you can't ever seem to bring yourself to push back—because he's always right, always ready to comfort you, always doing everything in your best interest.

And when you do sulk, refusing to look at him because he replaced all your snacks with nutritionist-approved alternatives again, he just picks you up, sets you on the kitchen counter, kisses your knee, and says, "Tell me what you want, baby. I'll get it for you. But you're still eating clean first."

Jay doesn't just take care of you—he cultivates you. From the supplements he drops into your palm every morning to the fruit and water-rich dinners he insists on making himself "You're glowing, baby. That's me, you know that, right?", he treats you like something that belongs on display. Beautiful. Cared for. His.

And he proves it every time he pulls you into the sheets like it's part of some routine only he gets to orchestrate.

Tonight's no different.

The lights are dimmed low, music from his playlist murmuring through hidden speakers, something warm and slow. He moves you like he's practiced it and maybe he has. He spreads you open over those clean white sheets, kissing down your stomach, murmuring every now and then how soft you feel, how good you smell, how your skin tastes like strawberries and citrus because he planned for it to.

"See?" he murmurs between your legs, voice low and reverent as he presses his tongue against you like he's savoring a wine he aged himself. "Told you it'd be worth it. You taste so fucking good, baby—been feeding you right, haven't I?"

You whimper something incoherent, thighs twitching against his shoulders, but he just laughs quietly, gripping your hips harder to hold you still. "What? Can't speak now? I keep you so well-fed, so taken care of, and this is what I get? A little moan?"

And then he does it again. Deeper. Slower. Licking into you like he's dragging the flavor from a ripe piece of fruit, like you're something he grew, plucked, and peeled just for this.

It's intimate. Indulgent. Almost scary, how completely his you feel.

After, he's slow to move, wiping you clean with a warm cloth like always, murmuring praise against your skin while you tremble under the weight of his care. And then, like clockwork, he tucks you into his chest, kisses your hair, and pulls your favorite blanket over both of you.

"You need water," he says softly, thumb brushing your jaw. "That body's mine—I'm not letting it run low on anything."

You nod, still hazy, and he presses another kiss to your forehead, already reaching over to grab the bottle he placed by the bed earlier.

It's always there. Everything you need—before you even know you'll need it. Because Jay doesn't just love you. He maintains you. Like he'd fall apart if you ever stopped letting him.

His hand tightens a little. "You are my favorite thing I've ever taken care of."

And he means it. He handles every piece of your life because no one else does it right. He books your appointments—your facials, your blowouts, your waxes.

He gives you everything. So the moment someone makes you cry, he doesn't just get angry. He gets offended.

Because how dare anyone break something he's worked so hard to keep whole?

You weren't trying to test him. Not really. But he'd been so busy lately, all wrapped up in meetings and deadlines and reschedules, and you were starting to feel like a side piece in your own relationship.

So when that friend—the one you know he hates—invited you out for dinner, you said yes. You didn't tell him. You didn't post. You just went.

You even turned off your location. But then you get worried when he doesn’t text or call

You come home to low lights and silence. Jay's on the couch, in all black, one arm stretched across the backrest and a glass of neat whiskey in his hand. The fireplace is on. The air feels wrong.

"Hey," you start softly, stepping out of your shoes.

"Turn around." You freeze.

"Phone," he says. Still quiet. Still calm. "Now."

You hesitate for a second too long, and his eyes lift to meet yours. They don't flicker or even blink.

"You can tell me where you were, or I can find out."

And you know he will so you hand it over. He doesn't scroll—he taps. Opens your texts, your maps history, your hidden album. He already knows, he just wants to see.

When he finally sets your phone down, he doesn't speak. Just pats the cushion beside him. You sit slowly, heartbeat in your throat. Jay doesn't look at you. He just tips his glass and says, "You think I do all this for fun?"

Your brows furrow. "All what—?"

"This." He gestures vaguely. "Pay your bills. Buy your food. Dress you. Keep track of you. Do you think I do that because it's easy?"

"I didn't think—"

"No," he cuts in, soft but sharp. "You didn't."

And then he finally turns to face you. His voice drops even lower. "You turned off your location for someone I told you not to see. After everything I do to keep you safe. After every time I warned you."

He exhales through his nose, slow and furious. "I treat you like something precious, and you act like you're disposable."

You flinch..

"Look at me," he says. You do. His voice softens a little—but only in volume. "I take care of everything so you don't have to think about this world the way I do. I watch for every little danger, every little manipulation, so you don't have to. That's what I do. And all I ask—all I fucking ask—is that you let me."

Silence.

He slides his hand over your thigh. Warm and heavy. "I know you think it's too much sometimes. I know you think you're still independent. But baby, that ended a long time ago." You blink up at him, lips parting.

"You belong to me. All of you. Even your time. Even your disobedience."

His thumb presses just above your knee, right where your dress ends. "I'm not mad you went," he murmurs. "I'm mad you lied."

You feel your throat tighten. "I won't punish you," he adds. "You're already punishing yourself. I can see it all over you."

You nod. You are. You hate the ache in his voice.

He softens just enough to let you fold into him, burying your face in his chest like you always do.

But then—he adds, "She won't be part of your life anymore. You know that, right?”

It's not a question. He rubs your back, gentle again. Like nothing even happened. Like he didn't just remind you of how deep his hold really goes.

He loves you. Intensely. But that love comes with weight.

So when your private pilates instructor gives you a rare, tight smile at the end of today's session and says,

"He'll be pleased,"

Your heart soars.

Because you need him to be.

════════════════════════════

• a/n: guys i want this for MYSELF

[socialobligation]

5+1 | s. todoroki

the five times he almost confessed (and the one time he did)

when you were laughing so hard you couldn't breathe

the common room was loud in that cozy, familiar way—someone had turned on a movie, kaminari was yelling about the plot inconsistencies, and a half-empty popcorn bowl had already made two laps around the room. shoto wasn't really paying attention to the screen. he was sitting off to the side, legs folded neatly under him, arms resting on the back of the couch, his eyes on you.

you were laughing.

not the polite kind you gave during class or the half-hearted chuckle that came after a bad pun—no, this was the full-body, head-thrown-back, tear-filled kind of laughter that made everyone around you start grinning too, even if they didn't know the joke.

and it was over something dumb. kaminari had tripped over mina's fuzzy slipper and face-planted into kirishima's protein shake. chaos followed. you were absolutely losing it.

shoto watched as you grabbed your stomach and gasped, "oh my god—that was the dumbest thing i've ever seen—" and wiped at your eyes like it hurt.

he felt something twist inside his chest. something warm and terrifying.

he should tell you. he should lean forward, tap your shoulder, and just say it—i like you. i think i like you more than i'm supposed to.

but then you turned to him, smile still wide, and said, "what? why are you looking at me like that?"

and he panicked.

shoto shook his head, lips twitching just slightly. "nothing. you look... happy."

you beamed at him.

and the moment passed.

2. when you fell asleep on his shoulder

it was movie night again. the common room was quieter this time. only you, him, and iida, who had already fallen asleep thirty minutes in, glasses askew and arms crossed like a disappointed father.

you had slowly started leaning on him as the night wore on, drifting closer each time you yawned. he didn't move. not when your head tilted, not when your hair brushed his collarbone, not even when your hand settled lightly over his.

eventually, you dozed off completely. he could feel the rise and fall of your breathing, soft and steady, against his side.

shoto stared straight ahead at the flickering screen, but his heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break out.

"i love you," he whispered, so quiet he wasn't sure if he actually said it or just imagined the shape of the words in his mouth.

you shifted slightly, brow furrowed, murmuring something incoherent.

he froze. held his breath.

but you didn't wake up.

so he stayed still. and didn't say it again.

3. when you got your heart broken

it was raining. of course it was raining.

you showed up at his door soaked and shaking with the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes. he opened it without a word and stepped aside to let you in. you toed off your shoes, jacket dripping on the mat, and mumbled, "sorry. i didn't know where else to go."

he handed you a towel. "you always know where to go."

you sat down on his bed, towel wrapped tightly around your shoulders, hair clinging to your face. he made tea. it was silent, but not the uncomfortable kind. it was the kind that let you breathe.

"he broke up with me," you said, finally. "said i was... 'too much.' whatever that means."

shoto sat beside you, mug in hand. "it means they're an idiot."

you laughed, but it sounded hollow.

he wanted to say more. he wanted to tell you that you were exactly enough. that your laugh made the world quieter in his head. that your presence was the one thing that didn't overwhelm him.

but instead, he said, "you deserve someone better."

you leaned your head against his shoulder.

and he didn't move.

4. when he thought you might be slipping away

training had been brutal. everyone was sore, tired, and half-dead by the time aizawa dismissed them. but you looked worse than tired. you looked distant.

you hadn't texted him back in two days. you missed lunch. you didn't sit with him during the bus ride back. and he noticed—every bit of silence, every missed message, every glance that used to last longer.

so he waited outside the locker room, arms crossed, heart pacing faster than his footsteps ever could.

"hey," you said, blinking at him in surprise. you looked like you wanted to smile, but didn't quite manage it. "you okay?"

"i miss you," he said, too blunt, too honest.

your eyes widened a little. you laughed it off, but there was a crack in it. "i'm right here, shoto."

he looked at you. really looked. your hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. your eyes tired. your mouth tugging into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"yeah," he said. "you are."

but he didn't believe it. you were standing in front of him, but you felt like you were disappearing by the second.

he thought about reaching for your hand. about saying the words out loud, finally. but instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and watched you walk away.

and he didn't say what he meant.

5. when you almost died

the explosions echoed down the street like thunder.

shoto didn't wait. he was already moving, already tearing toward the smoke, already deaf to the ringing in his ears and the shouts behind him. his vision blurred. his heartbeat drowned everything else out.

they said you were last seen inside the collapsed building.

he didn't think. he didn't breathe. he just ran.

the debris was everywhere. the smell of ash, blood, and panic choked the air. he called your name once. twice. again.

and then he saw your hand.

half-buried. covered in dust and cuts. but moving.

he dropped to his knees and started digging, calling your name again, voice shaking. his fire flared too hot, too close, and he forced himself to calm it—you couldn't get burned. not by him.

when he finally got to you, you were barely conscious, lips split, blood trickling down your temple.

"stay with me," he said, voice low and sharp with panic. "hey. look at me. you're okay. i've got you."

you mumbled his name. tried to smile.

he gathered you into his arms and held you like something sacred. he didn't let go until the medics forced him to.

that night he sat beside your hospital bed, fingers wrapped around yours, head bowed.

"i have to tell you," he whispered. "i have to. i almost didn't get to."

but your monitor beeped steadily, your face was still pale, and he couldn't bring himself to add anything more.

not yet.

so he waited.

+1. when you didn't let him walk away

it was late.

the dorms were quiet, shadows stretching across the hallway as he leaned against the railing outside. cold wind brushed against his cheek, but he didn't mind. he stood there, staring at nothing, waiting for the weight in his chest to go away. it didn't.

you found him like that, barefoot in socks, hoodie too big, voice small as you whispered, "you okay?"

he turned to look at you.

the wind caught your hair. the moonlight made your eyes look softer than usual. you looked tired, but more than that, you looked worried. for him.

he looked at you like he always did—with something like awe, like fear, like you were the sun and he wasn't sure if he deserved the warmth.

"i keep trying to tell you something," he said.

you stepped closer. close enough that your shoulder brushed his.

"then just say it," you whispered.

he hesitated. how many times had he rehearsed it? how many times had the words caught in his throat, choked back by fear or timing or circumstance?

you didn't move.

"shoto," you said softly, eyes never leaving his, "if you don't say it now, i think i might."

his breath hitched, and for the first time, he didn't flinch.

"i love you," he said.

it came out quieter than he meant it to. barely a whisper. but it felt louder than any explosion.

you smiled.

"finally."

then, you leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, like you'd been waiting forever. and maybe you had.

he kissed you back like he was making up for all the times he didn't say it.

and finally, finally, he didn't have to wait anymore.

[underscorezoo]

“Easy,” I murmur, “easy.” I show her what a deep breath looks like, trying to steady her growing panic. Her body shakes, her blue eyes wide, sweat glistens across her forehead. I rub my thumb against her knuckles, her hand gripping mine like life depends on it.

“It hurts,” she whimpers, eyes closing with a hard wince. My other hand closes around her jaw and I softly blow hair into her face to cool her down.

“I've got you, darling.”

She shakes her head in refusal, a cry bubbling up her throat, “oh. Oh.”

“Tension isn't helping our baby, please relax.” She gives me a look that makes me want to bury myself alive to recover from it. A hopeless scared gaze that makes me want to claw out my eyes on top of being five feet underground.

“Help me,” she whines, “get him out of me.”

I flash a look at the royal healers around me, their eyes mildly impatient. I give them a cold stern look that has them shifting into action to avoid my ire.

“I'm still convinced it's a little girl,” I smile, brushing her hair that's matted onto her forehead.

“There's nothing little about her then,” she groans and shifts away from me, her body locking up, “no, not again,” she cries and her fingernails dig into me. I have several of these wounds now but I can't even register it with the way I've been watching her so intently.

“Breathe,” I remind her quickly, “breath in and out. Relax your jaw.”

Her teeth are bared to the world, the entirety of her rigid, airless.

“Breathe,” I bark, my worry crawling up my mouth.

She does but the sound that leaves with it is enough to drive me over an edge. My hand leaves her face and falls onto the swell of her stomach, bare to the room, our child begging to escape it. A blanket covers her lower half and I'm tempted to tear it away to see if there is progress. A healer beats me to it, bending my wife’s knee up and opening her legs like a butterfly, blanket falling away.

“That's the sound we were waiting for, your majesty,” the midwife coos gently. “You’re ready to start pushing. It’ll all be over soon.”

Terror strikes me like a hard fist to the jaw and I sit there in stunned silence. My wife on the other hand starts a tantrum, limps a chaos as she tries to leave the bed. None of us expect this but with her so bloated, she barely makes it before I'm holding her still, pinning to the mattress. Her eyes are crazed and dazed with pain and anger.

“I am not pushing,” she hisses at me as if I was the one who suggested it.

“Are you saying that because you're afraid of the pain or because you don't think you can do it?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. I dare to let my hand travel down between her legs, my fingers breaching the now expanded opening. I almost groan, “darling,” my head slumps towards her with near relief, “you are so close.” I feel the spot of thin hair, the curvature of a baby’s head. Our child.

“Get your fingers out of me,” she groans, whimpering.

“First I've heard that one,” I smirk. She flashes me a warning look that I eat up.

She again seems to be primed with a retort when both hands furiously find the bottom sheet. Giving my hand, wrist, and arm a break from her piercing touch. A terrified little yelp breaks from her mouth and one leg loses grip on the bedding and kicks out.

“Oh please,” she heartbreakingly pleads. So unlike my vicious wife. “Make it stop.”

I instinctively brush my knuckles to her cheek, my other hand resting low on her stomach. “You need to push, darling,” I press on her skin, “and hard. You're going to be just fine if you do that.”

She says something incoherent, a blubbering mess of raw emotion, exhaustion, and pain. Still she does what we all hoped, pushed. Her face tight with determination, chin to her chest, the sound of an animal in full heat coming out of her. She's never looked so beautiful.

“That's it,” I encourage softly and twist, getting a cold cloth for her forehead and neck. She relaxes instantly, tears streaming down her face.

“I can't do this,” she says, voice breaking.

“Of course you can,” I say softly.

She shakes her head in defiance of my words. Head tipping back against the pile of pillows behind her. My wife shrieks, her body shaking violently. “No, please, no,” she begs.

“It comes, your majesty, push,” the healer beckons.

My focus waivers between how vulnerable and how strong my wife is in this moment that I too am breathless for a spell before I am smiling, staring down at the peek of dark hair.

“I see her, darling, push oh please push.” Our ‘please’ is so contrasting that I laugh. She follows my suggestion and cries out again, this time her hand finding my forearm and holding tight. She looks at me, a face full of unabashed fear and loathing, “you did this to me.”

I still can't wipe the joy from my face so my, “I know,” comes out manic.

She whimpers, tears cascading down her face and mingling with sweat. She swears colorfully. That head of dark hair moves forward and now holds her folds open and taut. She's screaming loud enough to break the windows and I'm there, holding her head against mine, getting closer and closer. “Shh, it's almost over, you're doing so well.”

“Small pushes now, blow out, stretch wide,” the healer mimics the breathing she wants to achieve but my wife just lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“Hurts,” she mumbles.

“You're amazing. I'm so impressed,” my lips brush into her sweaty hair.

“Don't say that like you're surprised,” she huffs at me.

I chuckle, leaning back to take in her burning blue eyes. “I'm not surprised.”

“Just a few more pushes,” the healer coaxs.

I watch the head pop out with a bit of liquid and a shrill cry from my partner, who now pants wildly, eyes lidded with weariness. “Pull it out,” she demands, narrowing her gaze to menacing.

“You'll push in a minute here,” the healer amends for her.

“Just take it out,” she begs and then groans deeply, eyes closing quickly, “ohhh nooo” I watch in fascination as the baby starts to rotate slowly.

“Hold on, dearie,” the healer tugs the cord up and over our child’s head eliminating a threat against its life already. “Open these legs wider for me, there you go. Push, push, push.”

Thankfully my wife follows her orders. Her face bright red, and voice raising as more and more of the child emerges. Unceremoniously the screaming is replaced by the baby who now flails around in her mother's arms. Her. Our daughter. My wife and I lock eyes, her face split with adorable shock as if she hadn't just gone through all the work to make this happen. I slump towards them both, my adrenaline wearing off and I'm realizing my own hand has left crescent moons into my flesh from concern. I relax my body and take a deep breath.

“Thank gods,” I murmured to no one in particular. I look up timidly to my wife who wipes our baby with a towel and scrunches her entire chin towards her neck to get a better look at the purple screeching face. Our daughter finally has a lapse in annoyance and her eyes open, stormy gray eyes forming a perfect mirror to gaze into. My wife drops back, a lifeless laugh forcing out of her, “all that only for her to look like you.” She sounds both bitter and proud.

I grin, “she will no doubt be a stunner like me then.”

She huffs loudly but matches my smile, content with such a notion.

“The next one will look like you.”

Her jaw drops open. “The next one?!”

[crwbannwen]

Gonna do some welsh posting again here on terms of endearments and how they’re used. I also encourage my non-welsh mutuals to tell me which they’d prefer to be called because right now I call all my mutuals fy nghariadau (Cariad).

Let’s start with general ones:

Cariad - means love. Welsh doesn’t have a term for ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’ so anyone you date is either ‘partner’ or ‘Cariad’ but there’s no reason ‘Cariad’ has to be romantic. A lot of my friends call me Cariad.

Annwyl - means dear. Used the same as dear in English. Even as an address in letters. You also have ‘fy anwylyd’ which is the term I use when translating ‘my beloved’

Enaid - this is one of my favourite terms of endearments. It’s gender neutral (although usually used for women) and a lot more platonic. It literally means ‘soul’ and highlights someone’s humanity as a form of endearment.

Blodyn Tatws - it means potato flower. I hear this one more often for pets but there’s no linguistic reason for that, it just kind of happens a lot I think. You might think this is for girls but it’s actually more common for male pets. That could just be my social circle.

Calon - it means heart and again is a term that uses humanity to create a term of endearment. Unlike Enaid which uses the other persons soul and sense of humanity as endearment, Calon is usually a ‘fy’ (my) type term, meaning it makes the endearment out of feelings and emotions from the speaker’s heart.

Sidan - means silk. Never heard anyone use it but it came up in research with no information on why it’s used or which dialects use it.

Next is terms that differ by age:

Bach - means small. You add it to the end of phrases as a diminutive. Often you’d add it to a kids name, but you could also add it to one of the terms of endearment above (fy nghalon Bach - my little heart).

Corn - this is used only for babies and refers to swaddling-clothes that they’re wrapped in.

Cyw - it means chick. It’s often used to suggest a child is spoiled but it’s still endearing:

Hen ddwylo - it means ‘old hands’ and is a term you might call your elders if you were close with them.

Terms that vary by gender:

Bwlyn - it’s used for plus-sized boys. It means like ‘ball’. I’ve seen someone translate it to ‘door knob’ which I think captures the essence of what it’s meant to convey even if it doesn’t strictly mean that. Whether or not boys like being called it very much depends on the kid I think.

Dynan: is technically used for women too but it means ‘little man’ and ‘little’ is a diminutive ending in this case and it means more like little in significance than in size. I’ve seen it translated as wretch before which I think works.

Geneth - used for young girls. Kinda like lass.

Gwas - used for young boys. Used to mean lad. Over time ‘gwas’ picked up a second meaning of ‘servant’ which it primarily means in the south so you don’t hear it much at all there. Instead of calling boys servants, Fathers often call their sons an abbreviation of ‘my lad’ like ‘washi’ or ‘gwasi’. I hear (and use) ‘n’washi’ the most.

Slightly demeaning:

Sosej- Welshified from ‘sausage’. If someone is being a bit of an idiot you might call them this. You may also get ‘selsig’ which is the actual Welsh word for sausage.

Creadur - it means creature. I like this one. More people should call me this. But it’s also used in pity, not just endearment.

Dwti - wenglish word to describe something small. It’s usually used for insects so it’s a little insulting if someone calls a person dwti. I will however continue to call my short friends dwti.

If you can think of any others you’ve heard please share them. I’m also not sure what regions these come from since my welsh speaking group has kinda just combined all our dialects at this point so I never know if I’m actually speaking southern Welsh these days.

[noctiva]

Thinking about desperate sex with Toby, just clawing at him, pulling his hair, legs wrapped around his waist with his pathetic whimpers in my ear 🤤

This always happened every time Toby was away for an extended period of time.

You’d think that a long mission would leave him drained, that he’d be falling into a heap of tired limbs the moment he stepped through the door.

You’d think he’d need at least a day to recuperate before putting his body through anything strenuous again.

That was never the case. You’ve started to expect it. The sound of the door creaking open was like a warning shot - giving you a few seconds to brace yourself before he was all but attacking you.

Blood and gore still caked to his skin and matted deep into his hair, he was on you before you could even greet him. Fingers locking into a firm grip on your hips, his head diving downwards to nose into your neck. Breathing in deep like your scent was sweeter than oxygen, moaning into your skin like you had just offered a full course meal to a starving man.

Maybe that’s what he was, and maybe you weren’t much different. Your skin missed the grooves of his fingertips, missed how his body slotted against yours like you were two halves of the same whole.

So when he comes at you with desperation, you return it in kind.

You’re half naked before he even gets you to the bedroom. Clothes strewn across the living room floor, leaving a breadcrumb trail to the site of absolute depravity. Teeth knocking against his from the forces of his kisses, spit smearing against your chin, his stubble scratching your skin raw.

He doesn’t let his hands leave your body for even a split second, like doing so would physically wound him. When your back hits the bed he’s following you right down, toppling onto you with all of the grace of a dog in heat - one hand tugging at your panties and the other one pulling your bra strap down. Needing you bare. Like the sight of your naked body was just as essential to him as air to breathe

You get him undressed just as quick. Shoving his jacket down his shoulders, practically ripping his hoodie off of him. When he has to let go of you to get his arms loose from the fabric - he growls in frustration. Drool glistening on his lips when he dives back in, snarling a desperate bite into your shoulder. Near offended by the sight of your skin so unblemished.

It’s a blur. A whirlwind. Vision hazy and hearing sounding muffled when he tugs your hips close to his. Eyes rolling back when he finally sinks his cock into you.

Quick, like he’d lose an hour off of his life for every second he wasn’t inside you. Whining into your ear, his breath hot when it hits your skin.

“L-Love you- fuck- You- So p-perfect, baby-“ Downright incoherent, words slurred together and broken up by moans, his face smushed into the crook of your neck as he chants your praises. You’d swear you could feel tears wet your skin.

His hands splay against your ass cheeks, keeping you nice and spread open as his hips snap into yours over and over again. Pulling you back to meet each thrust, his breathing going shakier with each one he delivers to you. With your legs locked around his hips you move as one, gasp as one, fall apart as one.

Nails scratching down his back, painting him with red stripes he’ll marvel at in the morning. Crying into his ear, for ‘more, more’ and he was nothing if not devoted to your every wish.

Holding himself back by the skin of his nails, but it’s worth it when you fall over the edge first. Worth it when he feels your cunt clamp around him like you never wanted to let him go.

He’s clawing at your hips when he follows suit, peeling off thin layers of skin under his fingernails but you don’t care in the slightest - you pull him in closer. Tugging him in with a desperate grip on his hair, shuddering when you feel his hips stutter. Moaning like his pleasure was yours when you felt his cum warm your cunt from the inside.

And maybe - maybe - having to spend a few days alone was worth it, when this was how he said ‘I missed you’

[chuellas]

Echoes of Silence | E is for Edging

⤷ Ft. Dazai Osamu

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, edging, slight mind break, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, WC: 1k

A/N: Idk why but I struggled so hard with writing this one, I hope it came out just as well as the rest did <3

Dazai had been clingy all day, performatively so. You could sense that something was off, even for Dazai the dramatics were a little much. But trying to pry it out of him was never an option, so when he asked to come over you were simply resigned to accepting. 

It has been what feels like hours since Dazai came over to your dorm and each passing second is becoming even more agonizing than the last. Dazai is toying with both of you tonight. He was quick to strip you of your clothes and have his way with you before the front door even fully shut. His desperate hands exploring your skin with urgency.

Nightly visits like these usually only last about an hour, maybe two, but tonight is definitely different. It’s been almost three hours and Dazai isn’t letting either one of you finish. You’ve been on the edge for probably two and half of those hours and it’s torture. 

This is cruel and unusual punishment and it’s all Dazai’s fault. 

Every time one of you is about to come he slows down or pulls out completely only to distract you by kisses. His lips sear every inch of your body. Dazai gives you absolutely no time to protest or to rest. It gives you each only a few moments before he’s diving into you again with the same agonizing pace he’s set, slower and harder than usual. 

You're a mess, your brain has been turned to mush and the only coherent thought you’ve managed to keep intact is the need to release. Your ability to speak is in the same condition. Pleas of your need to release spilling from your swollen lips, but they fall on deaf ears because Dazai clearly has no plans of granting any of your requests. 

The brunette is too caught up in his own need to release. He isn’t just torturing you, but himself too. He can’t rip his eyes away from the way your glistening sloppy cunt sucks him in and keeps a vice grip hold. He’s not sure where the self control is coming from but he barely manages to keep this up. The only thing keeping him from letting you finally cum is the thought of having to go back to his dorm and spend the rest of this night alone with his own thoughts.

He’d be damned if he let that happen when your company is so, so much sweeter than his own.

Even now, your incoherent words sound like music to his ears. “‘Samu…’Samu, please. I can't- ‘s too much- ahh- I need to- oh my god- I need to cum, please, please…”

It’s getting harder for Dazai to deny you and he thinks he’s on the verge of giving in. Even so, Dazai’s movement instinctively slows down and you let out a hiccuped sob. He looks down at you and he really thinks he’s gonna lose all senses. You are a beautiful mess — a devastatingly beautiful mess. Your hair is matted down on your face from a mix of tears and sweat. Your eyes rimmed red from the amount of crying you’ve done. Skin flushed the prettiest pink color and marks littered your body, courtesy of Dazai himself. 

In the split moment it takes for the agent to admire you, clearly distracted, you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s your desperate attempt to keep him close and finally give you what you’ve been begging him for. As if Dazai’s conviction hadn’t already been crumbling, this was the final blow to send it crashing all the way.

Dazai picks up his speed and crashes his lips into your own as you both finally find that release you’ve been chasing for hours. Your room is filled with muffled moans mixed together and the wet sound of Dazai’s hips crashing into yours before stilling completely and spilling inside of you. Everything is dizzy and Dazai can’t form a single thought. His mind is filled with fog and his ears stuffed with cotton. Nothing is registering but the white hot pleasure pooling in his stomach and spreading through his entire body like electricity. 

His length throbs inside of you with each release of his seed that he’s pouring into you. The build up made his plummet last longer than it usually would. His whole body twitches, already hypersensitive and he hasn’t even completely finished inside of you yet. Dazai’s vision focuses and you’re in no better shape. Your eyes are still screwed shut and your body is borderline convulsing. The tight grip you have around both his waist and his cock keeps him from pulling away from you at all. 

When you’ve both come down, the brunette can’t bring it in himself to get up to clean himself and leave. Instead he collapses into your hold, laying face down into your chest. By the sound of your breathy chuckle and the way you begin to run your fingers through his hair, despite it being wet from sweat, Dazai can tell you’ve come back to reality. 

Dazai shifts, making an effort to pull away but the action is stiff. He doesn’t want to leave but he knows if he doesn’t, he will be overstaying his welcome. Your hold on him, however, doesn't falter and you let out a soft hum.

“Stay.” Dazai’s head shoots up at that and he just stares at you for a few moments. You’re visibly nervous and start to elaborate when you really don’t need to because Dazai was already sold by the single syllable. “It’s later than usual and I really don’t mind the company. Also your body must be exhausted.”

Dazai tries to widen his eyes in shock but the detective’s eyelids become too heavy for him to keep open anymore and he wordlessly resigns. His head drops back to your chest — this time he makes sure to make himself more comfortable on top of you. He decides to stay nestled in between your thighs even though he’s softened now. 

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t think he has to, his body language is enough to tell you he’s not going anywhere.

[scribesoflex]

idk if you taking requests, but can you do a smut where reader and stiles are in a secret relationship cause reader is scott’s brother, n like one day stiles is so pussy drunk that he’s a whimpering moaning mess. and then scott just so happens to walk in. THEN reader starts to try and get up to follow her brother once he storms out the room, but stiles holds her back and continues until they both cum? just a thought..🫶🏽.

(btw idk if you do anon emojis but if so can i be ‘🧟‍♀️’)

. • °🍼✧༺ 17+ smut below the cut !

stiles has always joked about how he’s a lesser man when it comes to you, crude comments about how he’d give anything to spend all day between your legs, making you squirm just cause he likes it.

but it’s times like this when you actually think stiles might be a feign for pussy – your pussy.

the bed creaks with every rapid thrust of his hips, sheet sheilding where your bodies connect but it doesn’t matter because you can hear the squelching from your sopping folds, and feel the wetness seep down your ass crack splashing across the backs of your thigs when his sack hits your skin. and even if you could see the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you, it wouldn’t matter because – well stiles looks like that.

pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, bitten lips parted enough to let whines and groans slip free every couple of seconds, incoherent praises causing your sweaty skin to flush even more. he’s sweating too, fluffy hair matted to his forhead, sticking up in places from your gripping it.

“jesus fuck baby, love this cunt so much” he mutters, eyebrows frowning as he stares down st you with a determined pout “gonna fucking cum right in this tight pussy, feels too fucking good” you clench around him, gummy walls molding to every ridge and vein along his girthy length, arching your back off the back in hopes to feel him even deeper – whining and crying out when he does.

he drops his face to the crook of your neck, hips becoming slightly sloppy, movements less smooth and more desperate — cock twitching inside of you now, his release definitely nearing.

“oh’baby fuck me so good, feels so amazing” he’s practically crying into your shoulder, thrusting so forcefully your body begins to scoot up the bed, headboard nocking against the bed rhythmically “ — never gonna leave your cunt babe, might cry’feels so good”

your about to moan his name out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull when a creak sounds followed by a glass hitting the floor amd small whispered curse “oh shit!” he murmurs, and when you peak over stiles shoulder to lock eyes with ones that mirror your own, your breath completely leaves your lungs and sudden your trying to scramble away from stiles.

scott makes a face of disgust, throwing his hands up in the air as he spins on his heel, the sound of sneakers hitting the stairs loud as he stomps away “shit, shit, shit! stiles stop!” you cry, gasping when stiles shifts to his knees, pulling out to just the tip as he stares down at you with pleading eyes.

“gotta cum baby”

he slams back into you to punctuate his sentence, your jaw going slack in a silent moan, pussy clenching around his cock in a violent manner. your toes curl against the mattress, tears welling at your lash line – an overwhelming mix of embarrassment and pleasure taking over as he pounds into you so hard you’re worried he might actually hurt you.

you can feel the pulse and twitch of his cock against your straining walls, struggling to take him the deeper he goes, pressing your body so harshly into the bed you swear you hear the crackle of wooden planks beneathe your matress.

“s-stiles, it’s to-to much” you plead, mascara running streaks down your cheeks now, sweat and tears matting your hair to your face and neck, the sight making stiles go cross eyed, gripping the underneaths of your thighs as he leans back just enough to fold you in half, biceps rippling beneath his taut skin – prominent veins trailing up his fingers to his forearms, its enough to have your eyes rolling back into your skull, biting down on your bottom lip so hard blood fills your jaw, making you cry out in pain — but mostly because you’re cumming so hard that it drains the air from your lungs, stiles suffocating you with a wet and lazy kiss as his own orgasm creeps closer.

it’s not much longer before he’s becoming erratic in his thrusts, rhytm thrown a bump as he pumps his seed deep in your cunt, filling you so much it begins to spill put around the base of cock, and down his balls, making obscene noises as he pulls out with a weak hiss, dark eyebrows furrowing from the lack of warmth.

“maybe we’ll close the door next time?” he smirks down at your spent expression, brown eyes full of trouble.

. • °🍼✧༺ extremely unedited!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

And You Were Brighter Than The Light Pt. 2

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Pt. 1

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, fluff, angst, no use of y/n, mental health issues, canon-divergent au, smut (p in v sex, oral both receiving, fingering)

Summary/Warnings: There are a lot of Avenger's at the compound. And you never leave your room. It's a good thing you did, though. Just once. Otherwise you never would've met Bucky.

Author's Note: Let's get horny and emotional!

Word Count: 7.7k

You’re staring at the devil. 

She’s in the mirror. She has your face and your voice, and her breath falls in perfect time with yours as you look her in the eyes and try to work out how to pull her out of your body.

But she’s always there. When you hole up in your lab and keep yourself out of the Avenger’s orbit, when you keep your hands folded into each other and your existence as small as possible, when you speak and she’s bitter and harsh on your tongue, because her voice is your voice, and there will never be any hope of pulling her from your body.

Because you’re the same. You are she. You’re the one who needs to keep yourself locked up like an animal—the actual animals seem to be freer than you are, because they feel safe in your lab, but you mostly feel just on the wrong side of contained—and you’re the one who makes the Avengers flinch away from your presence.

You know you’re a burden. You’d even come to terms with it, before him. You’d known Tony had built your lab to keep you distracted and placated, and Steve doesn’t push you to join group actives or missions because he doesn’t really want you there. You make everyone uncomfortable, just by existing where they know you could touch them and ruin their lives. Stop their hearts or read their minds—you can’t read minds, you can only sense their stress because their muscles tense and their brains start to fire and their blood smell of fear—with barely a thought. 

Natasha was nice to you, but you think it’s because she knows you won’t do anything, and she recognizes what it’s like to not fully like what you’re capable of doing. Wanda is your friend because neither of you know how to pretend you’re something you’re not—even if you wish you could—she understands what it’s like to exist on the outskirts of the whole world. 

And he-

He’s perfect. 

He’s been perfect since the first time you saw him. Half-unconscious and being carried off a Quinjet, his body wracked by the poison FRIDAY had informed you needed your attention.

That was how you’d know it was serious. You could cox flesh and organ to heal itself without effort, but no one ever asked you to because they had other methods that were more trustworthy. If Steve had specifically requested your attention on Sargent Barnes, it had to be horrible.

And it had been. Your heart had broken at the sight of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen—matted hair and bloodless skin and drenched in sweat—rolling around in pain, then your whole body had mended into something stronger than it had been before when his dilated, dazed eyes met yours, and you felt the rush of dopamine and oxytocin hit his brain was almost akin to a brilliant, hazy and pink high. 

You’d asked the chemicals to stay in his brain, as you lain a hand on his white-hot skin. To ease the pain of this tangible god, who’d only looked at you and let out a low, incoherent moan that echoed through the air like a hymn.

You’d fixed him. And when he’d woken up and looked at you, nothing in his brain had changed. The chemicals had only lingered, starting to seep deeper into his skull, and you’d almost been able to see them re-writing his whole body chemistry in quick moments as he spoke to you, and you smiled, and he stared.

Barnes had stared right into your fucking soul, and the second rush of oxytocin hadn’t been his.

It had all been yours. 

———

You’d started to leave your lab, just to find reasons to see him. 

He ate breakfast in the kitchen, so you’d been there every morning, waiting just to see him, shuffling around with his hair still over his eyes but his whole body already awake.

You hadn’t needed to speak, at the start. You’d been able to feel the endorphins—running through his whole brain and sparking whenever he glanced up at you over the table—but it might have been simply infatuation. You weren’t ugly to look at, but you were hideous to know. 

And you didn’t want to be hideous to him. You hadn’t been ready for Bucky—you’d allowed yourself to call him Bucky in your head, because it made him seem more real—to look at you and realize exactly why you were more like a phantom that haunted the compound, rather than a real member of the team. And you’d been able to learn so much just by sitting with him, every morning, in the kitchen.

His breathing was always even. Always controlled. Everything about him was controlled, but set on a thin line that could snap every moment. It wasn’t like how Steve or Natasha were controlled, where they had mastery over their bodies you could sense with their every movement. It wasn’t like how Bruce was controlled, either. Like he was pushing himself down.

It was purely, entirely Bucky. Control that was deliberate, but not forced. Careful, but not painful. It seemed more like it soothed him that strained him. Every flex of a muscle or movement of his body completely his, in a way that slowed his heartbeat and made his brain fire with a little less frantic tension.

That was another thing. Bucky’s brain was always moving. More than most people you’d met before. Assessing everything and turning over every shift in the wind, his eyes scanning with that same control as if he was checking everything was in its place. When it was, he’d relax slightly. If it wasn’t, his spine and gut would go taut, and it felt wrong. Strange. Like seeing a star out of place in the sky, or a withered rose in a garden.

You’d given yourself a task. Silently make sure Bucky stayed relaxed, without ever manipulating his body or saying a word. Learn what he found to be out of place, even if he didn’t really know himself, and put it back where it was meant to be. 

Because then the star would glide back to its rightful spot, and the rose would bloom, and everything would be fine. 

Then it would grow and twine and blossom over your bones when you finally spoke to him—the hot sauce felt like it had been out of place, and you’d needed to fix that for him, because vengeful and soft gods should not have hot sauce on their face—and fixed the frozen and panicked explosion in his head, and he didn’t stop joining you in the kitchen.

He’d stayed where you could feel him. And the oxytocin hadn’t faltered or died.

It had only become golden, and grown.

———

You’d started to break your self-inflicted, punishing rules for him. You’d said you’d never attend the group-bonding nights, because your time would be better spent helping the animals with whatever they needed, and you were almost certain you wouldn’t be really, truly welcome.

But you’d known Bucky would be there, and you’d wanted to see him in lighting that wasn’t fluorescent. 

He’d been even more beautiful than before. His body hadn’t had the same ease from the kitchen, but the chemicals had spiked when he’d seen you—you’d been staring at your cards, but you’d felt it, known who it was from, and had to bite down a smile at just the fact that Bucky’s eyes had found you so fast in the crowd, like he’d been looking—and when he’d spoken to you in a full, real conversation, you’d lost track of the whole world.

Nothing had been attention on the other guy in Bruce, or the intensity of Steve’s heartbeat, or the overwhelming rush of Tony’s brain. It had all just been Bucky, speaking to you like you were both human. Like you weren’t only one level above an animal, and he wasn’t something powerful and brilliant, captured into a body that you’d realize you’d be able to recognize if you were blindfolded and shoved into a pit of hell.

And he was funny, in a dry and sarcastic way. He was handsome and funny and smarter than he seemed to think he was, and when you got him to laugh it was a perfect, deep sound that was born so deep in his body you knew it covered his whole world. You’d learned he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to, and that including laughing and speaking, but he was laughing and speaking to you.

So you’d come back.

And it had still only gotten better.

“You’re here.”

You’d looked to find Bucky standing above you with his arms crossed, a small smile on his face that had made the whole world hum and buzz with ease.

“I am.” You’d tilted your head, returning his smile. “Should I not be?”

He’d shaken his head, standing a little taller. “You can, uh, I think you’re allowed to be wherever you want. Here is good.”

You’d hummed, glancing between him and the card. “Are you going to sit down?”

Bucky had blinked, but nodded, and his legs had already started fold under his body before he’d stopped himself. Frozen above you and stared at you with wide eyes, and you’d been able to feel the gears of his brain turning. You’d been about to ask him if he was okay—been about to damn all the risks about how all the other Avengers were shooting you weary looks, and reached out to touch Bucky, to ask his body to calm the hell down—but he’d turned on his heel and walked away.

And for a brief, horrible moment, you’d been lonely again. You’d been missing him, and you’d been lonely and you’d felt as if the ground could swallow you and it would be nothing, because Bucky had wanted you but then he’d frozen and you may be just that hideous-

He’d returned within a minute, dropped across you on the floor, and pushed a drink into your hands. 

“For you.” He’d muttered, his entire face red and eyes trained on yours as he seemed to monitor your reaction. “I made Natasha mix it.” 

You’d blinked at him, and the neurons firing in his brain had still had that iridescent, bright, firework quality, but his heart had been a beat off it’s normal pace and there had been nothing else in his body.

He’d just been watching you. And when you’d taken the drink and started to shuffle the cards, it had been as if he’d been given permission to go at ease. His body had slumped slightly, and his breathing had grown deep, and you’d wanted that more. You really did want all of Bucky to be relaxed all the time, because it once he was the fireworks drew out in larger patterns and the oxytocin didn’t seem to be blocked my anything, and fuck it was good to see and sense and smell-

“I asked Steve for a computer.” He’d said, watching you flip over your next card. “He said he’d get me one, but he couldn’t teach me how to use it.”

You’d frowned. “Why-“

“Apparently, he kept downloading something called a virus. He wouldn’t be a suitable teacher.”

You’d snorted, glancing to where Steve was in a deep conversation across the room. “I believe that.”

“Would you teach me?”

Bucky’s words had been quick, and his eyes had still been locked on your hands as you stared at him. You couldn’t tell if he was serious. You’d hoped he was—if he was he trusted you, if he was he really wanted to see you, and maybe this could be something that lasted—and he really wasn’t the lying type, but maybe he’d misspoken-

“I-“

“If you want.” He’d added, words quick and tight. “I’d, uh- I could get you another drink.”

You’d nodded slowly, unable to stop yourself from asking, “Why me?”

He’d glanced up, eyes finally meeting yours, and the small grin he’d given you had detonated across your heart like the birth of a star. “Nobody else I’d trust, doll.”

“Nobody?”

“Nah,” he’d shaken his head, sitting a little straighter as he held your gaze, and flipped another card from his deck. “You taught me how to play war, and that worked out. And I like hearing you talk, doll. Worse ways to spend my time.”

You’d felt your face heat, and your whole body had felt a little shocking jolt, making your movements stutter slightly.

His words had been slow. Careful. Still slightly restrained and measured, like he’d been testing the waters of what you’d allowed him to say to you.

And you’d let him say anything. Even then, you’d have let him do anything to you. You’d let him dive into you and take whatever he wanted, because he was so handsome and his voice was deep, and he’d started to sit close enough to you that you could smell him, and that itself was like an aphrodisiac. 

Too much. Too fast. He might not be ready.

So you’d just nodded, tilting your head at him with a soft half-smile. “Can I teach you a new card game as well?”

“You can teach me whatever the hell you want.” He’d breathed, returning your half-smile, and the rush this time had been even. Matched. A tsunami of endorphins, so strong you couldn’t tell which were his and which were yours.

And you broken more and more rules, just for Bucky.

You’d asked Natasha to move your training sessions to the daylight. 

She’d only shrugged when you’d asked. “That should be fine. We’ll meet at one tomorrow.”

“Actually,” you’d swallowed, staring at your hands as you dragged the words up from your heart. “Can, um, I need to check something before we-“

“The America Boys train at one thirty.”

You’d blinked at her. “The America-“

“Steve, Sam, and Bucky.” She’d smirked, not looking up from her phone. “You’ll be well and warmed up by the time they arrive.”

There had been no point in arguing or protesting. You’d only nodded and flushed, and ignored Natasha’s smug grin after Bucky had arrived, and you exchanged silent words and smiles. 

Then you’d let him into the lab. You weren’t supposed to let anyone in the lab. Tony only came in if there were technical issues, Steve barely moved past the threshold, and everyone else would ask FRIDAY to talk to you if you were needed. It wasn’t like the animals liked anyone but you. It wasn’t like anyone but you liked the animals.

But you’d been talking about Bucky too much. You’d been doing what had been—rightfully, but annoyingly—labeled as rambling. And you’d promised to introduce to him to the cats.

So you’d let him into the lab. You’d let him into your bed. Not like that, but more than you’d ever really had before. It might be more intimate, because usually when people slept near you—moved into REM where you could sense it—they’d infect you and it would send you into something like a catatonic state. Everything would be too much, and you’d scream and thrash in your head as the feeling overwhelmed you, and you’d end up hurting something. Pulling them forcefully out of their rest because you’d been begging their brain to stop, sending than into night terrors because their minds had felt your distress and responded in kind.

But sleeping near Bucky was easy. After you’d soothe him into sleep he’d stay there without strain or discomfort—as if his brain didn’t even consider resisting your pleas to just let this immovable man rest—and you’d match the chemicals in his body with ease. 

Then the morning would break, and the flood of bright, gold and pink and blue chemicals would hit you like a drug, and you’d know. 

Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin were love chemicals. 

And that is what this is. What it had started as, and built upon, and bloomed into so powerful it was entwined and grooved onto the pathways of your entire being. You could admit, just to yourself, that this is love. You’d swallowed the word from the start, because you didn’t know how long it would last. If it would rewrite your body in the way it had, or if it could be something that faded and passed.

It hadn’t. The devil in the mirror wasn’t supposed to fall in love, but she had, and now you’d bend and stretch and fold any way Bucky asked you to for the rest of your life.

But you didn’t want to be the one to say that. 

So you’ll  just wait until he knows himself, and until then, you’ll be whatever he needs you to be.

———

“Your presence is requested in the infirmary.”

You look up at the ceiling with a frown. “Why?”

“Mr. Wilson appears to have strained his hamstring.” FRIDAY hums, and you didn’t know an AI could sound so amused. “Although I assured him that our usual team would be more than capable of treating his injury, he specifically requested that you make sure there is nothing else of concern.”

“Is there something else of concern?”

“Not that my scan was able to find. He should be fine with some ice and rest.”

You frown. “Then why- Does Sam even know how my powers work?” 

“I believe Sargent Barnes has informed him. I have additionally been instructed to inform you that he believes Mr. Wilson is being a baby, and that Sargent Barnes can handle this himself, doll.”

You flush, and curse your breath for fleeing your body so fast. “Bucky’s there?”

“Yes. He helped Mr. Wilson to the infirmly, though he also threatened to drop him several times.”

You sigh, glancing around the lab. It’s most silent, with most of the animal engrossed in their own work and conversation, and Sam—the little shit—has done this five times in the past month, but it always works. You always go to the lab to fix a minor injury—you’re starting to think he’s hurting himself on purpose—and Bucky’s always there, and you don’t even notice when Sam leaves the room because you’re too busy drowning in the high of Bucky. Grinning at you and calling you doll and looking more handsome than anyone should have the right to be-

“Should I inform them that you recommend ice, and cannot join them in the infirmary, Doctor?“

“You know I’m not a real doctor, FRIDAY-“

“Mr. Stark has included your doctorate within my records-“

“Yeah, but I’m not a medical doctor-“

“I am instructed to refer to everyone by their highest title. Besides,” FRIDAY doesn’t have a face, but it sounds like she’s smiling. “You are my favorite.”

You mock gasp. “I’m gonna tell Tony.”

“You are welcome to, but I think he already knows. What should I tell Mr. Wilson?”

You run a hand through your hair, and let out a long, slow breath. The smart thing to do would be to tell Sam to fuck off, and stop trying to very obviously and strangely set you and Bucky up. It’s not like you don’t see him every day, and night. Like he doesn’t often wake up on the other side of your bed, and make you coffee in the kitchen, and arrive early to train so he can circle around the gym and jump into talk to you at any given opportunity. 

But he feels so good. Being near Bucky feels so good, and he looks at you like you might be more than just a demon or problem, and love makes you a fool that caves to Sam Wilson’s stupid ideas.

“Tell him I’m on my way.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Sam is grinning at you when you walk through the door, but you barely see him. You’re looking at Bucky.

Most of the time, you’re looking at Bucky. Handsome. Strong. A little sweaty but with high adrenaline in his body that makes you feel awake, and watching you right back, grinning and red-faced and full of love, everything in him is full of love and it’s so hard to wait but it’s all you can do-

“Took you long enough,” Sam almost whines, and when you finally give him more than a spared glance, he’s cradling his leg like it’s a crying child. “Were you just gonna let me die?”

You lean forward, tilting your head at his leg with a blank expression a dry voice. “You should ice that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Why should I when I got miss miracle worker-“

“Doctor.”

You and Sam both stare at Bucky with wide eyes, and he only shrugs.

“She’s a doctor, Sam.” He mutters. “Doctor Miracle Worker.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, you raise your chin higher, and Sam sighs.

“Fix my leg, Doctor Miracle Worker-“

Bucky scowls, crossing his arms. “Say please.”

Sam scoffs. “Are you suddenly my fuckin’ father, Bucky-“

“If I was your father, I would’ve made you just ice it.” Bucky nods to you. “Say please, or I’m breaking your leg.”

“C'mon, man, you can’t be serious-“

“He is.” You fold your hands behind your back, bouncing slightly on your feet. “That’s his serious face.”

Sam looks between you and Bucky with disbelief, Bucky takes a firm step forward—he won’t actually break Sam’s knee, you’d been able to sense the lie twist in his stomach—and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“Please, Doctor Miracle Worker.” Sam mutters, giving you a half-pleading look. “Fix my leg.”

Bucky nods with satisfaction, and you step forward, humming softly until Sam’s muscles agree to patch themselves together.

You can feel Bucky the whole time. Right behind you, watching you with a silent fascination that’s still a little foreign. You’re not used to it. The borderline awe that’s light over his heart, whenever you’re near. At first, you’d thought it to be an illusion or mistaken read of his body, but you don’t make mistaken reads of bodies. 

And Bucky really is in awe of you. 

You really want to say it. Right now. With Sam drinking apple juice and grumbling about how that’s the last time he does Bucky a favor, you want to turn and scream it, scream that you love Bucky, and you didn’t know it could be like this but you never want it to go away-

“What’s it feel like?”

You blink over your shoulder, and find Bucky only inches away. You don’t know how you hadn’t sensed him. 

Your body might be starting to count him as yourself, and that would be dangerous if you didn’t think you could hand him your heart and lungs and he’d keep them safer than they are in your chest.

“Feel like?”

He nods to your hand, resting lightly on Sam’s leg. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” You tilt your head at him, and you think that if you could crawl into his eyes and always be under his attention, you would. “It feels like speaking. But louder.”

Bucky glances at Sam—who’s doing a very good job pretending he’s not listening—and lowers his voice. “Even when you, uh- Do the thing. For me.”

It’s not a question. You know exactly what he’s referring to, and it’s more like he’s asking for reassurance. 

But Bucky’s like an ailment or anchor or shield. He couldn’t hurt you if he tried.

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “Never.”

“Good.” He grunts, his gaze never breaking from yours. “You- uh- your hair looks nice.” 

Your smile grows, and you might be floating. “Thank you. The monkey’s did it.”

Bucky nods, and you don’t know if he realized how close he’s leaning to your body. “Tell them I think they did a good job.”

“I will,” you hum. “They want to do yours, you know. Ellie asked me specifically.”

“Huh.” Bucky’s mouth tugs into a grin, his eyes flashing slightly. “Only if they agree to let us watch Risky Business again.”

You sigh. “You’ve seen that movie five times, Buck-“

“And it’s good every single time-“

“But we could be branching out. You still haven’t seen Fantasia-“

Bucky’s brow wrinkles. “What’s Fantasia.”

“Big orchestra thing.” Sam interrupts with a shit-eating grin. “Super calming, Buck. Got dinosaurs.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly, and you shake your head, shooting Sam a glare.

“The dinosaurs die, Sam. It will make him sad.”

“Sad?” Sam’s grin is going to split his face. “Man, do you get all sappy when dinosaurs die?”

Bucky scowls. “No. Shut it or I’m breaking your knee.”

“Nah, that threat ain’t gonna work on me twice, you cry to dinosaur movies-“

“FRIDAY?” You cut Sam off with raised brows. “Please tell Tony that Sam’s been using Redwing around the compound again.”

“Of course, doc-“

“Hold up!” Sam shouts, words quick and frantic. “FRIDAY, you keep to yourself-“

“I am afraid the doctor has given me an order.” FRIDAY hums, and you’re almost certain she’s smiling this time. “Mr. Stark is currently in a meeting, but-“

Sam says your name, his eyes wide. “Tell her to stop, I’m not tryin’ to give Tony a reason to kill me-“

You tilt your head at him for a long second, feeling his lungs start to tighten in his chest, and then shrug like nothing’s happened at all.

“FRIDAY, don’t tell Tony anything.”

“The message to Mr. Stark has been redacted.”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters, scowling between you and Bucky. “You know, you’re meaner than I thought you’d be.”

Bucky tenses behind you, but you wave Sam off with a smile.

“Sorry.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. But I’m gonna forgive you, you were just tryin’ to make the Tin Man have a heart.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You’re a saint.”

“I know. You know, I think you already did the job, cause someone’s been a real big sap about shit lately.” Sam lowers his voice to a whisper, wiggling his brows at you. “I didn’t know he could cry. Or watch movies. Or have a cru-“

“Sam.” Bucky grunts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Didn’t say anything, Buck.” Sam shrugs, giving him a toothy smirk. “And you should watch Fantasia. It’s a classic, big mops dancin’ around-“

Bucky gives you a weary look, and you shake your head.

“No, we won’t. But we’re not watching Risky Business, either.”

He frowns, but before he can protest you cut him off with an easy smile.

“We’ll watch Night at the Museum. You’ll like it.”

There’s a rush of endorphins through his body that’s so powerful it almost knocks you over, and you don’t know how he manages to stay upright and steady-voiced, only giving you a wide, blinding grin. 

“Whatever you say, doll.”

———

He’s in your room again. Asleep with low sores and even breaths, and you didn’t do a single thing to force him down. 

No gentle words to his body, asking them to do you a favor and let him exist easily, as he always deserves to. All you’d done is stroke your fingers through his hair, and sat at his side through an admittedly dull movie, and realized that the usual race and force of his mind had eased.

And now he’s asleep. In your arms. 

And if this is love, you never want to be anything else. If you could only become a mass of chemicals without a body, you would because it would be stars scatted across Bucky’s sky, and you wouldn’t need to devote yourself to loving him because it would be all he’s ever feel.

Your love. For him.

The same way right now, even when he’s fast asleep, you can really only feel his love for you.

It’s become harder to not say it. You need to say it. You don’t know when it changed or shifted, but the words have to be spoken aloud or the moon will crash to the earth and the oceans will rise and the world will fall. It may have been when he made you food, and it was horrible, and nothing had ever tasted better. It may have been when you agreed to go to the city with him, but ended up spending the whole day on the law because neither of you really wanted to attend Tony’s stupid meeting, and the sun was warmer than any conference room. It was likely at another team meeting, when he’d taken one look at you, offered you his hand, and led you back to your lab before you’d even had a chance to tell him you wanted to go home. 

But now it’s venom on your tongue. Venom that will so easily morph into honey or spit that you can share with him, because all you’d have to say is Bucky, I love you, and so much of the world would heal. You think you could make everyone in the universe invincible—asking every piece of their bodies to remain static and healthy, because you’re in love and nothing has ever been better—if you’d just say it. 

Yet the fear still lingers in your throat. Bucky loves you too. You know he does, everything in his body tells you he does, you don’t know if he knows he does. It’s not romantic to tell someone they love you. It could be damaging to tell Bucky he loves you, because he’s spent so long being told what he is, and you’d like to be something he chooses. 

It doesn’t stop the need—hunger, thirst, craving, demand—to say it. You need to say it. You’ll implode if you don’t say it. The world will shatter before you get the chance, if you don’t tell Bucky you love him.

You trace light, careful fingers over his face, still not sure how he got here. How he managed to crawl through time and push out of the earth only to end up here, in your bed. 

You don’t deserve him. You don’t know why he’s never been afraid of you—he should’ve been, you should’ve been his worst nightmare—but he hasn’t. He’s never been anything but good, and you’d be a great demon for him. You’d be the kind that keeps it word and makes exception just for Bucky, you’d shift the way the world functions for Bucky, you’d plead with every bit of life you come across to spare him a little more, so he never has to know pain or grief or death again. 

You’d be a monster for him. Or a ghost or phantom or spirit or form of pure, brilliant light to keep him warm and safe for a lot more than always.

He shifts against your body, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face in your stomach, you can’t hold it in. You brush hair from his brow and keep your voice soft, letting the words spill out into the air. There’s nowhere else for them to go.

“I love you,” you whisper, smiling into the dark because the words sound right. “So, so, so much. All the time.”

Bucky grunts—the whole sound rolling through your body–and shifts over to meet your eyes. Rolling onto his side with his arms squeezing around you and a small smirk on his lips, and his eyes are so pretty. Every piece of him is pretty, but his eyes could end and build worlds with their focus, with how they’re like a drug that sparks and calls you to move. To do anything because as long as his eyes have light behind them, you need to keep moving.

And he’s awake. 

Which means-

“I love you too,” He says your name—that’s your name, he’s referring to you—and his is voice gravely and rough as he scans over your face, and you can only gape at him.

“How did you do that?”

“Been practicing.”

“Practice- Why?”

His smile grows a little, even as he flushes. “You talk in your sleep. And you never sleep ‘less I’m sleeping, doll. And I like listening to you.”

“I-“ You swallow, and you’d bury yourself into the sheets if Bucky wasn’t holding you so tight against him. “What do I say?”

“Does it matter?”

You nod, and he lets out a long breath.

“Nothing. I just- uh- sometimes you mumble something that sounds like my name. Always want to see if I can get more of what you’re thinking.” His hand squeezes slightly on your waist, and you lean a little further down. He’s magnetic. You couldn’t stop yourself if you, for some cruel and masochistic reason, wanted to.

“It’s a mean trick.” You mumble, but there’s a smile on your face that you couldn’t scratch off if you tried. “You could’ve just talked to me.”

“I talk to you all the time. You never said, uh-“ Bucky clears his throat, his grip almost crushing your ribs. You don’t care. It means he really is real. “You don’t say that.”

“No,” you whisper, and if you go just one more inch, you’d be able to taste him the same way you can smell him. Everywhere and perfect. “I don’t.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes. Did, uh-“

“Meant it.” He mutters. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I know.” You swallow, giving him a weak smile, because you think you might be about to pass out—or wake up from the most beautifully torturous dream of your life—and you need to use your energy cling to this a little longer. “That’s- that’s good.”

“Yeah.” He nods in half agreement, and there’s a long silence where you’re just watching each other before he breaks it with low, uncertain words. “Why?”

You frown at him. It’s a ridiculous question. There are a million reasons you could give, starting with I don’t know how not to, made of even if I had a choice, I’d still end up back here because it’s where I want to be, and ending with I think I’d rage my way through the world if the chance to love you was taken from me, because I want to love you, Bucky Barnes, when there’s sunshine and when there’s fire, and when the sky is falling but if spares us, because it know you’re holy and that I’d raze the very foundation of the universe to get to you. 

But that’s too long. And wordy.

So you say the only other thing you can think of that’s still so fundamentally true. 

“Why not?”

Bucky stares at you with wide eyes as the words sink into him, and then they snap something. You see it. It clicks into place and triggers him into action, and you know you’d been right when he leans up to kiss you, and everything in the world becomes Bucky.

You don’t have words for how he tastes, or feels with chapped but firm lips on you, with a hand cupping your face and his body pressed right against yours. Time is slow but you can’t really tell, and there must be other things outside of Bucky kissing you, but they don’t matter at all. Right now you can’t think of anything but his name, over and over and over on loop, and it means more than anything else could. 

It’s the sunlight and soft breezes and everything sweet but mixed with some sort of spice that spurs you further on shoving your tongue down his throat, and the spell breaks into something better.

Reality. 

This is real.

Bucky surges forward, pinning you back against the bed as he cages you between his arms, and you can feel it everywhere. Fire over your skin wherever he touches and color in your blood whenever his teeth graze over your lips. The cool metal of his hand is like being cleansed, like being dunked under water and reborn as he picks up his speed, ripping your clothing off and pushing his body so close to yours you think he’ll leave a dent.

You hope he leaves a dent. You hope that the way your whole body is singing—for his metal fingers tracing over your inner thigh and for his lips wrapping and bruising over your skin—echoes through you forever. You know this moment is going to end but you need this feeling to be permanent, and you think it will be.

You have a sense that Bucky had been a depression on your soul that you’d been waiting to fill, that had lit a fire so strong in your body that it spread, and now he was everywhere.

And he is everywhere. He’s sucking and biting a line down your jaw and throat and over your shoulder, find every part of you he can see—which is most of it—and kissing it until you’re grinding up into him with needy, loud pleas of his name.

“Bucky-“

He leans back with a heavy, darkened expression, and that just makes you claw at his chest, trying to stake a mark on him that he can feel as well as you can feel this. Feel him. Feel how much he loves you and wants you and-

“Need you,” he grunts, pressing his metal hand right over your aching cunt, teasing two fingers right over your slit as his attention never wavers from your perfectly broken expression. “Need to taste you, doll. Please.”

It’s a miracle you can manage a soft, breathless laugh. It’s a miracle you manage to speak and the words aren’t I love you. “I guess, if you’re, fuck-“ You cut off your own words with a loud moan as Bucky pushes his fingers into you, setting slow, torturous pace as he pumps them in and out brushing his thumb over your clit and making your back arch as your fingers pull at his hair-

“Fuck.” Bucky hisses, his cock twitching against your thigh. “Words, baby, need to hear words-“

“Yes.” You moan, not even sure of what he’s asking. But you trust him, and you love him, so the answer is yes. “Please, need you, need more-“

You don’t know how such a large man can be so fast. How one second his kissing over your breasts and swirling his tongue over your nipples, only suddenly be right between your legs and-

That sound has never left you before. It’s screaming, wrecked, desperate mix of Bucky and fuck and more and something a language you don’t understand, but you know just means yes.

There’s nothing else to say but yes. Not as Bucky’s tongue plunges in and out of your pussy, and his nose bumps and presses on your clit and his stubble scratches at your thighs, and yes, this is heaven—better, it’s Bucky and he’s devouring your cunt like he’s been deprived of it for a million years—so fucking, yes-

He flattens his tongue right over your clit and groans against you, and you’re right there. A tight coil in your lower gut wound as tight as it can go and your head high in the clouds as Bucky metal fingers push back into your cunt and start to move at a brutal pace that make pleasure shoot and spark all over your body-

Those same fingers crook and rub right on an impossible deep spot inside of you, right as Bucky sucks your clit fully between his lips and flicks his tongue a quick, uncontrolled frenzy, and you make another new sound.

Deep from the back of your throat and soft and almost angelic, in that same language of just noise and love, but this time meaning Bucky. 

Rubbing his hand over your fluttering pussy and muttering your name—tangled in with swears and low praise—as he rises back over your body and lowers himself down to give you a long, deep kiss.  

You moan that same sound into his open mouth, and he grins.

“So fucking beautiful,” Bucky mutters, that same, strange awe covering his voice. “All mine-“

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, pulling at his hair again until he groans down your throat and gliding one hand down his bare chest, palming at his cock with desperate, uneven movements. “I- Feels so good, Buck, wanna make you feel good too-“ 

“I will, baby.” Bucky moves your hand away, guiding your arms to wrap around his neck as he shifts his body above you. Moves until you’re secure beneath him, and his dick is pressed right against where you’re aching for him, rubbing between your folds and bumping at your overly sensitive clit. “Gotta have you, I- didn’t come ready-“

“’S okay.” You mumble, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “On the pill. Just- Go, Bucky, please-“

You make another squeak of yes against his skin as he ease himself slowly into you. His big, and thick, and you feel so fucking full you don’t know how you survived without this, without Bucky, buried deep in your cunt and breathing ragged in your ear, his voice hoarse and choked and the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“I- fuck, doll, you’re so tight, need to start slow-“

You nod stupidly, squirming below him and drawing a loud hiss from his throat that brushes over your ear and sends shivers up your spine. “I know- I- Please-“

Bucky tugs on your hair until you draw back to meet his gaze, and no one’s ever looked at you like that. Like you’re the northern lights and rainbow mist at the base of a waterfall. 

And you couldn’t feel it, you could see it.

Bucky loves you. 

It’s why he clears the hair from your face with such careful hands, and why he moves down to kiss you with such a fervor you’d think he was worshipping at an altar. 

And then he starts to move, and the whole world is glowing.

He starts slow. Long and firm thrusts that press the head of his cock right against that sensitive spot inside of you, right before he pulls almost fully out and eases back in. And it’s good, it’s so good, and he’s word stop making low grunts with every movement or cradling your body against his or kissing you, and it’s so good but it’s not enough-

You roll your hips to meet his movement, squeezing slightly around him, and he pulls back with a glare.

“You tryin’ to kill me-“

“More.” You whine, starting to jerk and rut against him in a play for more, you need more. “Bucky, please, just- God, you’re so sweet but just fuck me-“

He raises his brows and does the slow drag of his cock out, right until only the tip is still inside you, and then, right as your about to scratch at his back with need, he slams back forwards and knocks everything but another sound of good from your body.

“Like that, doll?” He drawls, repeating the movement with a firm but gentle squeeze of your waist, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. “Want that.”

You nod, make the sound that means yes, and he understands it. He starts to pound into you an unforgiving pace, his skin slapping against yours as he makes low and sinful noises in your ears, and you can see the stars but he’s somehow driving you higher-

“God, you feel so good,” Bucky grunts, dropping his head to rest of your chest as he ruts back into you. “So fucking wet and warm, need to-“ He looks back up to you, crashing his mouth into your with a groan of your name. “Close, doll, need to come with me-“

You whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head as Bucky abuses your cunt, and you’re close too but you can’t speak in anything but moans and whines, so you just make a choked sound of his name and pray he understands-

“Got you, baby, I got you, just-“ His metal fingers find your clit and start to twist and press against it, and fuck, you’re going to explode into flowers and starlight and color-

“Bucky-“

“C’mon,” he grunts, cock bruising against your cervix as he hammers into you. “Cum for me, so fuckin’ close, so good, c’mon-“

Your orgasm rips through you with a light head and scream, and Bucky slams himself home with a roar of your name. 

You’re vaguely aware of him pressing a gentle kiss to your brow and muttering how well you did before climbing off the bed, but it’s still all just good. There are so many chemicals and colors but they’re really just Bucky, so it’s the only word you need to know.

“I’m here.” He says from somewhere to the side, and you must have called out to him. “One second, doll.”

It’s more than one second, that he’s gone. But he returns with a warm cloth and kiss pressed to your thigh, so you only let out a happy, gentle hum and let this feeling linger.

More than linger. It’s going to be permanent. Bucky crawls back over you and wraps his body around yours, his heartbeat even and his presence intoxicating, and you know that nothing is forever but this. You can bend nature.

You’ll ensure with everything you power that this gets to be permanent. Because you love him.

You must have said that aloud as well, Bucky grins against your skin as he hums, “Love you too, doll.” 

His voice rumbles through your body, and it shakes most of the darkness out of the spaces between your organs, and coated over your bones, or grown along your veins. Something bright and colorful grows in their place. Something you’re going to spend a while tending to, because think Bucky’s always looked at you and seen it there, so it’s what you’d like to be. If not for him, for the fact that it’s possible. For the fact that something you’ve always wanted but never looked for fell right into your lap, and the devil doesn’t feel like a devil anymore. 

She mostly just feels peaceful. Like she’s found an out of the rotting cycle of alone, and she’s more than happy to take it.

You’re more than happy to give it to her.

“Do you think we should get up?” Bucky mutters in your ear, and you shake your head.

“No. I think I like it here.”

End Note: Sam in his matchmaker era (he's not good at it).

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[anakinstwinklebunny]

SAM MONROE hates this.

Absolutely, unequivocally, fucking hates this.

Because right now, he's standing in the middle of some overpriced toy store, holding a damn teddy bear with a heart on it.

He looks at it. The bear looks back.

"Stupid," he mutters under his breath, glaring at the thing like it's personally offended him. But his mom's voice keeps ringing in his head - «Samuel, he’s a baby. Let him have something cute for Valentine’s»

Like Vinnie gives a shit about Valentine's. He’s 20 months old. He doesn’t know what a Valentine is. He only knows two things: clinging to Sam like a koala and making grabby hands at anything that looks fluffy.

Still. He buys the damn bear.

Vinnie loves the bear, of course

The second Sam plopped it in front of him, his little hands grabbed at it, pulling it close to his tiny body, gasping wildly at the new toy. Those baby giggles filled the whole damn room, squeaky and breathy, and it’s—fuck. It’s cute. Annoyingly, stupidly cute.

Vinnie pressed his face against the bear’s soft fur, nuzzling into it like it���s the greatest thing he’s ever owned.

"This is stupid."

Sam is currently wedged inside a tiny-ass plastic tunnel in the middle of some indoor play area at the mall.

Vinnie, meanwhile, is having the time of his damn life.

The second they got here, he made a beeline for the obstacle course. Bright colors, soft mats, a giant pool filled with plastic balls—it was like a baby fever dream.

So now Sam is crawling through the world’s tightest tunnel, hunched over like some awkward, miserable gremlin. He is sure he'll get stuck in the another one.

Vinnie giggles up ahead, tiny feet wobbling forward as fast as they can take him while passing through the sweaty, too happy kids. He doesn’t give a shit that Sam is suffering.

“Dude, slow down,” Sam groans, trying to maneuver through the cramped space. “I’m, like, ten times your size.”

Vinnie just shrieks in excitement, stumbling out of the tunnel and straight into the ball pit. He disappeared for a second—just vanished under the sea of plastic balls—before resurfacing with the happiest, drooliest grin ever.

Sam is sure someone made a pop down there.

And he wants to be mad. He really does. But god, Vinnie is cute. Too cute. How the hell is it possible it's his genes?

He sighs, finally reaching the opening and sliding into the ball pit with a lot less grace.

Plastic balls go flying.

Someone did a pop, he is sure of it. He remembers it. He won't forget it.

Vinnie lets out a shriek-laugh, grinning so hard it looks like it physically hurts whole he claps those pudgy hands at them doing something extraordinary toge

Sam acts annoyed, but when Vinnie wobbles up to him and throws his tiny arms around his neck, Sam just—melts.

"Alright, alright, don't get all clingy," he mutters, but his arms wrap around Vinnie on instinct, securing him close.

Vinnie just giggles, face squishing against Sam’s collarbone.

“You like this, huh?” Sam sighs, chin resting on his son’s curly hair.

Vinnie babbles something completely incoherent, but his happiness is loud and clear.

He presses a small, secret kiss to the top of Vinnie’s head “Happy Valentine’s, dude.”

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