#its fun to put these in a gif together

[s4tj]

that one time when i did a shiny latias model

[leechaeryeonqs-moved]

BELIEVE THAT IN THIS MOMENT, A MIRACLE WILL APPEAR.

CARATBLR GIFT EXCHANGE, pt. 3 of 3 @96z !

[mechazushi]

Watercolor Memories

"And where are we at on the budget for the Research and Development Department?" Jozu Nogizaka, the Chief of Staff for Ariaka base asked from his seat at the conference table.

All the higher ups for the First Division were settled in one of the larger meeting rooms for the bi-monthly debriefing where everyone with an important job title get together to make sure everyone is on the same page. Not only was the Chief of Staff and his fellow associates there, but the Head Director of the Defense Force, Isao Shinomya. His assistant as well as Narumi Gen were there as well, with all three of them in different states of mental presence. The Director was listening as intently as he could, seeing as he had the most to gain or lose from a lack of communication from inside his cabinet members. Ebira looked to be following along for the most part, but any light that would normally be in one's eyes had dissipated considerably early into this drool meeting. Narumi, openly picking his nose with his feet up on the table, had certainly lost any and all interest in this communal interaction a while ago.

Which made it a good thing that he had enforced his decision to bring Kafka Hibino to the meeting with him. Not being one for paperwork, much less anything not related to the active takedown of kaiju threats, he usually got dragged along to these meetings by his second in command, Eiji Hasegawa. Recently however, the base had acquired the biological enigma that was Kafka and once they had deemed him not an immediate threat, they had run out of ideas as for what to do with him. They still weren't comfortable with him traveling outside of base, but had decided that he could at least wander around a few select buildings on the grounds as long as he had supervision. Not one to miss out on exploitative labor, Narumi weaseled his way into letting Kafka act as essentially a personal secretary.

Kafka didn't give it any second thought once he heard the offer since it let him outside of his small, barren closet he had to call a room. It became clear that he should have since most of what Narumi made him do had him chained to a desk piled with paperwork or had him running endless fetch quests for food around base. Still, Kafka went about it without complaint. It was either this or working out his room all alone, losing his mind from worry and baseless fear. Hasegawa wasn't too thrilled about this new arrangement since it meant that the strongest division officer to date just got to laze around more often, but he couldn't deny how Kafka's presence streamlined the paper processing and left him open to pursue actual second-in-command duties. It even worked out better in meetings.

All Hasegawa had to do was drag Narumi with Kafka in tow and go off to finish more important tasks. Kafka turned out to be incredible at note and record taking, so all he did during meetings was make an abbreviated list of important facts that he could rattle off to Narumi when he actually had the capacity and care to acknowledge them. All Narumi had to do was show up and look like he was interested... which was turning out to be the hardest task of all. As the First Division captain continued to look at anything else besides those in the room, Kafka just slid glances in his direction and sighed heavily at the patheticness of it all. Everyone here had made several attempts to correct his behavior, all to no avail. If anything, they've been letting him get away with it more now that Kafka was here to cover his attention deficit ass.

But even Kafka had to admit he was with Narumi on this. These meetings were soul-sucking. It took everything he had in him to keep a running tab in his mind about everything that was being decided on. Even then he didn't have to think that much harder as to how to frame his notes in such a way to make it easier for Narumi to understand at a glance. This left him with plenty of free time in between important bulletins for his mind to wander, and in turn his fingers as well. Kafka didn't get a seat at the table during these meetings and was forced to stand behind Narumi the whole time as he cradled a small tablet to write on.

Holding it in one arm meant he had to type with one hand, which he got impressively good at as the days went on. But since the sentences he wrote were so short, it left him standing there inactive for long periods at a time. Something that would eventually garner judging sneers from the other board members. To avoid these leering glances and an ever present fear of reprimand, he had taken up doodling in the margins of his digital notes. The notes app he wrote in had surprisingly adequate artist's tools that he could pull up and use alongside his typed notes. He, of course, deleted everything before he handed the tablet over to Narumi to read later, but the habit at least made him look busy during the more dull sections of the meetings.

It wasn't his first rodeo in dealing with digital media, but it had been a hot minute since the last time he could only work with a lower standard of equipment. He grew up playing around with the School's built in paint programs, but had eventually gone on to dabble in more advanced programs built specifically for mobile. Really, it just started as a way to kill time at work until he could go home and get a hold of his sketchbooks. What started off as glittering fantasies of being the best warrior known to man being put to paper, shockingly warped itself into anatomical studies of the monsters he butchered apart for most of his life. Once a pastime turned teaching tool had now reverted back to a simpler time. One of daydreams and recovering of memories not yet lost. Kafka drew the faces of those he shared the room with as warm ups, but would quickly find himself trying to draw those he wished to see again more prevalently.

It was a dangerous mindset to find himself in. He had a nasty habit of getting too caught up in how Reno would hold his head or how Haruichi would hold a drink to remember to focus on the words being said around him. To be stuck in the past was never good, especially when keeping your job meant concentrating on the present. In a sick sense of bartering, his mind came up with the solution of instead bringing attention to his past relationship to his ex-vice captain, Soshiro Hoshina. It didn't feel like they were together long, but the memories of their connection burned the brightest even in the darkest recesses of Kafka's mind. Their circumstances had changed drastically from the shrouded image of domesticity that they had gathered for themselves ever since the reveal of what lay dormant in Kafka's chest.

Hoshina was mad about it, that was for sure. Kafka had become so wrapped up in the idea of being loved by the last person he ever thought he deserved it from that he actively shoved his biggest secret under the rug. All just to feel one more day of tender warmth from his lover. Recent events had forced everyone's hands and fresh wounds had to be quickly patched with no real healing touch behind them. Hoshina still came to base every two weeks to train Kafka in Squadron Style hand-to-hand, but neither one made any move to bring up how the reveal seemed to cut down the trust that had been built between them. With the looming threat of another coordinated attack looming over everyone, it had been silently decided that it would have to be put to the side for now.

Kafka was desperate to say he was sorry, in any way he could. That he knew he should have said something earlier, damn the fact that their budding attachment to each other was about as stable as a newborn deer's legs. You don't hide the fact that you have an alien entity buried in your chest just because you want to see how far you can get away with courting above your military station. It wasn't just to see if he could either; He never viewed their love as something so empty and vain. Kafka more than looked up to him. Hoshina was the pinnacle of everything he ever wanted to be growing up. And that same person was looking back at him and telling Kafka that he had a chance; that he believed in him no matter how small that chance was. He wanted to be anything and everything that Hoshina could ever want to see in a partner, in someone that could stand by his side as well as Mina's. Hoshina loving him back was just a bonus.

Kafka just had to hope there would be a moment where he could put it all into words.

"Narumi, if you keep bouncing your heel against the table, I will not hesitate to assign you to janitorial duty for a year." Director Shinomiya gruffly commanded from his seat at the head of the table.

"It's not my fault you geezers are talking about dull shit. Losing my mind over here." Narumi groaned as he moved the offending foot off of the table, the movement snapping Kafka out of his spiraling misery.

"This "Dull Shit" as you so put it is critical for the defense of the nation!" Jozu declared as a fist bounced firmly on the boardroom table.

As Narumi began to engage in a battle of differences with the Chief of Staff, Shinomiya stole a brief look at the wall clock, "Tell you what. If you can tell the group what the last subject we were discussing was, I'll dismiss this meeting early."

"Uhhh... okay. Yeah, sure, I can do that." Narumi drawled as he was caught unaware by the proposition.

"The last thing we were talking about was..." Narumi chewed on his lip as he tried his best to think back to what the conversation was about in the first place. He threw several pleading glances back as a distracted Kafka before leaning back in his chair.

"Psst! Help me out here!" He harshly whispered, his lips almost curling into a snarl from how long it was taking Kafka to answer him.

Kafka fingers flew frantically over the screen as he tried to find the last place he left off in his notes for the meeting. As soon as he found it, he leaned down to Narumi's ear to whisper the answer back.

"We were about to move away from talking about the budget for the R&D department!" Narumi claimed with as much confidence as he could muster.

As everyone in the room glared disapprovingly for a moment longer than comfortable, Narumi began to direct the collective brunt of the glare back towards Kafka, who was visibly sweating buckets. A loud and disappointed sigh soon broke the uncomfortable silence before a creaking of a chair was heard from the head of the table.

"Meeting Adjourned." The director ordered as he stood up, the toll of the meeting now seen more clearly in the lines of his usually impassive face.

While everyone there would have gone on record stating that these meetings were important and necessary to have, it wouldn't have taken a trained eye to see just how fast everyone was leaving the board room. Even the Director let out a low gasp of relief, his sinking shoulders betraying his stone visage in the smallest way possible. Not waiting for more people to leave the room, Narumi didn't hesitate to drag Kafka out by the collar and pulled him out into the connecting hallway. Hoping to corner Kafka somewhere a little more private, he dropped his hand and sauntered away knowing his subordinate would follow closely behind. Narumi had long since caught on to Kafka's tactic of playing around with the tablet to give the appearance of being busy, but hadn't cared about it before now. Having almost been humiliated by the potential distraction made him wonder what could Kafka be doing that garnered so much divided attention. Once they had made a more comfortable distance away from the board room did Narumi start his investigation.

"Mind handing me the notes since you're still here?" The captain requested, starting his attack early. The sudden question made Kafka shake himself out of his fog of thoughts and fumble around with the prematurely dismissed tablet.

"Yeah, sure, give me a second." He answered back as he woke the screen back up.

"A second?" Narumi pressed harshly, leaning in to the irritated energy he developed back in the meeting.

"I-I just want to check for spelling mistakes." Kafka casually lied as a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, betraying his nerves.

"That's bullshit and you know it." Narumi countered as he made a swipe for the device in Kafka's hands.

"What's up with you, Mr. McGrabby Hands? Usually I have to print these out and staple them to your forehead in order for you to read them." Kafka retaliated as he had to dance around his commander, making painstakingly sure the tablet didn't fall into the wrong hands.

"Maybe I just wanna see what kinda shit you're doodling on company time." Narumi growled with determination as he tried every trick in the book to knock the tablet out of Kafka's hands.

"Pfffft, w-who me? I-I'm not doodling! I wouldn't do that!" Kafka sputtered as he cradled the device close to his chest while trying his best to erase all of the artwork he had scrawled in the margins of the pages.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Kafka. I would too if I could." Narumi continued to goad as he pressed himself as close as he could over Kafka's back, still in a battle for dominance over the hotly desired device.

"Here, here! Take it! Jesus..." Kafka shouted defensively as he tossed over the tablet into Narumi's surprised hands. Narumi took a moment scrolling excitedly, hoping that Kafka had missed a piece somewhere on the digital pages. His eager grim dropped quickly into a disappointed scowl once he was sure there was nothing incriminating to be seen.

"Told you." Kafka confirmed breathlessly, "Busy with spell checking, like I said."

Narumi eyed him distrustfully through his bangs as he stayed hunched over the tablet. His suspicions over his officer's habits had yet to be dissuaded, but he relaxed his shoulders and took ownership of the device nonetheless.

"Whatever. Anything you draw probably looks like dogshit anyway." Narumi teased maliciously, wondering what kind of reaction he would get if he did.

Seeing the ploy for what it was, Kafka made sure to keep himself looking unshakeable as he tried to stare down his current captain. Soon, the two of them heard a pixelated popping noise that was synonymous with the act of receiving a call over their government issued ear buds. Hasegawa's authoritatively dull tone soon filtered in with a slight crackle.

"Narumi. I request Kafka's presence outside in the West Quadrant. Is he available to do so soon?" The commander's right hand man asked, the sound of the wind unmistakable under his request. Narumi sighed irritably as he gave a long, hard stare right back at Kafka.

"Yeah. Meeting's over so he should be there soon." Narumi answered before he nodded Kafka away, signaling he could go.

Kafka silently bowed back and turned sharply on his heels. Narumi watched as he lightly jogged away at a clipped pace, clearly wanting out of his company. Making sure Kafka didn't come running back for any unknown reason, Narumi picked up the disregarded tablet once again and gave the note screen a thorough once-over. Biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes glanced over the back and forward arrow at the bottom of the screen. He took a chance and tapped on the button several times. His eyes grew wide as he watched the margins of the notes become jarringly splashed in broad strokes of color. Giggling manically to himself, Narumi ran off back to his office so he could study Kafka's colorfully intricate secrets in peace.

Fall in Tachikawa had brought a bitter chill along with the changing of the leaves. It came slicing in on those pervasive and penetrative winds, the kind that makes old men say "It wouldn't be so bad if not for the wind". Soshiro's brother often compared him to this type of weather, saying that if it wasn't for his blades, he would be easier to ignore and that it's more regrettable that he isn't. It was the type of weather that made every fiber of your body run for warmth despite it not being life threatening. Hoshina would have dove for a more welcoming form of warmth, one he had become intensely attached to shockingly quickly, but was forced to supplement it with one cheap glass of beer after another.

He wasn't normally a heavy drinker, not unless you counted coffee. Lately the nights after work had started to require something stronger than coffee and after dark training. Everywhere he walked, it was just another reminder of what he lost. Crumbling walls, cracks in the foundation, it all reminded him of Kafka. It almost felt like it was all taunting him. The cracks and crannies mutating into leering jeers, mocking and slandering him, saying he wasn't strong enough. That if he had taken Number 10 down faster, that the base would still be here, that nobody would have been forced to transfer, that Kafka...

Thus the alcohol. At least with something fermented running through his system, there was a chance Hoshina could redirect his brain to something less soul-sucking. When it was just mug after mug of coffee, all it did was make the thoughts churn faster and bring up every little problem he didn't feel like dealing with right now. With the alcohol, the thoughts were slower. Sure it was the same thoughts, but he could at least buy himself enough time and fake plausible excuses to make himself feel better. His first and most recurring thought being about his current coldness towards his most treasured cadet.

Kafka was a Kaiju...apparently. And he had somehow managed to hide any indication of this affliction during the six months they had been together. Hoshina was beyond mad about it -he was furious- but that feeling did nothing against what he already knew to be self evident about the both of them. Given a second to open his mouth, Hoshina knew that Kafka would spill apology after apology, be on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness. He would probably go so far as to say that he would understand if Hoshina would prefer to never see him again after breaking his trust so demonstrably. It wouldn't stop Kafka from trying anyway, just so he could have a chance to help Hoshina understand that he didn't do it out of maliciousness or genuine distrust. Hoshina had an idea of why he did it, but he didn't want to tear himself up over it any further by jumping to conclusions.

All he knew was that if he was given that same second, he would have cut Kafka's throat before he had a chance to speak. Yes, it was partly because that would be his sick idea of a fitting punishment for not saying anything about it sooner (It's not like he would die from it). But the bigger reason was that Hoshina wouldn't be able to hear Kafka even suggesting they separate over something so trivial. Well, it felt trivial to Hoshina anyway. Soshiro loved Kafka. Even as Kafka was being loaded into the transport, Hoshina had to dig into everything he had not to cut down anyone that would be in his way and drag his dopey partner off over the horizon to whatever sense of safety they could carve out for themselves. He wanted to forgive Kafka just as much as he wanted to forgive Hoshina, but God he was too damn prideful to let this go so easily.

It's not like they had any time to hash this out properly anyway. Not with the attack of Tachikawa Base acting as an indicator for worse to come. He went into his arrangement with Kafka knowing full well that what was being unsaid was going to hurt them both, but talking it out and trying to heal from what would be said would take up so much precious time that they did not have. All this arrangement was to Hoshina was a way to see Kafka one more time, to get to touch him one. more. time. This was his way of making sure that moving forward, Kafka had a chance to be safe, as well as keeping track of how he was feeling. After he explained to Mina what he was going to be doing every week, she wrote down a list of expressions Kafka makes and what they meant. Kafka wasn't just Kaiju Number 8 to the Third Division, and Hoshina had to work with what he could do to make sure Kafka felt anything but unwanted.

But by not saying anything, Hoshina couldn't get back the same treatment Kafka would return tenfold if he just asked. This was the one-sided, unspoken, understanding that sent him to the local bars most nights. He initially despised the the communal loneliness that seemed to permeated the atmosphere of these places, but soon found himself becoming a major contributor of the melancholy fog he once avoided. The dark wood walls offered a sense of artificial coziness while the bartender had a good sense of when to talk it out with a customer and when to just serve and leave. The man behind the bar never offered to converse with him, probably understanding with just a glance that Hoshina's problem wasn't something that could be solved with small talk.

So there he sat. Nursing a third mug of light draft beer and praying that memorizing the wood grain pattern in the mahogany in front of him will be enough to distract him churning mind for one more night. With his eyes crossing and his mind still not quiet, Hoshina quickly understood that he was fighting a loosing battle. With a tired sigh, he pulled out a last ditch effort seeing as he didn't feel fit to head back just yet. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll endlessly, the motions sufficiently rendering his skull numb.

It wasn't something he ever wanted to make a habit out of. He was always going on about how there were so many other tasks that could be done that were more beneficial than doom-scrolling. It made him sound like an out-of-touch senior, but he always stood by that sentiment. Well, before now at least. He hated to admit it but some nights it really was the only thing that could get him distracted enough to sleep. Hoshina pulled up Chatter and skipped over his For You page, preferring to look at more national headlines than anything the algorithm spat in his face. He had only scrolled for a short while before he came across a familiar account profile.

Narumi had had posted something earlier in the day and it was quickly making headway through the notarized list of most fascinating things showcased that day. Hoshina just rolled his eyes at it and quickly moved past it, not feeling like being exposed to whatever attention-whoring shenanigans that fool had cooked up for himself. A few articles later, he felt weirdly compelled to go back up and look at it with the idea that maybe he would feel better if he could glean some scathing retort to it. It might make Narumi's post more popular, but when he joined in the conversation, that just meant that it only drew in more attention because he chimed in. And some days that would be enough for him.

Scrolling back up however, Hoshina was blindsided by the subject of the post. Narumi had posted some art. Not only that, it was art that Hoshina recognized. Hoshina had spent so many hours leaning over the artist's shoulder, critiqued every little doodle that ended up on the bottom of incident reports, and had been the subject of many an artwork that it was impossible for him not to distinguish Kafka's deft hand on the digital canvas. Rounded patches of cool colors cascaded under crisp, but messy line work. Portraits were nothing more than organized scribbles, but the still life's were where Kafka really shined.

In the slim margins of what were clearly meeting notes, Kafka had managed to depict one of the managerial heads sitting across from him at the table, including the top of Narumi's head and boot in frame and in perfect point perspective. "He does not deserve to look like a Renaissance painting" was the caption of the post. Hoshina only caught the heading of the post as he accidentally backed out of observing the screen shots more closely. Looking around the edges of the post, he understood that what he was looking at wasn't even the original post. Clicking one link after another, Hoshina managed to dig around long enough to find the rest of the chain of posts, all talking about Kafka's art.

"My assistant is so cooked Dawg! Caught his ass doodling during a meeting!1!" Was the title to the start of it all. From there, it had devolved into a more serious critique of the art found. One post after another was about how accurate the details were. Occasionally, there was one about how stupid-looking a fellow defense force member appeared, but it just looped back around to the precision of it all. Hoshina wasn't surprised. After all he had the same reaction to the first time he had discovered Kafka's artistic talent. The memory bubbled up unbidden, causing Hoshina to sniff back a runny nose as he tried not to get swept away by his feelings. The memory continued to play in the back of his mind, projected onto the phantom screen hung in the back of his eyes...

It was an unseasonably warm day in March last year. Hoshina only had the new recruits for a few months now, but he was feeling like they were making lots of progress to breaking in to being the best soldiers of this generation. For a reward, the ground troops of the Third Division got to leave the base for a whole day. There was a slight caveat to this in that they were asked to turn out to a school spirit event, but none of them minded since it still meant they got to skip out on training for a day. In fact, it felt like they were more than happy to show up to the event and get the chance to inspire the next generation themselves. Some even went above and beyond, buying some cheap toys and candy to pass out. Kafka had gone out of his way as well and bought boxes and boxes of chalk.

Hoshina had been continued to be surprised by this man. Even still having only 1% aptitude for the suits, he continued to be a mainstay among the Defense Force. Once Hoshina made enough excuses for him, backed by Kafka's consistent information gathering while in the field, it started to feel like the Higher Ups just gave up and backed off. So what if one guy in their platoon only had 1% percent to spare? He was doing his best to earn his keep and with everyone else surpassing records previously held by earlier iterations of their platoons, it seemed like they could spare to have the extra hand around. Unfortunately, this did unintentionally classify Kafka as a mascot, but no one was going to offer the information up intentionally.

And it wasn't like the man wasn't doing anything to dissuade the mascot allegations. When Hoshina had finally cleared enough paperwork to come down to the school to let some of the other officers take off, he saw Kafka over in a corner of the school's lot looking like he was giving a very educational lesson. Dressed in cheesy vacation finery, that is to say an open Hawaiian shirt with a white tank and jean shorts paired with socks and sandals, Kafka had squatted down so he was eye level with his own congregation of children and was animatedly discussing something that had them all enraptured. Surrounded by buckets of chalk, Kafka was using one to illustrate something on the black top before them. Interest immediately piqued, Hoshina decided to slide on by for a visit.

Childish chalk drawings littered the lot around him as he made his way over, some appearing to have been abandoned halfway through. Looking over at where Kafka was, Hoshina could see a much more detailed drawing of what looked to be a fearsome battle of strength between a comically large Isao and a daikaiju. Just under it, Kafka had started up another illustration and was using it as a base for an art lesson in chalk. He talked in simple words, having to slow himself down in his own excitement several times just to make sure that the other kids were following along. He actively encouraged questions, surveying his grouping to make sure everyone had a chance to see and to understand. On his knees, Kafka leaned over his own makeshift canvas and was about to start demonstrating a new facet of art but suddenly stopped once Hoshina's shadow made his presence known before he opened his mouth.

"Wait! Don't move." Kafka said as he held his hand up without looking, "Don't move a muscle. Stay right where you are."

He took out a piece of chalk and began to quickly sketch the outline of Hoshina's shadow. One Kafka got all the way around his head, he started to sketch other details of Hoshina's face like his haircut and sly shaped mouth.

"I know that silhouette anywhere!" Kafka exclaimed as he finished his rough outline, "Vice Captain Hoshina! I was wondering when you would show up." He finished just as he looked up at his vice captain and flashed him the brightest smile he thought he would ever see.

The two of them exchanged pleasantries, but it was already too late for him. Once he knew of the way Kafka saw the world, Hoshina started to become more and more invested in all other aspects of him. Kafka's art was a gateway into his mind, and Hoshina didn't hesitate to walk right in. It looked so bright and hopeful on first impressions, but the more Hoshina hung around Kafka the more he would start to catch glimpses of things not being the case. Kafka stopped being just the funny man of the group to him after he found out about his talent. Much like other great artists, Kafka was as layered and as colorful as watercolor on canvas.

Thus began a months-long secret relationship with a man that was originally here off of pity and bias. Hoshina was thankful he could stop making excuses to keep him around at some point, because now it meant he could poke around at Kafka a little more. More intently, more personally. He always found Kafka fascinating from the get-go, seeing as his initial performance during the second test was surrounded with an air of secretive fascination, but that all fell away once he saw the shining facets of Kafka's mind. Hoshina felt he was no better than a crow some days, but the love and attention he received from Kafka just meant that he stumbled onto a gift that just kept giving.

Hoshina continued to scroll down the chain of posts, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears. Each new sketch, each scrawl and scratch of digital ink felt better than anything intense nostalgia could replicate. It was almost like a salve for his weary mind, an old childhood blanket that never aged a day, offering comfort and relief and sorely, much needed warmth. It had been so long since a hand-written scrap of love had graced his desk, Hoshina hadn't realized how much he needed them to continue his day. If snapshots of daily life at Ariaka made him feel bad, seeing any piece of Kafka's old life at Tachikawa made Hoshina's heart skip a beat.

Lungs hiccuping as he scrolled past happy recreations of outings long past, he wondered if he was going to be able to keep it together for much longer. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be seen crying, it was more so with how he felt right then. He felt like he was too open, his heart becoming too exposed. Like a bonsai being harshly shaped and molded into a memoriam of what he and his division once had. A flash of blackish-purple and the side profile of someone's cheerful face finally broke Hoshina. Slamming the phone on the counter, he brought a hand up to muffle an unbidden sob. He hadn't looked long, but he knew Kafka well enough that it couldn't have been anything other than his most favorite thing to draw.

Grabbing his mug of unfinished beer, Hoshina took off running towards the restrooms, not wanting to garner attention from the smattering of people in the dive bar he was holding himself up in. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the forced drought of affection, maybe just seeing Kafka art was the last straw, but Hoshina found that he couldn't take it anymore. Hoshina had been forcing a facade every moment of every day he managed to get out of bed. Being in a shitty little bar at the end of the night might have allowed him to drop the mask a little, relieve some of the pressure that the mask had been holding back, but even the Vice Commander, Second to Mina Ashiro in power and strength, had his limits. Seeing that Kafka still thought of him as a muse was his line in the sand.

He slammed the mug down on the long row of sinks as he neared the other wall. Turning sharply on his heels, he fell back onto the teal painted, concrete brick wall as his knees gave out from under him. His brain felt warm, like it had been taken out of his skull and been manhandled under the hot sun for far too long. His chest felt like it was in Number 10's crushing grip all over again, which honestly felt preferable to having nothing to hold him in their arms right now. A part of Hoshina wondered if he was imagining his legs shaking or if he really was being that fucking pathetic; drinking alone, crying in a dirty dive bar bathroom, killing himself over his iron sense of pride. No part of him was delusional enough however to deny the boiling streams of tears falling down his tired eyes as they fell onto his tightly gripped phone.

With just one glance, the same comfort Kafka's art gave him rendered him a sopping mess. He was the one that told Kafka not to get attached to his team-mates, and now here he was, being reminded all over again as to why he should've taken his own advice. It was stupid, it was demeaning, and it was all his fault. Sitting here, on the floor of a place he never would have walked into before he met Kafka, one thought fought it's way through the tears and tinnitus and made him confront this one, now ever present fact about himself. Given the chance to start all over again, to have never been close to Kafka in the first place and had just investigated what he first considered to be a threat, Hoshina... wouldn't have taken it. Kaiju or not, Hoshina would never give that man up for anything.

And yet he did. Because if he really held true to what he wanted, Kafka would still be at Tachikawa, not halfway up the country in another base being placated with busy work because no one trusts him with anything important anymore. For the longest time, hell even to this night, Hoshina's mind continued to waver back and forth over whether or not he ever really had a chance to fight the powers that be. Whether he really could have helped Kafka to stay or if it all was genuinely out of his hands, then and now. Like any of it matters this late at night anyway. Beds had been made, but all Hoshina could do was wish to lie in the one he made with Kafka.

Well... as much as it killed him right at this moment, at least he had Kafka's art. Art was supposed to make people feel something anyway, right? This was just another check mark on the long list of incredible things Kafka was capable of. Taking slow, deep breaths until after the tears stopped, Hoshina prepared himself to look again. The pain of the memory was great, but forcing oneself to not feel anything was starting to be worse. Grabbing the glass of beer from the counter, Hoshina wiped the spilled tears off the screen and turned it back on.

It was just what he expected, really. The last two posts containing about eight images total were all just head shots of Hoshina with different expressions. "Okay, this is just embarrassing. Why is there so many pics of this schmuck?" Was the first post's title, a little rude but a genuine question for those unprepared for the full weight of Kafka's unyielding need to have Hoshina be his inspiration. He let out a small giggle as he took a sip of beer, remembering Kafka's weird obsession with scribbling out rough outlines of his face in the corners of anything paper-like he could get his hands on. Several pages of his notebooks dedicated to kaiju anatomy specifically were often signed with his face next to Kafka's name. Hoshina liked to tease him about it, calling it the new age version of carving initials into trees. Seeing the post sort of healed him inside just a little, knowing Kafka hasn't completely changed even with their undisclosed separation from each other.

The second post was where his tears started to threaten to fall again. It was still bust and head shots of Hoshina, but they all had a reoccurring theme of him in various stages of sleep. "I hate E V E R Y T H I N G about this... WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE ASLEEP?!?!??! I hope this is just some creepy stalker fan-shit on GOD." Was the title of the second half of the post. Again a... reasonable response, considering that their relationship was never public before now. Somewhere in the deep recesses in his thoughts, Hoshina had a feeling that this was going to come around and bite him in the ass, but being three beers in made it really hard to care about problems one couldn't immediately foresee. Sure made it really easy to remember the past, so it seemed. With every side angle, every illusion of light filtering over pale peach skin in every hastily drawn rendition of happy mornings past, Hoshina couldn't escape another trip down memory lane.

Kafka used to have a horrible sleep schedule, even while in the Defense Force. He was the type of person to fight every minute getting up once he heard the wake up siren due to staying up late at night studying. Hoshina was never going to admit this, but he was hoping he was going to have a chance to somewhat abuse his relationship status with Kafka and. . . encourage a slight change to the schedule. All for his own good of course. Can't continue to be a valuable member of the Defense Force if one isn't awake enough to contribute. Come to find out, Hoshina wasn't going to have to intervene at all once it was made clear that he didn't mind being Kafka's muse.

Hoshina caught on pretty quickly that Kafka was starting to get up earlier and earlier so he could sketch him at his most vulnerable. He hardly used paper medium anymore at this point, too much to drag around which made it obvious. He was the type of person that kept his illustrations close to his chest, not wanting to let others see before he was finished. Using his phone was just more convenient all around for him, checking all the boxes in all the right ways. As a birthday gift for Kafka, Hoshina went out of his way to get a hold of a phone that had a built in stylus. Every spare second Hoshina had to snag a glance of Kafka, was every second Kafka had his nose shoved in his new phone, scrawling away at it.

Which led to these precious moments they found themselves in while hiding from the world in Hoshina's room. Kafka had started to sleep with Hoshina at his place, working late enough into the night that everyone went to bed before he did just so he could book it over to his partner's room and stay with him until before morning. If anyone was to ask either of them why he went through so much trouble and risk, they both would jokingly answer that it was all for Hoshina's benefit because he runs cold and Kafka's practically a walking space heater. Really, it was for Kafka. That man would have spent all hours of the day looking and drawing Hoshina's face if anyone let him.

And that's exactly the view Hoshina woke up to most mornings. As his awareness slowly dripped back into his mind, he could feel his body was sprawled out at odd angles over his side of the bed. When Hoshina first joked about his plan to let Kafka stay over at his section of the barracks, he noted how oddly enthused Kafka was with the idea, but became visibly dismayed once the vice captain brought up how the two of them could never fit on his measly, military issued twin mattress. It wasn't long before Hoshina intervened with some supply orders and had a second twin frame and mattress smuggled up to his room. Snugged up against the wall with his pillow crammed under his broad chest, was Kafka; lying on his stomach and was most likely sketching another picture of Hoshina asleep and awkwardly positioned.

Hoshina did his best not to stir, knowing how easy it was for Kafka to break concentration when he was doodling. Keeping his eyes in that closed looking state, he continued to watch as Kafka chewed at his upper lip in deep thought as he was prone to do if he felt like he was struggling with a particular piece. Hoshina could watch him sketch his art all day if he could. The expressions Kafka went through as he worked told a story just as vibrant as his art could be. After watching his face contort from one of irritated concentration to comically restrained victory, Hoshina couldn't hold still any longer and giggled. Catching his muse awake, Kafka moved as if he was struck with a taser and instinctively tried to shield his phone from Hoshina's amused gaze.

"Come on, let me see!" Hoshina wearily droned with a smile, "I've been posing for you for hours." He sluggishly pulled his arm closer to Kafka's shoulder and gently massaged it, making it clear that he wanted to be closer.

Kafka let out a relaxed chortle as he complied and shifted just a little closer, "Uh huh, trying so hard to "pose" you started drooling for accuracy?"

"I do not!" Hoshina sleepily countered as he pushed Kafka playfully. The two of them giggled together as they liked to do, falling into that easy pattern of living that formed naturally when they were alone.

Suddenly not content with just a shoulder touch and a warm view, Hoshina slowly stalked himself closer to his bed-mate while staying under the thin sheets. He draped his nude form over Kafka's equally naked, prone back, slotting his hips over the lower officer's round ass and burying his face into the now super heated neck. Arms were nestled under the heavy frame as Hoshina took a long snort of Kafka's natural scent. He shifted back and forth a little purely for indulging in the sensation of another's heated being underneath him. Any and all thoughts Kafka had about continuing his daily morning sketches went flying out the window as he took the wordless affection with what was hoped to be a touch of grace.

'Seriously. Is there anything other than me in there?" Hoshina placidly asked once he finished absorbing Kafka's essence

"Kinda hard to say. You're always the most interesting one in the room." Kafka answered with a slight shudder, unintentionally exposing his neck at the languid tactility overloading his senses at the moment.

Nosing at the undefended area offered to him, Hoshina wiggled out an arm and took Kafka's phone from his hand. Kafka let it happen since Hoshina was probably one of the few people in this world he would let see such personal designs. His partner never had anything truly mean to say about his work, Even some of his more critical commentary was offered up as a joke which made it all glide down more easily. Those comments were only really applied to moments when Kafka was clearly not putting all of his effort into a piece, so in the end they didn't damage anything ego-wise. Some days it felt like Hoshina was the only person Kafka could get some genuine, reliable feedback, so it made him feel all the better that there was something he could do that occasionally impressed his commander on some level. Continuing to scroll through the list of drafts saved on his phone, Hoshina let out a concerning sounding chuckle at the volume of saved images that appeared to be about him.

"Geez, it's just one after the other with you isn't it?" Hoshina commented as he pulled his head out from behind Kafka's neck to look better.

"No no, keep scrolling. I'm pretty sure I have a few pieces that are different." Kafka challenged, now just as curious as to where those images went.

"From what, last year?" Hoshina jokingly asked as he looked at his lover more pointedly.

"Noooo, hold on. There's gotta be one that's more recent." Kafka answered as he took the phone back. He quickly scrolled the page back to the top and picked one from yesterday.

"Yeah, see? Some of these have multiple images." Kafka politely informed as he moved past a sketch of Hoshina drinking coffee and instead focused on a distorted self portrait.

"What even is that?" Hoshina wondered as he tried to lean closer to the phone.

"It's supposed to be a self portrait, but I drew it from how I look in your headboard. See?" Kafka said as he held up the image to the reflective metal bars that made up the back of Hoshina's bed.

"Oh, I get it now. Distortion practice?" Hoshina observed as his eyes flickered between the image and the inspiration.

"Something like that." Kafka confirmed as he pulled his phone back to search through the rest of his drafts for more evidence that he's not solely focused on his lover.

Hoshina let out a soft hum as he watched Kafka try to defend himself, "You know, now that I think about it, there was detail missing from that piece."

"Wait, really?" I mean, I thought I was doing well with the proportions." Kafka muttered as he went back to the sketch they were looking at first.

"See? Right there." Hoshina pointed to a spot on Kafka's shoulder in the image when it was pulled back up, "There's something missing."

"Really? Not to question you or anything- you're the one with a better eye for detail after all."

"Yep, this." Hoshina interrupted and swiftly bit down on the sensitive part of Kafka's neck where it met the meat of his shoulder.

Kafka sharply gasped as he accidentally bucked into the treatment, "God, you're a menace" He muttered lovingly.

"Hmmm, you love me for it though." Hoshina groaned back after he languidly lapped at the mark it left.

Kafka returned a kiss before continuing to move through image after image. As he watched, Hoshina found his various thoughts coming back to one central theme.

"Surprised you haven't started an art blog before now." He ruminated as Kafka pulled up another sketch.

"Used to, actually. On Chatter? Back in my late high school, early Monster Sweepers days." Kafka offered openly as he tossed an unimpressed look over his shoulder.

"You're kidding." Hoshina responded with genuine astonishment, to which Kafka shook his head no with an amused smile.

"Well show me then!" Hoshina cheered enthusiastically, shimmying impossibly closer to Kafka like he was settling down to a good movie.

"I-I-I can't do that!" Kafka retorted with the blush on his face quickly creeping back over his cheeks, "I couldn't remember the password if my life depended on it."

"You don't have to log in, you still remember your username right?" Hoshina questioned, now desperate for this potential snapshot of Kafka younger in life.

"I mean... yeah?" Kafka answered shyly, "God, this is going to be so embarrassing." He muttered before he closed out of his sketching app and opened up another one.

After several retypings in the quest to remember his old high school username, Kafka eventually came across the page after backtracking from someone else's old post. It was clear from the dated visual puns in the blog banner that it had certainly been a while before he had updated anything. They both cringed a little once they saw that it had been fifteen years since he had last updated.

" 'TheBestDEFENSEIsAGoodArtist'? That's your username?" Hoshina teased with dripping malice and astonishment.

"Look it was either that or something clever with Goromon. It was the last thing Mina helped me with before... well, you know." Kafka tried to defend himself, but any move to do so collapsed under the weight of the memory.

Hoshina noticed the way his face fell just that little bit and snuggled up closer as reassurance, "Probably for the best you didn't go with the second one. Probably would have confused a lot of people to come to your page and not see anything related to it." He mentioned as he squeezed his arms around his partner's chest.

"Well, it wasn't like there wasn't any Goromon fanart from time to time. Maybe if I did, I would have had a chance to be more popular." Kafka countered dolefully.

"What did you draw anyway?" Hoshina politely asked with both curiosity and gentle encouragement.

Kafka slowly scrolled down the page to let Hoshina take in the art. It was set to show from most to least popular, making it clear that a lot of people liked his funnier depictions of kaijus. Every once in a while, something drastically different broke up the timeline. There were several anatomical pencil sketches of kaiju bodies with various layers peeled away from them. From the skin to the veins, down past the muscle and right through the core of the bones, it was a study of raw power poised in a deathly still life. There were even notes and arrows that littered the borders of the page that pointed out something that couldn't be depicted through graphite lines alone. There were several and they all varied in quality, clearly bringing to light a growing talent.

A flash of color snapped at Hoshina's attention as Kafka continued to scroll past. Shooing his finger away, the vice captain took back partial control of the phone so he could see what that last image was. It was a digital rendition of one of the larger kaiju skeletons that continued to rage through the streets of Japan. What made this one different from all the rest was the fact that it wasn't just showing the skeleton, but the damage done to the surrounding buildings as well. Over all of it was a plush blanket of foliage, lacing its way over and under the long broken rubble and the now ancient looking remains of the gargantuan threat. It had set itself apart from the other productions of Kafka's mind, not only from its content but also from a still-fresh feeling of inexplicable melancholy. Such a bright picture should have told a story about new beginnings, but the only thing Hoshina could feel from this particular work was an odd sense of desolation.

"This one is quite different." He commented as he looked at it intensely, absorbed into the alien terrarium on the other side of the digital glass.

"Yeah." Kafka scratched the side of his head and sighed with bitter sounding heaviness, "Believe it or not, that is a vent piece." he continued as he pointed a quick accusatory finger at the screen.

"A vent piece?" Hoshina questioned.

He found it was an odd subject matter to use to depict intense negative emotion. Not only that, he had a hard time picturing Kafka illustrating something so calm and serene as an outlet for whatever turbulent emotion that could be concocting inside that thick skull of his.

"Yeah." Kafka sighed again as he took back ownership of the phone, "I drew this one after my... sixth? Attempt at joining the Defense Force."

He scrolled back up a little so Hoshina could read the caption over the attached picture.

"Just got out of the Defense Force testing lab again. Just gotta wait for an answer now, but I can already tell this isn't going to end well. Got a job interview with a kaiju cleaning department in a few days since I'm leaving High School at the end of the month, so lets hope that goes better!"

"Don't you think you were jinxing yourself a little with that caption?" Hoshina tried to jokingly ask, but it was clear that Kafka was stuck relieving his childhood blues.

"At that point you get a sense of what the instructor was looking for in their recruits. They don't really hide their preferences well, even when they're just glancing in your direction." Kafka answered dejectedly as he moved away from the image.

"After that, I had stopped captioning them. I didn't even bother giving them names." Kafka continued to scroll down his page, every once in a while another, similar piece of art made itself known.

He was right. None of them were captioned. He didn't know if it was intentional, but with none of them being named it seemed to add on to the sense of grief. It almost made it feel like these pieces were abandoned, which was not like Kafka at all. Failing time and time again in such a predictable manner would obviously break anybody's will, but the outcome of such torment had created these pieces. Now with context, these illustrations had ingrained themselves into Hoshina's mind. This was the first instance of him ever learning what a broken Kafka looked like.

"Here." Kafka quietly announced, "This is the last thing I ever posted to this account." He pulled up what looked to be the roughest sketch Hoshina thought he would ever see.

This looked more like a vent piece than any of the others he had seen along the way. Quick, harsh, and dark lines were strewn all over the limited space of the sketchbook this was depicted on. From what Hoshina could deduce, it was one of the larger kaijus with nothing remarkable about its appearance. The details would have come in later for sure, but it was clear that this piece never made it to that stage. From what he could tell however, was that this one had the potential to be one of Kafka's more disturbing artworks.

Buildings were flattened all around the corpse, cracked and broken apart like several city blocks had undergone a devastating explosion. The body was lying on its back, its limbs at unnatural angles. Its stomach looked more than exposed, more so that the explosion that leveled the buildings around it had been caused by whatever was inside the beast. It didn't look flayed, more so shredded and mangled- almost beyond recognition. While the others had been depicted with at least some sense of grace among the dereliction, this was far from it. This was agony and misery made pure and raw. Hoshina was almost glad that Kafka didn't finish this one. He hadn't known that his officer had such an ability to express such pain from just a bare-bones sketch, and he hoped that Kafka would never have to again.

"Told myself if I made this final test, I would finish it." Kafka's cold and stoic words broke the trance the image had held over Hoshina at that moment. "Not hard to guess what happened."

"You finally did make it though, haven't you?" Hoshina offered as a small token of relief against the unintentional strife he didn't know he would be causing that day.

The Kaiju Alert system went off before Kafka could give back an answer.

There wasn't a day that hadn't gone by where Hoshina had wondered if there was anything better he could have said in that moment. What even was there to say? Better late than never? You made it anyway, despite everything? He knew Kafka wouldn't take any of those as consolation. After all, Kafka still hadn't made it, per se. He wasn't by Mina's side like he promised all those years ago. It didn't help Hoshina was technically standing in the way of that, and that wasn't even getting into their unapproved relationship or the whole "Defense Force's New Kaiju Pet" situation. Even if it wasn't expressed through his art, Hoshina knew that it was probably still chewing Kafka up inside.

At least their current situation hadn't caused Kafka's art to revert back to his earlier standard of subjects. That meant that there was still something he was holding onto, some semblance of hope or light that managed to drag Kafka through each day. Which was more than Hoshina could say for himself. He couldn't show it, but he had long since lost any hope for a sign that things had a chance to go back to normal. That was just the case some days, having to adjust to what could potentially be a permanent change in schedule.

Hoshina really didn't want that to be the case. If he had any true, real power, he would tell the directors to shove it and have Kafka back at Tachikawa by morning. But he couldn't. The best he could do was arrange these weekly visits under the guise of training and nothing else, and that "Nothing Else" clause was what was truly killing him on the inside. Despite the pride, despite the resentment, he wanted to see Kafka again- really see Kafka again, Not just for training but to hang out and have dinner together again, to wake up together in the morning and rush out the door before anyone could question them again. The only thing stopping it all from continuing was time...

...Or was it? Looking back through the drawings showing moments from before everything went to shit, Hoshina started asking questions he had thought he had already answered but only gave slapdash, shoddy excuses as a stopgap for the emotions he wasn't ready to deal with. Yes, they didn't know how much more time they would have together, but most normal people would take that as an excuse to do everything they could to spend more time together. The real fact of the matter was, it wasn't Hoshina using a lack of time as an excuse to hold off having the one conversation that was the key to fixing his lack-of-a-relationship-woes. It wasn't just keeping up the excuse of not wanting to further complicate their already uncertain future. At the core of it all, Hoshina just didn't want to admit that he was a petty, prideful man.

Kafka being a Kaiju didn't bother him in the slightest. If anything, he would have probably have been milking that excuse dry to weasel his way around any potential hiccups that would be stemming from his technically inappropriate relationship to his subordinate. What really bothered Hoshina the most about this whole unfortunate situation was the fact that it felt like Kafka didn't trust him enough to tell him about his situation before now! It boiled his blood some days when he remembered that Reno and Kikoru both knew about Kafka's condition before he did. He was also aware of the circumstances surrounding how those two ended up finding out, but he always felt like he was dealt a similar opportunity and somehow that information was denied anyway. They were dating! They were serious! What do you mean Kafka never felt like telling him?

It wasn't until about a month into their awkward separation treatment that Hoshina stopped and thought about why Kafka held it back from him. Even if Kafka did trust him completely, there was no guarantee it wouldn't have made things worse. Kafka could have proven seven ways from Sunday that he could be trusted to fight alongside others, but there would always be doubt. Hoshina wouldn't have been able to offer any certainty to Kafka that the captains or the directors could be trusted with his unusual situation. Hell, if Kafka had told him in the earliest days of their relationship, there might have been a chance that Hoshina would have been the one to give his partner a reason to never trust again. Solely because of the pressure from his job, of course, but if push had come to shove then... Hoshina had a feeling that things would not have ended up as passively as they are now.

In the end, Hoshina had no right to blame Kafka or hold anything against him. At this point, the silent-not-silent treatment was purely because Hoshina's pride was wounded from the insinuation. Now that fire that kept his ruefulness going was practically down to the embers. Even the resolve to not be the first to apologize was dwindling. It became clear all of a sudden that Kafka was never going to be the one to apologize for withholding information because he follows Hoshina's initiative. If he's the one acting like it's not a good time to hash out one's feelings for each other, then Kafka will sit tight and hold his tongue until Hoshina makes any sort of indication that he's ready to listen. Kafka's just as good at respecting boundaries as he is following orders, but it certainly makes it harder on Hoshina when he knows he's the one at fault for perpetuating this purgatory he didn't mean to drag Kafka into.

Screw pride and screw pettiness, Hoshina was truly missing his man tonight and if the price of having him back in his was the cost of losing face, then fine. Having to eat his own words would definitely be a step up from wallowing in a shitty bar drinking shitty beer night after night. The beer would taste better with company, but in order for that to happen he'd have to find a way to open the door to a proper apology. He didn't want to make it feel like he was only apologizing because he was lonely, he really did want to be sincere about it. Problem was, he couldn't remember a time where he sounded genuinely sincere. In his line of work, if he was found to be wrong on something it would have cost him his job. And as far as being wrong in his friendships went, well... when everything comes down to a matter of opinion, one doesn't tend to care who's right or wrong then. This really would be the first time he would have to admit that he was both sorry and wrong.

As his hand unconsciously brought the near empty beer mug to his mouth, Hoshina came to understood that he wasn't even in the right head-space to come up with anything sincere, let alone sound like it. Looks like this was just going to have to be another problem for Morning Hoshina to work out among the other million problems he usually had to deal with. Most of those problems might just end up getting shoved to the side tomorrow. Once he figures out a way to get his Kaiju boyfriend back in his arms, a lot of those problems aren't going to seem so big after then. For now though, Hoshina just felt like milking whatever time he had allotted for himself in the bar, just savoring the crappy drink and watching the shit show Narumi dug himself into tonight.

By accidentally refreshing the page, he had discovered a fresh trail of posts linked to the chain he had already made. Turns out Narumi had started an argument with another professional artist over the quality of Kafka's boredom doodles, and in retaliation had tried his had at a self portrait. It looked no better than a child's pre-school scratches, but Narumi was trying to say that there was a basis for a new, hidden talent somewhere in the mess of scribbles on their screens. Hoshina just chuckled as he saw Kafka's fiercest supporter come to his defense in near-real time. He took a couple screenshots of the conversation with the plan to hold it over Reno's head later as blackmail. Might also become a teaching tool as to when and how not to feed internet trolls, who knows?

It appears that several other members of the Third Division also couldn't sleep tonight as the likes and reblogs of more, familiar accounts began to trickle through the now popular chain of posts. A lot of them had begun to openly theorize over whether or not Kafka actually knows his Vice Captain that closely or it's all just some imagery practice. If Hoshna wasn't under the influence, he normally wouldn't have started to develop this intense feeling of being out of the loop. If Hoshina wasn't under the influence, he wouldn't have started thinking about how funny it would be to stir the pot a little. If Hoshina wasn't under the influence, he would certainly have never acted on such invasive and impish thoughts.

Picking himself off of the bathroom floor and feeling like there was nothing to loose, Hoshina took a long look at himself in the mirror. Instead of reflecting upon himself and reconsidering how damning this could turn out, he defaulted to being the one thing he and Kafka understood all too well-

-the joy of becoming a class clown.

Taking inspiration from Kafka's continued use of his image and depicting it in any way, shape, or form, Hoshina decided to shed both his jacket and shirt and tossed them carelessly onto the bathroom counter. Chugging the last of the beer, he intended for some of it to leak down the sides of his mouth and spill slightly over his chest. Twisting and shifting under the bright florescent lights, Hoshina managed to find a pose that felt vaguely suggestive enough to his likeness and still looked tasteful enough to look like something an artist would use as a reference pose. Pulling up his camera and hovering it by the side of his head, Hoshina gave himself one more once-over before he took the photo. At the last second, he remembered some of the faces Kafka had sketched out earlier at the meeting, with one in particular being a portrait of him with his tongue playfully sticking out. A face he was sure done before as far as he remembered. Replicating the face, Hoshina took the photo and posted it directly to one of Narumi's older posts from this morning, one that was more directly related to Kafka and his obsession to his Vice Captain.

He posted it with the caption-

"Tell your "Assistant" that he can have his Muse back if he can promise not to cry into his sketchbook over it."

@margoteve <- felt only right to tag you since it was your headcanon about Kafka being an artist that caused this to spiral out of control.

@iceclew <- just letting you know I posted another story. I'll port a copy over to Ao3 later tonight.

@kafkahibinomybeloved<- you were probably going to find this on your own anyway, but I just thought I'd cut out the middle man.

[frosting-surfeit]

Iesu

[revelingrexan]

"...not very clever!"

and then Alastor cusses for the first time in the show :D

[miroslavcloset]

The day Thomas Muller became a national hero in Colombia (South America)

Because of my husband Thomas Muller's NT retirement, I decided to remember that time when he became an icon in this unknown third-world country~

Storytime~

Get something to eat because here comes my longest post ever and one of my favorite things to ever happen in this hellhole <3

No introduction is needed for the 2014 World Cup. So let's just skip to the good part. One of the breakthrough teams was Colombia, a humble but passionate team, they were having their best run so far, and literally everyone in the country wanted them to go as far as possible.

In a country where literally every day the government makes you hate every part of living here, the NT is always a beacon of joy to make us feel proud of being Colombian. And even more now, that we had the Best goal of the match and the Top scorer of the whole tournament.

After an amazing run against teams like Uruguay and Ivory Coast, the day came, when we had to play against Brazil. I don't know how it was perceived in the rest of the world, but here in South America, almost everyone knew Brazil was winning the whole thing, even with rumors of the WC being fixed to favor them (ofc rumors or not but still).

In the Colombia V Brazil match, 3 important things happened.

Neymar was Injured

Thiago Silva was suspended via accumulation of yellow cards

And the catalyst of this story

3. An equalizer Goal from Mario Yepes was mistakenly determined as offside and annulled.

Due to this last event, Colombia was automatically eliminated without the chance of going to penalties.

THIS is Colombia's Trauma™, you can ask any of us. We even have a popular saying we use to this day because of this 'Era gol de Yepes' (Like saying that goal was always legit). But we weren't sad. We were infuriated. We demanded vengeance, we wanted vengeance (We're way too passionate about this, what do you want me to say).

After that, yeah, there were the other quarterfinals, whatever, we didn't care. All of us were waiting for the Germany V Brazil and due to the rumors I spoke about before, we were very scared of Germany losing.

As an important note here, while we were very angry, a very good portion of the Colombians just dropped the whole thing due to idk post-elimination depression. On a personal note, never in my life did I see my country in such silence. I went out to visit my family and the capital had the most depressing silence I've ever experienced. When I tell you this WC meant the world to us I was very serious, a lot of Colombians went to Brazil in buses or walking to see the matches, and some even slept on the streets or stuff like that to keep on supporting.

So, the day of the Germany V Brazil match arrived, and oh boy we didn't have an idea.

At this point, very few of us were still watching the tournament. In the beginning, they were very balanced... And then the game started.

We already knew what happened in that legendary game so let me just tell you the story from our point of view. All of Colombia was rooting for Germany, we wanted, no, we needed Germany to win. Brazil started attacking first so we were quite nervous.

Then a certain player bested Brazil's clueless defenses and scored the first one for Germany.

Everyone was celebrating as if it was our own country, we started calling other people to turn on the TV, our family, neighbors, everyone. The stores and cafeterias tuned the match to see the ones that (in our eyes) did us so wrong, get humiliated by such a great team.

Of course, almost no one knew who this guy was, but Javier Hernández (the most popular commentator here) felt exactly the same as everyone else and loved every second of that first goal, making sure every single Colombian heard this player's name loud and clear, the one that avenged us. Thomas Muller.

Here you can hear what all of us heard that day: (Turn on audio to witness the insanity)

(Sorry for the quality of the video, I know it's ass but this was a recording from a fan from a TV 10 years ago lol)

Then the goals came one after another, and the rest is history. But to us it was special, we celebrated as if it was our own country. Here are some comments from Colombians:

T: Thanks for avenging us Germany

T: Forbidden to forget this match, when all of us were German for 90Min, Thanks! (Germany x4 Trophies) I'll never get over him and neither any colombian, Thomas Muller 7-1 / 8-2

T: Muller 2014: 7-1 Muller 2020: 8-2 He's always in every historic scoring in football

T: In that match All of Colombia was Germany

And like those you can find hundreds and hundreds. The day after the match we kept on celebrating, the memes were everywhere, especially one where James (our star player) called Thomas and asked him to score against Brazil (ofc that never happened, was a silly meme that reflected the general feeling). Also, I clearly remember the news and variety shows on national channels opening their broadcast greeting in German (or at least trying lol). It was so funny and at the end, we received our NT and celebrated their progress and Germany won the cup.

Pretty much a happy ending for everyone.

[cosmic-bones6]

@devilcantspeell so ya blow him up with your mind huh ?!....poor boy new it was gonna happen too...

[skitskatdacat63]

I have a problem.

Further evidence:

[thekidsarentalright]

only a week till i see olivia rodrigo live aughhhh

[cherrysinner]

ANTI-BULLYING ASSEMBLY ♡

♡ pairing: husband!clark x teacher!reader

♡ summary: when your school's principal catches you on the phone with superman, not realizing it's your husband, you come up with an excuse as to why you were on the phone with him.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! wc: 1.3k

♡ author's note: i feel like clark with a teacher wife makes a lot of sense!! i had sm fun writing this!! feel free to send me some clark requests + read something similar!

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST ♡

"sooo, your ma finally gave me the recipe for her casserole. yes, that casserole." you laughed into the phone, when you heard your husband's excitement over the phone, "and i was thinking i'd drop by the store to get the ingredients and make it tonight. can't guarantee that it'll be just as good, but martha said that the most important ingredient was love."

"i'm sure it's going to be delicious." you could hear clark smiling through the phone, as well as a slight swoosh!

"what have we talked about texting and flying, mister?" you scolded playfully as you took out a stack of exams for your students, "well, technically i'm speaking on the phone and flying." "and technically i'm still gonna scold you when you get home tonight."

"i'll bring dessert from papa's donuteria?"

"fine, you're forgiven." you chuckle softly, "and you better make sure your superman duties don't take too long, or there'll be hell to pay."

"of course they won't. have a good day at work, honey."

"you too." you smile, hanging up your phone, only now realizing that someone was standing right outside your classroom door, the middle-aged woman's eyes wide and jaw slack. you clear your throat, putting on a friendly smile, "principal kelly! i was just on the phone with my hu—"

"superman."

"whhhaaaat?"

"i couldn't help but overhear you just say superman." the woman clapped her hands together, "mrs. kent, were you just talking to superman?"

"no, no." you clear your throat, "i mean, that'd be strange. how could i have superman's number?" you let out an awkward chuckle, your forming into a tight smile.

"well, your husband works with him, doesn't he?"

at the reminder of clark's supposed connection to superman, a lightbulb turns on over your head and you clapped your hands together, "oh, yes! i was indeed talking to superman. my husband gave me his number."

"how come were you talking to him at this lunchtime?" the woman looks down at her watch, "did you tell him about the bullying problem we've been having?"

"yes, i did!" you cleared your throat, "i actually asked superman if he could… come have a… talk. about how bad bullying is. i feel like he's a figure that many of the kids look up to and it might help."

"oh, that's a fantastic idea!" the woman exclaimed, "do you think he would do that?" "well, i think i can find a way to convince him..." you smiled awkwardly.

you hear the front door close the moment the infamous kent casserole is out of the oven, listening as he takes off his shoes and places his satchel down on its usual spot. you chuckle softly, your husband coming into the kitchen with a wide smile and a white box with 'papa's donuteria' written on it, placing it down on the dining table, his jacket already ditched and tie loose around his collared shirt.

"hi." clark bends slightly to press a kiss on your cheek, "i could smell the casserole. it smells just as good as my ma's." "good. i remembered her advice and put extra love in." clark turned to take some plates out of the cupboard, placing them on the table as you looked for forks and knives.

once the table was set and the two of you had sat down, you pursed your lips in thought, watching as your husband started serving himself food; however, when you didn't start putting food on your own plate, clark furrowed his brows, blue eyes flickering from your empty plate to your eyes, "what's wrong?"

"i... i have a favor to ask you." your husband nodded, telling you to continue, and you took your husband's ringed hand in yours, rubbing it, "so, today, principal kelly... heard me talking to you. well, more specifically, she heard me call you superman."

your husband's eyes turned comically wide at your words, and you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "w-what...?" he mumbled, his throat dry. the hand that wasn't in yours took off his glasses, and he rubbed the corner of his eyes. "she knows?"

"oh, no! god, no." you let out a soft chuckle when you realized what your husband must be thinking, "no, she just knows that i have superman's number... she thought i got it because you two work together."

"oh." clark let out a breath, "whew, you scared me." the man shook his head as if shaking the thought away, stroking your hand with his thumb, "so... what's the favor, honey?"

"there's been some issues with bullying at my school, and i was wondering if superman would be willing to come by, maybe give a little talk on why it's bad...?" you looked at him with a slightly pleading look on your face, your husband simply smiling, bringing his hand to his lips and pressing a small kiss on it.

"of course. you don't even have to ask."

clark cleared his throat before speaking into the microphone on the podium in the middle of the school gymnasium, "hello. first, i want to thank mrs. kent for, uh, asking me to come speak to you about bullying."

"thank you, mrs. kent!" a gymnasiumful of students echoed back at him, making you let out a soft, quiet chuckle as you watched your husband, your head tilted to the side. "thank you, mrs. kent, indeed." principal kelly whispered in a hushed tone, "he really does look more handsome in person."

"he does." you smiled fondly as you listened to your husband speak.

after clark was done with his presentation, he received a round of applause that echoed throughout the gymnasium, and you started leading him towards your classroom. "you did really well. i think they really listened to you." you said with a wide smile, not even noticing the way your husband was itching with the urge to hold your hand, so used to doing that whenever you walked side by side, now tapping his fingers against his thigh to keep himself occupied.

"here's where the magic happens. aka where i pray that eight-year-olds don't pick their noses." you chuckle as you were pulling the door to your classroom open, "ta-da!"

clark looked around as he stepped inside, many of the walls covered with drawings clearly made by children, along with cards that had your name written on them in scrawly, colorful handwriting. you even had a picture of you and the children you taught hung up that had been taken on picture day.

"wow..." clark's reaction made you chuckle, your kitten heels clacking against the floor as you walked to your desk, picking up a stack of papers. "just wait until you see these."

your husband closed the small distance between you two, taking the papers you were holding and starting to shift through them; each of them a different kind of drawing of clark, of superman, a lot of them with messages like 'superman rules!' or something along those lines. "these are... of me?"

"they are. when i told them you were coming to visit, they got really excited, so i said that they could make drawings for you. i assured that superman would get them." you raised your brows with a grin on your lips, "did i do good?"

clark put the drawings down onto the table, bringing one of his large hands to cup your cheek, stroking the soft skin og your cheek, "how did i get so lucky?" he asked softly, his beautiful, bright gleaming as he looked down at you. "i love you so much."

before you had time to respond to your husband's affections, clark brought his lips down to yours for a soft kiss, your lips melting into his, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

however, the moment was cut short when you heard a gasp at the door, your husband pulling away from the kiss, the two of you looking to see a small figure skittering away from the door, your eyes wide as you and clark turned to look at each other, his cheeks reddening.

"i think one of my students just saw mrs. clark kiss superman." you mumbled, a moment of silence passing between you before you both burst into laughter, clark pulling you close to him, "what a scandal."

[barnes-babydoll]

You’re the Glue | b.b 𐙚˙⋆.˚

Pairing | New Avengers!Bucky Barnes x New Avengers!Reader

Summary | After a mission goes horribly wrong, the team ends up stewing in their own anger on the car ride home. You try to lighten the mood, but instead it makes everyone angrier. When you're down, Bucky’s there to comfort you.

Warnings/tags | Thunderbolts* spoilers?? Tower fic, fluff, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, yearning, cursing, nsfw, MDNI (18+), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, soft dom!Bucky, kissing, protective!Bucky, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering, your honor Bucky’s obsessed with reader, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 12.3k

A/N | Baby's first fanfic!! I’ve been wanting to write for some time and how fitting that my first one is about my husband. Please have mercy on me, I write for fun. It’s not great, but I had a blast writing it. I hope you enjoy!! And if you did let me know:))

Read on AO3:)

It’s a cold day. The kind of cold that sits deep in your bones, chilling you to your very core. No snow is on the ground, but it’s getting close to that time of year. You shiver in your seat, wrapping your arms tightly around your middle to bring warmth back into your system.

The car sways slightly with the intense winds, but Bucky has a firm handle on the wheel, keeping it steady. Silence settles over the car; only the occasional groan, sigh, and low engine rumble break the quiet.

The team just completed a mission, and though everything worked out in the end, it didn’t seem to matter. Many things had gone wrong. The intel you had gathered was bad, the plan was thrown out the window, and the whole team was out of sync. All of that caused a rift between the members in the car.

Bucky’s driving, grip so tight on the wheel that his knuckles are white. You’re not sure if it’s from anger that the team had entirely ignored the meticulous plan you and Bucky had put together hours before you left, or if the uncomfortable silence is eating at him like it is you.

Yelena is in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash, picking at the chipped polish on her nails. Her face says everything. She’s pissed. At everyone, but specifically Walker.

During the mission, he went to throw a punch, and instead of hitting his original target, he clocked Yelena right in the jaw. You don’t think she meant to get in the way, but she was just so occupied with getting the mission done that she wasn’t too keen on her surroundings. Now, a purple bloom of color is setting into her skin, along with other marks littered across her face and body, not unlike the others sitting in the car.

Walker is sitting in the bench seat ahead of you, closest to the window. He’s rubbing at his jaw, where Yelena punched him as “payback” on the walk back to the car. When Walker hit her, it was an accident. She didn’t see it that way; no one could convince her otherwise. You had to stifle a laugh when it happened because it was so abrupt, but also because of the clear shock on John’s face.

Ava’s next to him, arms crossed over her chest, and her brows drawn together. She occasionally bumps Walker with her elbow when the car drifts off its straight path, causing grunts and a string of low curses from the blonde man’s mouth.

Alexei’s eyes are closed, no doubt sleeping, next to Ava, who paid him no mind. You don’t think he’s upset with anyone, but the stillness lulled him to sleep, and you’re envious that he can nap at a time like this. But he can doze off at any time, no matter the circumstance. One time, you found him snoring upright while waiting for the microwave to beep, notifying him that his ramen was finished.

Bob is to your left on the second bench seat. You can feel the anxiety radiating off of him. Though he hadn’t helped out on the mission, he decided to come along for the ride. But he most likely regrets his decision now because he hates seeing the team like this. Bob always tries to lighten the mood, but he knows it’s useless this time.

You, on the other hand, don’t share everyone else’s sentiments. Yeah, every single thing was fucked from the start. But at least the job is done, and no one has any serious injuries, which is a win in your book.

Your head is swimming with ways to get everyone to stop sulking, but you don’t want to make an already bad situation worse. So, you settle on breaking the silence and suffering the consequences.

“Still on for movie night?” You say almost sheepishly, but there’s a hint of amusement in your tone. You’re met with silence. Only Bob looks your way briefly before his head drops between his shoulders, eyeing the floor. Instead of letting that deter you, you continue your pursuit.

“John picked last time, so it’s someone else’s turn. And I don’t think I can sit through another shit action movie. It’s just an excuse for men to blow shit up at this point.” That earns a strained laugh from the man beside you, but he doesn’t lift his head.

”Hell no.” Yelena grumbles from the front seat. “After this car ride, I am not sitting next to any of you.”

”I second that notion.” Walker pipes up, rolling his eyes in the process.

”At least there’s something we can agree on.” Ava ‘accidentally’ knocks her elbow into Walker’s arm again, and he looks like he’s seconds away from losing it.

You sit up in your seat, trying to draw their attention. “Oh, come on. We always watch a movie every other Friday. It’s tradition.”

John shakes his head. “Not happening.”

”I made homemade brownies, and I’ll make popcorn.” You put on your best smile, even if it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your smile quickly fades when no one answers. You glance around the car, and not a single soul is looking your way.

You lock eyes with Bucky in the rearview mirror. He loosens his grip on the steering wheel and gives you an almost apologetic expression. Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s a simple gesture but still melts some tension away from your shoulders.

You and Bucky have become friends over the last few months, or at least that’s what you’d like to think. When you first met the super soldier, he was closed off, grumpy, and didn’t talk much outside of a mission. But if you were lucky, you’d earn a stiff nod or grunt in response.

You strangely saw him as some sort of challenge. And you never backed down from a challenge. He didn’t have to like you, but you at least wanted to get more than a gruff sound from deep in his chest.

You started to memorize his schedule. Not like a creep, you just noticed the little things he did throughout the day. He wasn’t a morning person, so you avoided him until he finished his early workout. Usually, that changed his mood drastically; his posture was less guarded, and his expression had softened slightly.

He’d come to the kitchen after exercising, and you’d always have coffee ready, offering him a cup. Plain black coffee, just the way he likes it. You’d slide the mug near him with some sweet treat you had made prior that week. He would nod as a thanks, which had already been a small victory.

The common room was a safe place for him to gather intel or scope out potential missions. Pieces of paper were sprawled out on the table, and a soft glow illuminated his face from the screen on his laptop.

You caught on pretty quickly to what he was doing and started asking if he needed help. He always looked up from his work, stormy blue eyes meeting yours, and shook his head, no. Unfortunately for him, you were persistent.

You flopped down in the seat next to him with your laptop. His dark eyebrows knit together in confusion as he stared at you from behind his screen. You propped your head in your hand while the other was busy scrolling through articles, news reports, and random findings online.

You turned your screen around, giving him the vital information you found. Soon after, you began working together as a team, granting you much more than his usual guttural noises. From then on, everything was a breeze. Well, not exactly a breeze, but you considered him your friend.

Bucky made small talk in the morning over coffee, complementing you on whatever pastry, muffin, or dessert you made. He asked you to spar with him after John had slept in one morning. You were giddy with excitement that he chose you, but that feeling disappeared when he kicked your ass that day. Your chest heaved with exertion as your body slumped down on the mat, sore and aching. You knew he wouldn’t go easy on you, which was okay with you. You just had to step up your game.

It became easier to spar with Bucky after learning his tells. He would give you a few helpful pointers, which your original sparring partner, Yelena, hadn’t cared to do.

There were plenty of late nights between the two of you. You and Bucky hunched over a laptop, leaning into each other's space while researching and losing sleep.

But, if you’re being honest, you didn’t mind being sleep-deprived because you liked being next to him. Breathing in his scent, a mix of sandalwood, musk, and a hint of spearmint. Hearing the snort he let out when you made a joke. Seeing the corner of his lip turn up when you get animated about certain information.

It had turned from friends in your head to perhaps…more. You developed a crush on the tall, dark-haired man. Of course, you knew he was handsome; you weren’t blind. But you thought maybe the butterflies dancing in your stomach from his laugh or smile would go away. Then, his metal hand brushed against your skin. You’d feel like your world was turned on its axis and knew your attraction to him wouldn’t go away anytime soon.

As you sit in the car, gaze locked on Bucky’s blue irises, you must force yourself to look away so your heart doesn’t beat out of your chest. You tell yourself to try again to shake the team out of their irritated state. Maybe that will take your mind off your intense feelings for Bucky.

”We can order in Chinese. That’s always a comfort food of mine.” You offer.

Yelena turns entirely in her seat, shooting daggers at you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Your back hits the seat as if she stabbed you. Yelena never raises her voice at you, not even when angry, because she’s never angry at you.

You consider Yelena more of a friend than anyone in the car. You connect more deeply with her, for which you are genuinely grateful. But now, as she stares you down, you feel a sense of dread putting down roots in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” It comes out smaller than you intended, and you can hear the hurt in your voice. Bucky hears it and immediately tries to meet your gaze in the mirror, but your eyes are directly on Yelena’s. They’re usually deeply warming, but there’s only a raging fire right now.

“Not everything is a puzzle you can assemble and force the pieces to fit. You can’t make everything better. You don’t make anything better.” Yelena’s voice is booming in your ears, loud and harsh. You feel too vulnerable. Too seen. You don’t know whether to scream or cry. You decide to stay silent instead, letting the anger boil beneath the surface.

”Knock it off, Yelena.” Bucky speaks up. His jaw is clenched, as if he could say more, but he chooses not to. You’re glad he doesn’t, though, because you might just let yourself cry in front of the team. All anyone will see is just how broken and raw you feel on the inside. But the others in the car don’t seem to be paying too much attention. Either they’re trying their hardest to ignore it, or they’re determined not to get involved.

Yelena’s eyes haven’t left yours, completely ignoring Bucky’s warning. “I’m sick of you trying to fix everything. Just let it be broken for once.” The anger threatens to bubble up, but you keep it at bay.

”Enough!” Bucky seethes at Yelena, whipping his head in her direction. Yelena finally settles back into her seat, satisfied with releasing her wrath on you.

You take a deep breath in before you say a word. ”Got it. Loud and fucking clear.” Your voice is steady, firm even. You're not going to let everyone see the raw and bleeding parts of you. Not now. Not ever. You glance out the window, a storm brewing behind your eyes, focusing on how the buildings pass by in a flash.

You hear a soft groan in front of you, but you don’t look for the source of the sound, too busy stewing in your irritation. “Did I fall asleep?” You recognize the voice as Alexei’s. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and pats his thighs, sitting up in his seat. “Well, what did I miss?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Everyone breaks off in different directions once they’re back at the Tower. No one has said a word. Maybe it’s better that way so that everyone can cool down. Bucky follows behind you, keeping just enough distance for it not to be noticeable. He wants to check on you but isn’t quite sure how.

You’re quiet, and your muscles are taut, which is unlike you. Bucky knows all your intricate details, and you are far from a quiet person. Sure, there’s a gentleness about you, but you’re also lively. Especially when it comes to you talking about your passions. Your face lights up, and it’s as if the colors around you are suddenly brighter.

One of his favorite things is to catch you in the kitchen, hips swaying to the smooth music drifting through the speakers. You always seem in your element when baking and humming along to the song while your hands are whisking. Bucky would be embarrassed if anyone caught him, but it’s addicting. You’re addicting.

When the gentle parts of you come to the surface, it’s like watching a butterfly float through the air. There’s something so delicate about that side of you, like you're made of glass.

You’re constantly checking up on the team. You make sure they’ve eaten or drank enough water, or if they need a person to talk to. You’re always there. And now, no one is there for you when you need it most, which kills Bucky.

You’re speed walking to your room, arms tucked against your chest as if you’re closing in on yourself. Bucky practically trips over his feet, trying to catch up to you. He calls your name, but you don’t seem to hear. He finally gets close enough to grab hold of your arm. Not forcefully, just a light touch against your skin to pull you out of your daze.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden contact, and you stop dead in your tracks. You glance down at where his flesh hand is and then up at his eyes. He drops his hand to rest at his side when he has your attention. His fingertips tingle from touching your skin, and it feels like tiny jolts of electricity.

There’s a beat of silence as he clenches and unclenches his fist before he clears his throat. “So, no movie night?”

”You heard them, it’s not happening.” You mumble, your voice is so soft. He might've missed it if he hadn’t been beside you.

“Right,” Bucky murmurs back, matching your tone so he doesn’t scare you away. He wants to say he’s still up for it, but then it’ll just be the two of you. Then again, is that so bad? You stare at each other without speaking. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

”Look, I’m pretty tired. I’m gonna go to bed. It’s been a long day.” You rub a hand over your arm, where he touched you, and now he’s spiraling. Maybe she didn’t want to be touched, and now she’s trying to rid her skin of any trace of me. He shakes the thought away and gives you a stiff nod.

“Of course, you must be exhausted. Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

”Night.” You give him a tight-lipped smile before turning away and heading to your room, disappearing into the hallway's darkness.

Bucky stands there, one hand on his forehead, as he rubs at the growing headache. His mind is racing. He should have said so many things and asked if you were okay or wanted to talk about it. But Bucky was never truly good with feelings. He’d rather cram them deep down inside than open that Pandora’s box of issues.

He’s getting better, though, revealing the dark parts of himself. The nightmares, the memories that make his muscles tense, Hydra. Not to everyone, just to you. And you always listen. You make it your purpose to give him all your attention; he knows he doesn’t deserve that. But you give that part of yourself so freely.

He can’t just stand idly by while you’re hurting. So, he turns from his spot and wanders around the Tower to find Yelena. She’s not too hard to find. She’s standing in the kitchen watching her mug rotate around in the microwave with a cookie in her mouth. Bucky stands right behind her, hands on his hips.

”Apologize.”

Yelena spins around, clutching the spot on her chest right over her heart with her eyebrows raised. “Fuck, James. Give a girl some warning.” Her voice comes out muffled from her mouth full of crumbs.

“You’re an ex-assassin. You’re supposed to hear me coming from a mile away.” Bucky deadpans.

Yelena swallows down what’s in her mouth before speaking. ”I am off the clock. My guard is down.” She shrugs her shoulders, then points a finger at the super soldier as if scolding him. “Plus, I was chewing. I could have choked.”

Bucky ignores her dramatics and repeats himself. “Apologize.”

”No.” She whirls around as the microwave beeps and takes out the cup of hot water, placing it on the counter.

”Why?”

Yelena grabs a white packet from the cupboard, ripping off the top and shaking the contents into her mug. “Because I’m sick of her being so positive all the time.” She grabs a spoon from the drawer to stir the rich chocolate liquid.

“And? What’s wrong with that? This team needs a little fucking positivity.” Bucky snaps.

She twists to face Bucky, leaning against the counter and bringing the cup of hot chocolate to her lips. “Seems like you need a little positivity.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Bucky lowers his voice; his mind flicks to you and how content you make him when you’re around. “Listen, without her, this team would be nothing.”

Yelena tilts her head; her voice is thick with faux pity. “Are you saying she’s the glue that holds us together?”

“Yes,” Bucky says simply. Even if she doesn’t mean what she says, that’s precisely what he meant. You’re the glue.

Yelena quirks a brow. “Have you gone soft, Barnes?

He disregards her question and continues. “Just apologize.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I will…tomorrow.” She takes another swig of the dark liquid.

“No, right now.”

Yelena rolls her eyes and begins walking out of the kitchen, Bucky hot on her heels. “I’m tired. I’ll do it bright and early tomorrow so you can see her beautiful smile.” He pauses for a moment, caught off guard by her statement. She smirks at him over her shoulder as she strides to her room. He recovers quickly, following her again.

She snorts when he doesn’t answer. “That is what this is about, right? You can’t stand to see her sad. It’s breaking you. Making you have all kinds of feelings. Your little heart can’t take it.” Yelena opens her door, getting ready to close it behind her.

“No, that’s not-.” Before he can deny her revelation, she interrupts him.

“Goodnight, Barnes. Or should I say loverboy?” Yelena gives him a smug look, wiggling her eyebrows before closing the door in his face.

Great, he thinks, that’s what I get for prying.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s been a couple of hours, and you're still lying in bed, wide awake, to your dismay. You spent about an hour tossing and turning, then another hour staring at the ceiling. Now, you can’t decide between a blanket or no blanket. Maybe you need a glass of water, but no, scratch that; you need a drink.

You can’t help but play the day's events over in your head: the mission, Yelena’s words, Bucky. Your skin still prickles where he touched your arm. He was so gentle with you, as if you were fragile.

Of course, he knows you're not. You’ve tripped him up a few times while sparring, knocking him flat on his ass. That shouldn’t give you as much thrill as it does, but who can blame you?

Still, you think about his hand gingerly placed on your arm as he examined you with concern etched on his face. And, you had pushed him away. Not because you didn’t want him. Fuck, you wanted him. But you knew if you opened up and let him see how wounded you were, that would leave you more exposed than you already felt. You’re wishing you had stayed. Let him take your mind off everything, but it’s too late.

You kick your feet over the side of the bed and amble over to your bedroom door, neglecting to put on your slippers. You pad through the hallway, and a figure in the living room snags your attention.

Bucky is on the couch, a quilt draped over his legs as colors dance across his form, and he’s taking you in. You note how his shoulders drop and his features soften, almost as if he were waiting for you. But that’s absurd. You rid the thought immediately.

He pulls you out of your daze as his voice cuts through the air. “You alright?”

You shrug, gesturing to him on the sofa. “I could ask you the same question.”

His gaze flicks down as if noticing where he is and what he’s doing. “Oh, yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” He focuses back on you, no doubt wanting you to answer his question.

“Me either.” You tip your thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

You go to the bar, rummaging through the liquor cabinet until you find what you are searching for—a clear glass bottle with dark amber liquid. You couldn’t care less about how much it cost, but you can tell by the ornate design of the bottle that it had to cost half a fortune. It's not something you have the money for, especially before this job, but Valentina always supplied the best for appearance's sake.

You take two short whiskey glasses from the shelf, setting them on the counter before detaching the glass stopper from the geometric bottle. You fill both glasses halfway and head back to the living room.

You step around the couch and hand Bucky his. He nods in appreciation as you sink into the spot next to him. You’re close enough to feel his warmth, but there’s still some distance between you.

You take a sip of the liquid. A smooth, smoky, and vanilla flavor hits your taste buds and floods your senses—a welcoming contrast to distract from how shitty you feel.

You already feel a thousand times better, Bucky next to you, the liquor calming you, and the steady sound of the TV playing in the background. You tip your head toward the TV as you get comfortable.

You turn towards him as your arm rests on the back of the couch, elbow bent so your hand can support your head. “Having movie night without me?”

He shakes his head. ”No, never. It just happened to be on.” The corner of your lip lifts, and your chest warms. You can’t tell if it’s from the whisky heating your body temperature or the way he said never, and you think you might believe him.

”Well, you are watching a movie on movie night, so that’s a little suspicious.” You tease.

”Shit, I guess I am.” There’s amusement in his voice as a faint smile appears. He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, doll. I would’ve invited you but thought you wanted to be alone.”

You hum in response. “I thought I did, too, but I was wrong.”

Bucky’s tone turns serious as he scans your face. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

”Hell no. Distract me, please.”

“Anything for you.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You swear your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush slightly. Somehow, you know he’s not just saying that to make you feel better. You feel like you can breathe easier knowing that.

“Anything, huh?”

”Just say the words, sweetheart.”

“Care to share that blanket?” You think the whisky is calming you and giving you hidden confidence you didn’t know you had.

”I s’pose.” He drawls with a smirk on his face. You scoot closer, and he lifts the quilt, covering your legs. It was never about needing warmth, just an excuse to be near him.

“Much better.” You mumble.

Bucky stares at you, blue eyes flicking between your features like he’s trying to memorize you, and a shiver runs through you under his gaze. He clears his throat, running his metal hand through his hair.

“Right, distraction.” He leans his head back against the couch, examining the ceiling as he sifts through his brain for a topic of discussion. All you can think of is how distracted you already are.

“Oh, got it.” He locks his eyes with yours once again. “Alexei was riding the elevator this morning.”

Your eyebrows draw together, utterly confused. “That’s usually what happens.”

”For half an hour.”

You giggle at how strange that sounds. “Wait, why?”

”I don’t know. When I asked him about it, he said he was testing a theory and then swore me to secrecy. So, you can’t say anything.” He arches a brow. “I’m pretty sure he just pressed all the buttons, though.”

Laughter bubbles out of your mouth, exactly what you need. You’re hurt, and anger is a distant feeling.

“I have one.” Bucky nods his head for you to continue. “Ava phased through the bathroom the other day, and I was completely naked.”

His jaw drops, and then he proceeds to bust out laughing. It’s a sound you never get tired of hearing, probably because it’s so rare, but also from the way it makes your stomach do somersaults. “That’s the one place you shouldn’t phase into. Is she ever going to learn how to knock?”

”I wouldn’t hold out hope. She apologized profusely, but I know she won’t stop doing it.” You put your glass on the coffee table to give him your attention.

“I don’t know how to top that one.” There’s still a lingering grin fixed on his lips as he thinks for a moment. “I caught Walker watching Titanic. He kept telling me it was already on when he sat down.”

”I knew he was a sucker for romance.” You pause, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait, that means you’ve watched Titanic.”

”Of course, I have. People say it’s one of the classics.”

“And, what did you think?”

“It was good.” You can hear the reluctance in his tone. You give him a look to carry on. Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice behind it. “Jack clearly could have fit on that door.”

“Right?” Your voice goes up an octave, and you're grinning from ear to ear like a lovesick fool. “Yelena and I had a whole conversation about how they could've made it work.” Your face drops immediately after you realize what you said.

You let out a long breath, and suddenly, whatever is on the TV is extremely interesting. Your eyes are directly on the person on the screen, but you’re not paying much attention because your head is spinning again.

Why are Yelena’s words affecting you so much? You’ve never truly cared what other people think. But, then again, she’s your friend. Perhaps your best friend. Shouldn’t her opinion matter?

Bucky breaks your train of thought, not easily deceived by your sudden intrigue in the television. “She’s wrong, y’know?”

“Hmm?”

“You do make everything better.” His words are like silk, soft and comforting. You whip your head to meet his gaze. There’s a slight smile on his lips; the color in his eyes is swirling and shifting. It’s like a tide pulling you in and telling you, you’re safe. You fully trust that he will keep you safe, and you won’t overlook that.

You return his smile, and the light reaches your eyes. He parts his lips and sucks in a breath—it’s subtle, but you notice. You don’t know what to say, but settle on, “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Sure thing, doll.”

You turn your attention to the TV to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. Then, because that liquid courage is coursing through your veins, you rest your head on his shoulder. Bucky tenses beneath you, and you internally kick yourself for making him uncomfortable. You almost pick your head up. As if he’s reading your thoughts, he relaxes, and his breathing becomes lighter.

You stay like that for a while, enjoying each other’s company as you watch the movie. Your lids feel heavy, and before you know it, they flutter shut. You’re sleeping on Bucky’s arm like you belong there.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bucky noticed your breathing even out about twenty minutes ago, but he’s still watching you like you're a masterpiece in the Louvre. He’s scrutinizing every aspect of your person as if he’ll be quizzed on it later. He wants to pull you into his arms and tuck your head under his chin as you lie on his chest, but he doesn’t want to overstep a boundary.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this calm; it’s refreshing. To forget about any piece of his past for a second and drown in you. There’s no promise of nightmares or bad memories taking shape at the forefront of his mind.

Bucky yawns and leans his head against the back of the sofa. Maybe I’ll rest my eyes for a moment, he thinks before closing them and drifting off to sleep.

The sun peeking through the curtains stirs him awake, and he reluctantly opens his eyes. Your head is still a gentle weight on his arm, which brings a sleepy smirk to his face.

It dawns on him how this must look, and he realizes he should get up before any team member sees. Yelena’s already hinting at his crush on you. He can’t have everyone on him about how dopey he must look, staring at you like you hung the stars.

Bucky slowly moves from his spot on the couch, careful not to rouse you. He takes your head in one hand and shifts to stand up. Bending over, he grabs a pillow and maneuvers it under you. He delicately pulls your legs and sets them on the couch, draping the blanket's full length over your shape. Your body twitches slightly as you settle into the new position.

He steals one last glance at your peaceful demeanor as he stretches. He groans at the sharp pain in his upper back and neck, no doubt from the way he fell asleep. But he honestly doesn’t care. He’d do it all over again to feel any part of you on him. Bucky leaves you to get some much-needed rest as he starts his morning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You rise from sleep to the sound of clattering and blink a few times to adjust to the light. There’s a pillow under your head that you don’t remember putting there, and the quilt from last night covers the expanse of your body. You must have fallen asleep.

The recollection of last night hits you like a tidal wave. You were cuddled up on Bucky’s arm last night, which lulled you to sleep. He must have adjusted you before he went to bed. The thought gives you a fuzzy sensation in your brain.

The smell of coffee fills your nostrils, and you finally get off the couch. You drift into the kitchen. You spot Yelena and Walker talking by the counter. At least someone made up.

Walker detects you instantly. “Hey, sleepy head. How was the couch?” Yelena’s eyes dart up to meet you.

You shrug, stepping into the room. “Surprisingly, not bad.” Yelena turns around and opens the cupboard, reaching for a mug.

John nods and clears his throat. “Sorry for yesterday. Our dumb asses ruined movie night.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it.” You watch Yelena bring the coffee pot to the mouth of the cup, pouring the dark liquid as steam wafts into the air.

”No, movie night is important to you. We should have sucked it up and watched it.” He reiterates.

”It’s no big deal. That just means we're watching two next Friday night.” You jokingly add.

Walker chuckles. “It’s only fair.”

Yelena turns around and hands you the cup. You must have missed her putting cream in because now it’s a swirl of tan and white. You give her a look of gratitude before bringing the warm drink to your lips.

“Can we talk?” Yelena asks with a soft expression. You can almost see her guilt on display.

”Yeah.” You murmur as your hands wrap around the mug, soaking up the heat.

”Alone, dipshit.” She adds, shooting Walker a glare over her shoulder.

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching together. ”I was literally in here before both of you.”

It’s your turn to glare at the blonde man. He raises his hands in surrender and wanders out of the kitchen, mumbling something about women under his breath.

Yelena flicks her gaze to you and begins. “I apologize for what I said yesterday. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. If I could take them back, I would.”

Yelena glances around the room, trying to find the words to convey her feelings. “I wanted to stay mad, but you were changing my mind about being mad, making me more mad. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, though.”

You sigh, shaking your head. ”It’s okay. I should have read the room instead of pushing everyone to feel a certain way.”

“No, you were right. It was a stupid reason to be upset with each other. Although there’s always a good reason to be angry at Walker.” She tilts her head in the direction John went. You let out a soft chuckle. “Do you forgive me? You can punch the other side of my jaw if that makes you feel better.”

You snort. “Tempting, but no. I forgive you.”

”That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to replace you with one of the boys, and that makes me want to vomit.”

Your jaw drops in mock horror as you clutch your chest. “You would replace me? You wound me.”

”I’m kidding. No one could replace you.” Yelena hums as a thought pops into her head. “Barnes was right; you are the glue.”

You quirk a brow. “Huh?”

”We were talking last night. He was the one who told me to apologize.” She pauses, raising a hand. “To be clear, I was going to anyway. Plus, I never let a man tell me what to do.”

That causes you to giggle, and then you gesture for her to continue. “Go on.”

”Anyways, he implied that you’re the glue that holds this team together, and I couldn’t agree more.” She softly nudges you with her elbow. You feel your cheeks warm, and you sip at your coffee to hide how those words affect you.

Yelena rolls her eyes playfully. “Man, you two are ridiculous. Just kiss already.”

”What are you talking about?” You don’t even know why you’re trying to deny it; she caught you red-handed.

”Don’t get me started. How you look at each other, and Barnes is so protective of you. I also found you both cuddled up on the couch this morning when I was on my way to apologize to you.” Yelena gives you a look that says, Don’t you dare try to gaslight me.

Cuddled up on the couch this morning? That means Bucky didn’t leave in the middle of the night like you thought. He stayed. You bite your lip to suppress a smile, but how ecstatic you are is no secret.

”Ugh, you’re so weird. Remind me never to talk about him around you again.” She turns on her heels and heads out of the room, leaving you with a mess of feelings to sort out in your head.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s late afternoon when you eventually get the courage to talk to Bucky. You’ve been avoiding all the usual places he goes throughout the day because you're afraid you’ll tell him how you feel. Gosh, you feel like a foolish teenager.

You want this more than anything. You want him more than anything. But there are a lot of what-ifs to consider. What if he doesn’t feel the same, and then you feel awkward? What if you do test this out and it doesn’t work out? Now you’ve ruined your friendship. And worst, what if he has feelings for you and wants you just as badly? You won’t know how to act with that last one.

You ultimately said to hell with all those questions because you need answers, and the only person who can answer them is Bucky. You won’t beat around the bush any longer; if there are consequences, so be it. You can live with whatever outcome, even if it hurts.

When you arrive at his bedroom, the door is already open a crack. You softly knock on it, causing it to swing open more. His gravelly voice comes through the door. “Come in.”

You push the door to proceed forward into his space before closing the door behind you. Bucky is leaning against the headboard, one leg crossed over the other with his laptop on his thigh. “Hey.” You mutter as you step closer to his bed.

He straightens instantly, placing his laptop next to him. “Hi.” As he moves to sit on the edge of his bed, he sucks air through his teeth and his face contorts into one of discomfort. He tries to hide how sore he is, but fails miserably. “What’s up?” His voice comes out strained.

Concern is written on your face as you examine him. “You’re in pain.” You cross the room to stand before him.

Bucky tries to brush off your worries. ”It’s nothing. I must’ve pulled something while training.”

You give him an unimpressed look and motion for him to turn. “May I?”

“Really, I’m fine.” He shrugs, but even that gesture seems to cause him more pain.

“Can I touch you or not, James?” Your tone relays a sense of authority, but your voice remains soft.

He lets out a deep sigh and reluctantly turns to the side, so you have access to his back. “Yes, ma’am. You can go ahead and touch me.”

You’ve never been one for formalities, but the way he says ma’am has you reeling. You recover, though, positioning yourself behind him, a knee propped on the bed for leverage.

You place your hands on his shoulders, lightly squeezing his muscles and working your way down his arms. He’s stiff beneath your touch, so you gently coax him by whispering in his ear.

“Relax for me.” As if you commanded him, he drops his shoulders and lets his head fall forward. You increase the pressure and start to massage the knots in his neck, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. You continue to knead his upper back, neck, and shoulder muscles until you can feel the tension melting.

”Training, huh?” You ask as you carry on with your task.

”That’s what I said.” Bucky mumbles, evidently lost in the relief you’re giving him.

”Yes, but you’re lying.”

You hear him swallow hard. “What?”

”I know you fell asleep with me on the couch last night.”

Bucky picks his head up, though he hasn’t turned to meet your gaze. “Were you awake?”

”No, Yelena told me.” You pause, rubbing at a stubborn knot in his back. “You could have gone to bed, y’know?”

He nods once. “Yeah, I know, but,” the super soldier wavers slightly, “I didn’t want to.”

The confession hits like a punch to the gut. You want to press the matter, but as your hands journey back up to his shoulders, he rests a hand over yours, and you freeze.

He pivots to face you, his flesh hand still over yours. As he turns, your other hand falls to your side, and you pick your knee off the bed. “Thank you, but why did you actually come here? Because I know you didn’t come here to take care of me, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, you’re incredibly nervous. His eyes are locked on you, and his hand's warmth causes your heart to race. “Uh…it’s something Yelena said.”

Bucky grabs your hand off his shoulder, taking it in both of his—flesh and metal. He starts to rub soothing circles into the skin. “You two made up then?”

“Yeah,” the word seems to get caught in your throat from how he’s massaging your hand.

”Good, I’m glad.” He rotates your hand, palm up, and repeats the action to that side. “So, what did she say?”

You swallow hard to regain your composure, but your heart is still rapidly beating. “She said I’m the glue that holds this team together. She mentioned that she may have gotten that from someone else.” You give him a knowing look.

Bucky halts his actions and releases your hand. Then, he moves to the other one and starts massaging it. “I wonder who.” You arch a brow, and he sighs, conceding in his efforts to deny it.

“Fine, I said it and I meant it.” He adds emphasis to the last part. “You do a lot for this team; we don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.” You quietly gasp, but he still hears it.

He drops your hand and proceeds. “You’re kind, caring, and you always listen. Even if it’s not worthy of your attention. I mean how many times have you listened to the same damn story from Alexei’s ‘glory days’?”

You giggle, light and breathy. You flush a deep red color, and there’s no use in hiding it. “I don’t mind.”

”See, that’s what I’m talking about.” Bucky braces his hands on his knees and hauls himself up to stand before you. “You care so much about everyone else, but don’t let anyone do the same for you.”

He leans in, and you sharply inhale. Your eyes dart between both his eyes before your attention dips to his parted lips briefly. He notices, because of course he does, and the corner of his lip lifts into a sly smirk. He glances down at your lips in return.

Did you die and go to heaven? Because there is no way this is happening. Are you reading this wrong, or did he honestly look at your lips? You want to close the distance, but it’s not that simple. You have to leave before you do something stupid.

You step around him and begin to book it to his door, but he’s much quicker than you. “Where are you going?” Bucky snatches your arm before you can get too far. He spins you around to scan your face.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you’re sure he’s going to drive you wild. ”I think I might do something reckless if I stay.” You murmur.

”Then, let me do it instead, doll.” Bucky’s voice is low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.

He inspects you for any sign of hesitation, but there is none. His flesh hand moves to brush your hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. Bucky lets his touch drag down your jaw, tracing the skin there. Then, he takes a firm hold of it and brings you closer, capturing your lips.

The kiss is soft and slow at first, lips moving against each other like you have all the time in the world. Bucky’s other hand finds your waist, and he pulls you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. You melt into him, and one of your arms wraps around him as your other hand cups the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.

It quickly turns hungry, your lips moving with his in a desperate dance of passion. As it starts to get heated, his tongue runs along your bottom lip, requesting access.

You part your lips immediately, and his tongue slips into your mouth. He lets out a satisfied hum when he finds your tongue. He’s completely immersed in you. His tongue explores your mouth like it’s a personal mission to taste every inch of you. Your knees buckle slightly, and his hand leaves your jaw to grab your hip, granting you stability.

Your tongues slide and swirl with one another as your hand snakes up and under his shirt, feeling his bare skin. Bucky positions his leg between your thighs, and you moan into the kiss at the contact.

He breaks the kiss and gazes down at you. You’re flushed and trembling with desire. You're both trying to slow your breathing, but it’s pointless. He dips his head to attach his lips to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone. You grind against his leg, needing some friction. “Bucky,” you breathe.

He growls against your skin, sending vibrations through you. He tightens his grip on your hip and begins to help guide your movement. Then, he moves to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and licking its shell. “Tell me what you need, doll.” His tone is raspy in your ear.

Your breathing turns erratic at all the sensations, and your knees threaten to give out, but you know he has you. “I…I need you.”

“Fuck,” he drawls in your ear before pulling back to get a glimpse of you. “That’s all I want to hear. Are you going to let me take care of you?”

You open your mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. You nod in response, and he doesn’t waste any time.

“Good girl.” Bucky picks you up by your thighs effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. You realize you’ve always wanted to witness that super soldier strength firsthand, and now you have a front row seat to the show.

Bucky carries you the short distance to the bed and lays you down gingerly. He crawls onto the mattress after you and nudges your legs apart with his knee so that he can situate himself between your thighs. He braces his arm next to your head, hovering over you. You bite your lip at the sight of his bicep on full display. He lets out a low chuckle as his other hand slips under your shirt.

He lets his fingers dance across your flesh, reveling in the way you shiver. Bucky takes the hem of your shirt in both hands and pulls it over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. He hums at the sight of you before making quick work of your bra. He reaches around you and unclasps it as he lowers the straps off your shoulders.

He drinks you in, naked from the waist up. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.” Bucky plunges to kiss along your sternum while his hand wanders up to cup your breast. He trails kisses to your other breast before his tongue darts out to tease your nipple.

His eyes flick up to you as he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His hand gently squeezes and massages your other breast. You arch your back and you let out a soft whimper. You feel a heat pool in your lower stomach as the tension builds in your aching body.

“Bucky, please.” You beg while you buck your hips up into him to relieve some of that growing pressure.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop. “Shh…patience, doll. Let me take my time with this beautiful body of yours.”

Bucky switches to the other, giving each breast equal attention. You grunt in frustration, and he laughs against your skin. You begin to protest, but he bites your nipple, causing a new wave of pleasure to crash over you. You silence yourself and let him work his magic.

As he languidly kisses and sucks the opposite breast, his fingers toy with your other one. Bucky’s thumb rubs and flicks over your nipple, drawing a moan from your lips.

Once he’s satisfied, his mouth moves further down. He kisses and nips at your skin as he travels to your lower stomach. Bucky licks along the spot above your waistband, and you squirm underneath him.

“Lift your hips for me, doll.” He pats your thigh and glances up at you; his blue eyes are dark. You obey, digging your heels into the mattress to lift the lower half of your body. He hooks his thumbs into your shorts and peels them off, leaving you in just your panties.

He’s breathless as he admires the way you’re sporting those black, lace panties. Bucky licks his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. You’re thrumming with anticipation from how he’s examining you like you’re his next meal and he’s starving. He traces the outline of your underwear with a single digit. Then, runs his finger over your core, his touch feather-light, but it still causes you to twitch.

“Mmm…so wet for me.” Bucky plants a soft kiss to your underwear clad clit. He takes the lace band and drags it down your thighs. You raise your legs, and he slips them off and stuffs them in the back pocket of his jeans. You playfully roll your eyes, and he smirks at you.

“What, I can’t have a little souvenir of our first time?” He grabs the underside of your knee and hooks it over his shoulder as he kisses your inner thigh.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, I just kinda like that pair.” You jest.

”I can see why.” Bucky looks up through his lashes and winks at you. You giggle, and you’re sure that this man is going to be the death of you. “But, I gotta say, I prefer you in nothing.” He fans his hot breath across you as his mouth gets closer to where you need him most. “Such a pretty pussy.”

Yep, he’s going to kill you, and if it isn’t from that handsome face, then it will be from that filthy mouth. You smooth his hair back and out of his face, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He looks like a dream. Maybe this is a dream because he’s too damn perfect.

Bucky leans into your touch as you run your fingers through his long hair. His expression softens, and he presses a lingering kiss to your thigh.

“Can I taste you, babydoll?” His voice goes deep and husky. Your breathing stutters at the nickname; he can tell you like it.

“Yes, please.” Your eyes are pleading, like you can’t wait a second longer.

”Anything for you.” He lowers his mouth to lick a strip up your center. You whine and grip his dark strands. Bucky’s tongue dives back in, devouring you. His tongue works expertly on your wet heat, licking up your juices and teasing your entrance.

You writhe and squirm under him as erotic sounds exit your wide-open mouth. “Fuck, that feels so good. Your mouth is perfection.”

Bucky groans against your pussy hearing your sounds and praises. His metal hand rises to rest on your lower stomach as the other one grabs your hip, holding you still. He flicks his tongue over your clit before lightly sucking on it. He swirls his tongue around you in tight circles. You tip your head back, letting out a loud, throaty moan.

He lets go of your hip and traces a finger around your entrance as he continues to suck and lick your bundle of nerves. Bucky dips his finger into you and steadily pumps it in and out.

You whimper at the sudden intrusion, and your free hand searches for something to grab onto. You find Bucky’s metal hand on your stomach and grasp the back of it, trying to ground yourself. He flips his hand over, holding your hand in his as he works at your cunt.

He slides a second finger in, stretching you out and pumping deeper into you. Bucky breaks away from your clit, his teeth faintly grazing it, as he comes up for air. Now that you can see his whole face, you notice the way his mouth and chin are covered in your juices. It only adds to the intense pleasure you feel from his skilled fingers.

”You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles before resting your clasped hands on your abdomen again.

You can feel the pressure building inside you with every stroke of his fingers, and it’s overwhelming. You don’t think anyone has ever made you feel this incredible, and you never want the pleasure to end.

He curls his digits inside you, caressing your walls. You squeeze around his fingers, and he picks up the pace, wanting to bring you to the edge. Your thighs begin to quiver as moans and whimpers fill the room. “Bucky…I’m so close. Please, don’t stop.”

”Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He drops his head down, mouth pushing between your slick folds. Bucky doubles down on his efforts. His fingers thrust faster while he sucks on your clit hard, then his tongue starts to move with even more purpose—swirling, flicking, and teasing.

Without warning, your orgasm wracks through your body. Wave after wave of pleasure crashing down upon you. You come undone with a strangled cry as your eyes squeeze shut. Your hand instinctively pulls on Bucky’s hair as you ride out your climax. He helps you prolong your orgasm by keeping up with his ministrations.

He slows his movements to a stop and lets you catch your breath. You shudder with aftershocks of pleasure as you come down from your high.

He unhooks your leg from his shoulder and begins to kiss and nip up the expanse of your body. He inches up your form until he’s level with your face. Your eyes are still closed, and he chuckles low at your blissed out state. He plants kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and nose, making you release a breathy laugh. He finally places a soft, sweet kiss on your lips before leaning back to inspect you.

“You still with me, doll?” Bucky brushes a stray damp hair out of your face. You open your eyes, giving him a soft grin. “Ah, there’s my pretty girl. You doin’ okay?”

Your smile grows wider because he looks like an angel above you and has the nerve to call you pretty. “Better than okay. That was unreal.” You grab the back of his neck as your thumb caresses the skin. “Do you eat pussy for a living?” You jokingly add.

He gives you an amused look. “I can eat your pussy for a living. Keep me down there between your thighs and I’ll be a happy man.” He pinches your thigh to emphasize his words.

You giggle and wish time would stop for a minute because you want to stay in this moment forever. You snap yourself out of your daze and gesture between the two of you. “This isn’t fair.”

”What’s not fair, doll?” He gives you a quizzical expression.

”You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “I can fix that.”

Bucky climbs off the bed and reaches behind him, pulling at the collar of his black shirt until it's off. You’re faced with sharp lines and toned muscles like a fucking ancient Greek sculpture. It’s absurd how sexy he is. You don’t know if you’ve met a more attractive person.

You lean on your forearms to better view him as he continues the show. Bucky unbuckles his belt; just the clang of the metal makes a fire light within your very bones. He slips it out of the belt loops of his dark-washed jeans before tugging them and his boxers down his legs.

You cast your eyes down at where the material pools at his feet, then slowly let them glide up his figure. Fuck. You don’t know where to look. His thighs, chest, biceps, abs, dick-

He’s huge, and he looks painfully hard. Forget what you said before about his handsome face and filthy mouth, his dick will be the death of you. You’re sure that’s the best way to go, though, so you can’t find it in your heart to care much.

Bucky crawls back over top of you, settling into his original place. Your hands are instantly on him, tracing his dips and contours. His stomach muscles flex beneath your touch.

“Stunning.” You mutter. You lift your head to kiss along the spot where skin meets metal, and he quivers above you.

“Doll-“ His voice is sweet and warm like honey in your ear. You register that his cock is hard against your thigh as you trail kisses to his neck. You grip him firmly in your hand, carefully stroking his leaky cock.

He gasps softly at the feel of your soft hand on him. Bucky’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and his breathing is ragged in your ear as you continue your movements. Your thumb swipes at the precum that beads at the slit, spreading it to give you more purchase.

”Oh, sweetheart.” He growls, low and rough. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.”

You hum in agreement as you free him from your grasp. “Well then,” you move your mouth to hover beside his ear and whisper. ”Take me, baby.”

Bucky grunts and pecks your shoulder before pulling away to gaze into your eyes. His eyes are dark with desire, matching your own. He takes his dick in his hand and positions himself between your thighs. He runs the head through your slick and teases your entrance with his tip.

“Are you ready for me?”

Your free hand finds a place on his bicep in preparation, knowing you’ll need stability from his sheer size. “Yes, Bucky.”

He slides inside of you, nice and slow, taking his time to stretch you out on his cock. His entire body stiffens as he feels how tight you are. Bucky groans and his jaw clenches as if it’s taking every bit of control not to slam into you. You suck in breath and tilt your head back. He instantly takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing your gaze back on him.

“Eyes on me, doll. I want to watch you as it goes in.”

Fuck. You’re so turned on that you can’t even respond to him; you just obey. Your eyes are locked on his as he pushes inside you at an achingly slow pace like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

He bottoms out inside you, and you feel impossibly full. You’re just staring at each other now, your rapid breaths mingling in the space between you. Bucky’s giving you a moment to adjust before he even thinks about moving. He also wants to take a moment to feel you surrounding him; it’s overwhelming.

You have to remind yourself to breathe. The stretch of your pussy around him is intense. His dick is buried so far into your tight warmth it’s like he’s drowning in it, but instead you're the one losing oxygen.

He moves his hand from the spot on your chin to cup your cheek, stroking the flushed skin. He leans down and captures your lips in a hungry kiss, hot and desperate, like he needs to taste you. You reciprocate with equal fervor, your hand snaking up into his hair to deepen the kiss as your tongues merge.

He moves both his hands to grab your thighs and hikes them up to wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky’s metal hand settles on your hip as the other searches for your hand on the back of his head. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls it from its place in his hair. He breaks the kiss and brings your palm to his lips, before pinning it above your head.

He leisurely starts to ease in and out of you while trying to get a read on your expression. He wants to make sure you’re feeling good or if you need more time to adjust. But, instead, you softly moan, giving him the reassurance he needs to speed up.

“Atta girl, taking me so well.” Bucky praises. It only seems to make your core wetter, making it easier for him to thrust into you. You tighten your grip on his bicep as he snaps his hips into you. His grip on your hip is bruising as he sets a rhythmic pace, steady and deep.

His hand on your wrist lets go before his fingers glide across your palm to interlock your hands, holding it against the mattress as if to say, I’m here, I’ve got you. You squeeze his hand in a silent reply to remind him that you’re here and not going anywhere.

Bucky adjusts himself as his thrusts turn erratic and sloppy as his pace quickens, slamming deeper into you. He wants to see you completely fall apart under him. You moan loudly at the new angle he’s providing you. He begins to hit that sweet spot deep inside you over and over. The tension rises sharply and quickly, like you might explode at any minute.

”Yes, Bucky. Just like that. So fucking good.” The words spew from your lips like an erupting volcano, and you can’t help the sounds you’re making, loud moans and strained whimpers.

”You sound so pretty, babydoll. Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.” He reaches between your bodies with his metal hand to rub your aching, sensitive clit with his thumb.

You arch your back into him and your hand finds purchase on the carved lines of his back, nails digging into the flesh, leaving behind little crescent moon shapes. The flood of sensations washing over you causes you to clench hard around him as you cry out in pleasure.

”Bucky, I-I’m…” You cut yourself off with a groan as he hits your cervix again.

”I know, sweetheart. I can feel you squeezin’ me.” He rubs your clit faster, applying more pressure, his thumb moving in tight circles. “Let go, doll. Come for me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

That’s all the motivation you need as you scream his name while your pussy flutters around him. Your body is trembling as you orgasm for the second time tonight. Your vision blurs, and you’re seeing stars. The feeling is euphoric. It’s as if you’re on cloud nine, floating on ecstasy. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but you need to watch him come undone.

He lets out a strangled moan as he feels you come. It’s the best feeling in the world, and he knows he could easily get addicted to it. He eases off your clit and returns his hold on your hip, firm as if he’s afraid to let go.

Bucky thrusts in once, twice, three times before spilling deep inside you. Hot ropes of cum filling you and coating your walls as he grunts your name, throwing his head back in pure bliss. He clutches your intertwined hands like a lifeline.

You watch in awe as he releases into you. Your mind is still in the clouds as you cup his jaw and force his head down. He opens his eyes, adoration swimming in his soft blues. He presses his forehead to yours as he works you both through your climax, pushing his cum deeper into you.

He ceases his movement, but stays buried to the hilt deep inside you. He wants to keep that connection for a bit longer. You can feel cum leaking out of you as your body goes limp. Bucky rests his weight on top of you, and you welcome it.

He nuzzles his face into your neck as you both come down from your highs, chests rising and falling rapidly. Your hand moves into his hair as you lightly scratch his scalp with your nails. Bucky groans in appreciation, and his lips brush against your neck with lazy kisses.

“Damn,” you breathe into the air. “Is it going to be like that every time?”

He chuckles into the side of your neck, vibrating your body. Bucky inclines his head back, letting go of your hand to lean on his forearm over you. His face has a soft expression, a mix of arrogance and amusement.

“I’m pretty sure it only gets better, doll. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He pinches your side, and you huff air out of your nose in laughter.

“Oh, really? You’re quite cocky, aren’t you?”

“I’m only confident in my ability to please you.” He shoots you a look like he knows how good he made you feel.

Bucky pulls out of you, causing you to softly gasp from how sensitive you are. He rolls over into the spot beside you and takes you with him, cradling you into his warm chest. He places a lingering kiss on your forehead and then tucks your head under his chin. It’s as if you belong there.

You practically melt into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burrowing the side of your face into his chest. Bucky hums and starts playing with your hair while his metal fingers draw meaningless patterns into your back.

”I’ll clean us up in a bit. Maybe run a bath,” he thinks out loud, making a soft smile grow on your lips. “But right now, I just want to hold my pretty girl.”

You let your eyes flutter closed, reveling in the moment and his soothing actions on your back and hair. “You won’t hear any complaints from me, handsome.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You’re in the kitchen, three different pans heating on the stove. This could potentially be a fire hazard, but it isn’t much of a concern for you. You’re cooking pancakes, eggs, and sausage as you hum to one of the songs blasting from your phone.

Your hips sway to the music, gently, because it seems every time you move, pain surges between your thighs. You don’t mind, though. It’s a reminder of Bucky and the long night you spent together. But, fuck, you’re sore.

You didn’t realize how much stamina a super soldier has, but now you are acutely aware. You thought it would be a nice, relaxing bath after your first round, but someone got a little too handsy. And as you were drying, the towel wrapped snugly around you, Bucky tore it off and had his way with you again. Hence, why you’re hurting this morning, this kind of pain is something you can and will get used to, though.

You decided to make breakfast for him as soon as the sun woke you up, and you couldn’t stop admiring his sweet, sleepy expression. Half the reason is to thank him for rocking your world last night, and the other half is for much-needed sustenance.

You use your spatula to push at the edges of your fluffy pancake to flip it eventually. As you're flipping it, warm hands envelope your waist. You jump slightly, the sudden contact startling you. Bucky rests his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear.

”Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to scare you.“ His voice is still thick with sleep; he must have just woken up.

You grin as you continue with your task. “You’re fine, I just didn’t hear you come in.”

”You left me.” Bucky murmurs against your skin as he kisses a trail down your neck to your shoulder.

”I was making you breakfast in bed, but now that you’re not in bed, it’s just breakfast.” You tease him as you check on your eggs.

He hums, clearly amused by your teasing. “Mmm…I missed you.” Bucky squeezes your torso, and you giggle. “I thought it was all a dream when I didn’t see you next to me.”

”No, not a dream. Very real. The throbbing between my legs is proof of that.”

Bucky snorts as his hands glide down your figure. “I would apologize, but I’m not that sorry. You know I can’t get enough of you.”

He dips his fingers under the hem of your oversized shirt and starts to massage your thighs as he mumbles in your ear. “I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

“Bucky,” You softly moan, enjoying the sensations he’s giving you. “You’re distracting me.” Your spatula drops to the counter as you reach up to rest a hand on his cheek, keeping him close to your ear.

He lightly laughs in your ear as he pulls you by your hips, your ass flush against his growing erection. His fingers dig into your flesh, gripping and rubbing at your thighs.

”A good distraction?” Bucky nibbles on your ear.

You bite your lip to suppress another moan. You take a firm hold of his jaw and turn your head, angling your lips inches from his.

”You know it.” You mutter against his mouth before pressing your lips to his.

It’s soft and tender, lips moving unhurriedly like you're learning from every brush of each other's mouth. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and he gently bites it, tugging on it before letting go.

Bucky dives back in, kissing you deeply as his tongue pushes its way past the seam of your lips. As he slides his tongue against yours, his fingertips trace your inner thighs. Your skin dots with goosebumps from his touch. You start grinding your ass on him until-

“Ah! What the fuck?” A voice cuts through the air, and you instantly break away from Bucky’s mouth to see the source of the words.

Yelena is shielding her eyes with a repulsed expression on her face. Bucky moves away from you, adjusting himself in his sweatpants. You straighten out your oversized shirt, bunched around your torso, even though you’re wearing shorts underneath.

“Is your dick out or can I open my eyes now?” Yelena can barely get out the words because she’s gagging.

Bucky groans, rubbing at his forehead, so you answer for him. ”Holy shit, Yelena. No! We’re not animals.” You glance over to Bucky, and he shrugs with a mischievous grin as if to say, Well…

You shake your head at him. “Not helping.” You whisper.

You turn back to Yelena, and her eyes are still squeezed shut. “You can open your eyes now.”

She hesitantly peels her eyes open, peeking behind her hand. Once she knows you’re both decent, she drops her hand to her side.

”Now, I have to wash my eyes with bleach to get that image out of my head.” Yelena grumbles, advancing further into the kitchen to the coffee pot.

”We were just kissing.” You insist, though you’re blushing.

”It looked like a lot more than kissing to me.” Yelena mutters as she begins to pour herself a cup.

Bucky steps around you, a hand on the small of your back as he kisses your cheek. “Sorry, that was my fault.” He murmurs. “Guess I should have stayed in bed. I’ll see you there?” He offers you an apologetic look.

You give him a soft smile. “Yeah, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed like I originally planned.”

He nods, giving you one last kiss on the cheek like he can’t resist you. “Alright, babydoll.” The nickname melts you, and you’re beaming at him before you know it.

Bucky begins to wander out of the kitchen, but pauses to glance over his shoulder. “Smells delicious, by the way. I meant to say that, but got a little…distracted.” You giggle, and he veers right and out of the room.

You return to your cooking and notice the pancake is slightly burnt. You scoop it onto a plate with an easy grin, like it doesn’t matter to you, because Bucky’s lips were on yours as it burned.

“Cute.” Yelena's voice breaks you from your trance, and when you glance at her, she’s slanted against the counter, sipping her coffee as she stares at you.

“Sickeningly cute, but I suppose cute nonetheless.” She mutters into the mouth of her mug.

You snort as you begin to assemble the breakfast on your dishes. As you're plating the food, you catch Yelena from the corner of your eye. She’s still studying you, and it’s starting to make you uncomfortable. You turn your body towards her.

”What is it?” You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for her to spit it out.

”Although I never want to see that again,” she gestures to the air around you, referring to the make-out session she just witnessed. “I’m happy for you two.”

Her words cause you to stagger briefly. That’s not what you thought she would say, but you are pleasantly surprised. “Thanks, Yelena.”

You consider Yelena’s statement for a second. You have this weightless feeling that you’ve never had in the morning. You seem to walk with a bounce to your step. There’s a constant fluttering in your stomach. You’re happy. And it’s all because of Bucky. Even though this is new and fresh, you somehow know that feeling will never disappear.

[irisluvsabby]

cam girl reader x perv abby

tw: this is terrible but oh well

cw: lesbian sex, strap on sex, abby is older than reader, oral sex, use of a vibrator, some aftercare? sex in front of a camera (livestream), and probably other stuff

you were a college student, studying art in 2025 and of course you were broke, the scholarship you got was nearly not enough for your daily expenses and an idea crossed your mind after a few videos popped on your fyp, why not start a cam girl career?

it's now been 3 months as a cam girl and honestly? best decision you ever made, you got at least 200$ for every stream and as an openly lesbian cam girl your followers were mostly girls, and older woman who were in an unhappy marriage. but of course you had a few favorites viewers who interacted with you the most and sent the most money of course.

amongst those, one of them stood up, a girl who's name you learned as soon as she hopped into your stream..

"fuck.. thank you guys for the donations.." you were fucking yourself with a vibrating wand on your clit, and your rule was, with each donations you would put the settings of the toy even higher. it was all fun and games until a certain 'muscle mommy abs' donated 100$.

"oh shit.." you moan as you turn the settings of your wand higher. "thanks 'muscle mommy abs', what's your real name?.. so i can moan it properly.." you tease with a smirk, trying to stay composed as the wand kept its assault on your clit, and as you were getting close to orgasm. then you see it pop up in the chat: "abby :)"

"fuck, please abby i'm gonna cum please can i?" you moaned, completely fucked out from the vibrations on your sensitive clit, then you saw it, abby saying something along the lines of "cum for me please." it felt so needy and desperate that it immediately threw you over the edge, cumming so hard for all of your viewers, almost squirting as you could feel the gaming chair you were on wet under you.

"shit- well thanks everyone, i guess i'm gonna end this live now and go and try to clean up, bye bye" you say before ending the live.

since that day abby has been attending every single live stream of yours, and always sending you some donations during it, hence to why she was one of your favorite, but aside from that she was just really cute

abby was a 27 years old mechanic who worked in an old crusty garage kinda lost in the middle of nowhere, but hey at least the pay was good. she's always been rather lonely true high school, and college. never had a proper girlfriend aside from some flings she's had in the past. but now that she had found her new obsession, you, a new cam girl she found online as she was just trying to get off, well there's no way that she's getting a girlfriend any soon now. abby attended your streams religiously, it was like the highlight of her day but knew that nothing else than that would happen.

until one day you made an announcement after one of your many hectic live stream; "oh my god guys by the way- wait let me get dressed-" you said before quickly putting on an oversized attack on titan shirt. "okay so, i was thinking, why not finding a way to reward my most loyal viewers right? well i though that one of you guys could maybe win a moment with me so we could live stream together?" you waited for approval of the viewers in the chat only to be met with most of them showing you their excitement in the chat.

ynsleftboob: god please make it be me i NEED to fuck you

minecrftellieee: this is the best day of my life

musclemommyabs: holy shit

behind her screen abby couldn't believe her own eyes , she actually had a chance to be with you for real. so she waited, mouth open, for you to give more details on the upcoming event. abby watched as you explained that there will be a poll and all the boring logistics before sending a link into the chat for your viewers to participate. and with little hope abby went in, filled the forms and agreed to a few terms she didn't have the patience to read before accepting.

the next few days, abby kept imagining what she would do if she actually won that event, how she would fuck you so good you'd only wanna come back to her, how she would appear on your stream and make all of the viewers jealous and how she was gonna be the one fucking you. she also took more hours at work to get more cash and buy a brand new strap on (just in case you know) and went to the gym in the little free time she had, just to get off to your videos when she got home, moaning your name and waiting for the day she would finally have you.

then saturday night came, the day of your weekly stream, but this stream was different, you wouldn't do anything really, just annonce the winner to your event, and that was more than okay to abby and probably all of your other viewers.

"oh my god hey guys!!" you said happily as you watched all of your viewers join the stream excitedly, and amongst them of course was abby, waiting for you to announce the winner. "okay i know what you're all waiting forrr" you teased with a wink, making the viewers act up in the chat. "okay okay- i'm not gonna drag this out but i just wanna say, i would've loved to make everyone happy buttt there is only one winner tonight" you smile.

abby was intently watching you, waiting for you to say the username that would get to film with you, she was hoping for it to be her but there was a little voice in her head telling her that was not possible. that was until, pulling her out of her thoughts, she heard your sweet voice, calling out her username.

"'musclemommyabs, im really glad to tell you that you're the one that's getting to spend a moment with me and will do a stream with me on here.. i also can't wait to see if your username is actually true"

abby felt her heart beat in her chest, that could not be happening. while she was trying to take in the fact that she was going to have you in real life, you were talking about how you're gonna send her a private text about the details, and before she knew it, the stream was over, and many people were still talking in the chat, disappointed about not winning.

it was now a few days later, abby was getting in her car to get to your place, which was thankfully only an hour away, she was making way too many scenarios in her head about how she was going to have you, which made the drive way quicker. when she got there, abby didn't waste a second to knock at your door, mentally preparing herself to actually see her biggest crush ever. and when you opened the door, she thought she was going to faint. there you were, wearing a soft pink robe that was clinging to your curves like it was made for you, and abby could see a bit of your pink lacy bra that was peeking out.

seeing abby in real life also made you nervous, she was older than you, taller than you, very very bulky and wearing overalls that were hanging loose at her waist, dirty security boots and a basic t shirt that made her look so good, just your type.

you couldn't hide your blushing as you welcomed her in and closing the door behind you guys. "omg hi abby, i'm so glad to see you, and you really do live up to your username." you said with a wink. with that a rush of confidence ran over abby "yeah you like what you see?" she asked getting closer to you and closing the front door behind her.

"mhm i love it.." you teased with a sultry voice, slowly undoing your robe, letting it fall on the floor, letting abby take in your brand new pink and white lingerie that you wore just for her. abby couldn't take it anymore, and fortunately for her, you knew what she was here for and vice versa. there was no more thinking when abby pushed you into the nearest wall, tilting up your head to put her lips on yours, finally, turning it into a heated makeout session as abby dominated the kiss, her hands were everywhere, you couldn't take it anymore as you ran your hands under her t-shirt, feeling her abs.

abby went down to kiss your neck, making you moan out and dig your nails into her back, abby moaning from the feeling of your acrylics on her skin. "abby- fuck.. bedroom please..". she quickly understood and threw you over her shoulder with minimal effort, which made you even wetter for her. when she found the bedroom, abby saw the place she's been seeing on her laptop for all this time in her life and couldn't believe it, she looked around for a few seconds before not wanting to lose any more time and putting you on your bed. but before abby could get on top of you, you stopped her "wait- turn on the stream please- cameras and all are already set up." abby got up with a groan before going to your laptop "how do i do this thing.." she whispered to herself before finally turning on the stream. "all good" she winked at you before crawling back on top of you and peppering kisses to your breasts as you tried to speak to the viewers. "hi guys- sorry we got a little carried away- fuck abby- um so yeah.." you stopped talking, going back to abby who was centimeters away from the place you needed her the most.

"abby please.." you begged, looking down at her. "please what?" she said, not even looking back at you as she was taking off your panties, she looked like she did not care a bit about your stream as she finally looks back at you, waiting for some more begging. "please fuck me.." you finally say, and she doesn't waste a second, licking a slow strip on your pussy, making you shiver. after a few seconds of teasing abby finally gets to it, eating you out like a starved woman and you couldn't love it more. she was sucking on your clit so deliciously, then switching to slide her tongue inside of you and rubbing your clit with her fingers, it was the best head you ever had and you were seeing stars.

"i'm gonna cum- fuck" you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer and abby couldn't be happier, "mhm?" she hummed almost as if giving you her approval and sending vibrations right to your clit, and that was it for you, you came on her tongue with a moan so loud your neighbors would probably leave notes on your door the next day. that didn't matter to abby as she kept sucking on your clit making your orgasm never ending and licking up all of your juices. when she finally stopped, you were breathless and abby had your juices all over the lower half of her face. what got you out of your "post orgasm" state was the never ending ding sounds coming from your laptop announcing new texts in the chat.

you squinted you eyes to check some of the messages

minecrftellieee: oh wow that abby girl can eat pussy

lesbiannmommy: should've been me 😔

ynswhore: how i wish i was the one eating you out like that

you smiled reading some of the messages. "you okay?" you the heard abby ask you, her hair was messy and she was still fully dressed. "mhm im great" you smile at her "but get undressed and fuck me for real now." "right away ma'am" she said before taking off her shirt and reaching for her bag to pull out her brand new strap. "bought this just for you, i hope you like it." she admits before taking off her pants, staying in her boxers and putting the strap on.

you couldn't help but blush, abby was this super hot, muscular older woman and she bought a strap on just for you, you might be falling in love right now. "fuck- you're so hot" you tell her as you watch her adjust the strap on her waist. she simply chuckled before getting back on the bed. "get on your hands and knees for me yeah? so your little viewers can really see your face while i fuck you so good you'll only remember my name". this made you even wetter than before, if that was even possible, and you quickly do as she says, putting your ass up and teasing her. "good girl.." she whispers as she gets some of your wetness to coat her strap with it, you were still sensitive so that gesture made you whine and buck against abby's hips. with that she saw how needy you were and decided to finally fuck you how you needed, she slowly sinks her strap into you, to not overwhelm you, and once she saw that you were okay, she rammed into you, hitting your g-spot so easily you didn't even know it was possible.

with abby's thrust into you it was impossible for you to stay on your hands and knees as your arms were already giving out. she quickly took notice of that and pulled you up so your back was against her chest, which made her thrusts into a different angle. "oh my god- fuck fuck abby" you whined as she fucked you so good you couldn't think. "you like that? i'm sure that feels better than all of your silly toys yeah? better when i'm there to take care of you." you whined as abby repeatedly hit your g-spot making it impossible to answer her, only whines came out of your mouth as she doubled her pace.

"fucking you so good you can't even speak yeah?" she chuckles as she kissed the back of your neck, and sliding one of her hands down to toy with your clit, and that was it for you, you came with a cry, shaking in abby's grasp, as she slowed down her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm. "abby- too much fuck!" she continued a few more seconds before stopping and settling you back down on the mattress. she gently caressed your back as she pulled out of you gently.

you then rolled over to get on your back, to see abby taking off the strap and going back to you. "you liked that?" she asked with a smirk, knowing already your answer. "hmm it was okay." you tease her with a wink.

after sitting up on the bed you look at your laptop to see that the chat is going crazy and you definitely beat your viewers count record, but you couldn't pay too much attention to that when abby found your favorite ever toy on your bedside table. "do you have a few more left in you? i'd love to use that thing on you after sawing you using it on yourself so much."

next thing you know, you were tied to the headboard as abby used your own vibrating wand on you, and for some reason, it felt way better than when you used it by yourself. "my god you're shaking, does it feel that good honey? you're going to cum yeah? come on cum for me." abby said, trying to make you cum one more time tonight. "no- abs.. it feels different wait wait!" you tried to warned abby but she upped to settings of the wand to the maximum, the vibrations being now way too much for you.

you couldn't handle it and you felt a strange sensation, like you were going to cum but way more intense. and before you could even stop yourself you were squirting all over the wand and abby, you couldn't help but moan so loud as the sensation was so much for you. "holy shit- that was so hot" abby was mesmerized, quickly turning down the settings to not overstimulate you.

when you finally came back to your senses you couldn't help but feel so embarrassed by what happened but abby assured you that it was the hottest thing she ever saw. you were still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm as abby brought you a towel to help you clean up before quickly turning off the stream, to the dismay of your many viewers.

"you okay?" abby asked as she kissed your forehead. "mhm yeah.. it was just so much but i loved it" you admitted looking back at her. "well, i'm glad.. i don't know if this is the right time but can i take you out for a date sometime?" she asked and you could see that she was nervous so you chuckled "of course"

[angrythingstarlight]

On TikTok I saw a comment where a woman said that she told her husband to pretend to be unconscious so he was dead weight to see if she could drag him out of the house in case of fire or emergency, she couldn’t even pull him off the bed and she cried so he had comfort her while dying laughing😭😭😂 reminded me of something biker Bucky and Gorgeous would do

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bucky groans dramatically. "You might as well just leave me here and save yourself Gorgeous."

You keep pulling him with all your strength but he barely budges an inch. You might be able to move him if he'd stop talking.

He doesn't.

"Bury me with my bike." Bucky cracks open an eye, his lips twitching. "And a pair of your panties."

"I'm not doing that." A laugh spills past your lips before you can stop it.

You can't concentrate with him cracking jokes like this. Yeah that's the reason you're struggling to move this six foot something man. It's all his fault.

You keep laughing but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "Matter fact, line my casket with your panties and toss in a few of those pics I have on my phone."

"Oh my god."

"I'll know if you disregarded my last wishes," he casually warns, like his massive body isn't splayed on the bedroom floor. Like he's still not budging despite the fact that you're putting your all into this.

"Shut. Up."

"Mourn me for the rest of your life," he sighs sadly, head lolling to the side. Bucky hasn't broken character once, he's fully committed to this bit. "Keep a shrine of me in our bedroom."

"Bucky I'm trying to focus," your breathless giggle lost under a grunt when you try to shove him to the side. Nothing. Damn it.

Eyeing his shirtless, tattooed body, you try new a new approach. Adjusting your grip, you hook your fingers under his upper arms. You can barely get your hands around half of his large, warm biceps. Bracing your feet on the floor, you pull so hard you feel your muscles tremble and ache. He slides up a centimeter.

"Don't even think about moving on."

"Be quiet," you start. Releasing his arms, you wince when they hit the floor with a thud. You'd have better luck moving a pile of bricks than your man. "What would you do if I did?"

You're teasing but Bucky takes you very seriously.

He doesn't play when it comes to you. Or his burial requests.

He slowly opens his eyes, his darkening gaze captures yours. "I will haunt you for the rest of your life," he states confidently. "No guy will even breathe in your direction by time I'm done with them. You're going to have a rep because of me."

There's no time to process that because his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing your ankles. You're tugged forward, turned and twisted—somehow he manages to squeeze your ass a couple of times—until you're flat on his chest, his pecs under your palms.

Bucky smiles, his hand cups the back of your head and he brings your face close to his. "If you think I'm a menace now, imagine what my ghost will be like. Just imagine what ghost me would do to you. I'd get rid of your little replacement and then you'd get all my attention. Remember ghost me isn't going to get tired."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Well maybe that could be fun. Wait.

Your eyes widen at the images his words are creating. He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Resting your chin on his chest, you have to admit, no man would ever measure up to your bike. And if anyone could find a way to come back and haunt someone, it would be the handsome, incorrigible man under you.

"So you want all my panties or just your favorites?"

"Gorgeous. How many times do we have to go over this? All your panties are my favorite."

"Fine," you concede, failing to hold back a smile. "But you promised me a lifetime together and I'm holding you to that."

Bucky brushes his lips across yours in one sweet, sure motion. His deep voice rolls over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. I got too many plans for you, Gorgeous."

All of his plans revolve around loving you, protecting you, being with you, caring for you any way you'll let him.

And he's going take his time getting through every last one of them.

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[melloeyed]

Gaslight District X Mom!Reader Headcanons

Part Two

(Reader is Butcher Ken’s wife and Mel and Breadhead’s Mama.)

• Being the wife of a mafia boss while being the mother of a human and a yeast golem is pure insanity, but when it comes to the love for your family, there’s nothing you cannot handle.

• You mostly spend your days tending to The Whale Belly Butchershop while Ken and Mud are on their missions with the kids, but it’s not unheard of for you to join them.

• Mel would always be the first person to bounce into your arms after a successful killing mission, rambling about how awesome the trip was and how she helped the gang. She would always love hearing your words of praise after putting up with Ken’s endless bickering for her safety.

“…and then I used the chainsaw! Pretty cool, huh, mom?”

“Oh-ho-ho! I wish I was there to see it, sweetie!”

• You would always quickly tend to Mel whenever she was injured after a mission.

• Like Ken, you were severely worried about your daughter’s safety, considering how you and your husband are the only people who know she’s a human. Though, unlike him, you’re not as overprotective.

• And Mel absolutely loves you for that. She would often use you as leverage for winning arguments with her dad when it comes to her safety.

“Mel, I always told you not to-!”

“Oh, c’mon, Ken! You never let me go outside on my own! Mom always lets me!”

“DON’T BRING YOUR MOTHER INTO THIS!”

• Breadhead is a total mama’s boy and will always look forward to at least spending time with you every single day. The silly bread man just loves your guts. You’ve been nothing but sweet to him since he was a bun in the oven and he’s always willing to return the love.

• Anything his mama says, he’ll do it. Do chores at work, he’ll do it. Bring a souvenir from one of the missions, he’ll do it. Cement the man that insulted your cooking, he’ll do it.

• Just like how Mel wants Ken to be proud of her, Breadhead can’t get enough of you being proud of him.

• There was a time when you joined the Smiling Dead on a mission and Breadhead was bubbling with excitement. He was twice as excited to fight with his mama and often turned to you for praise after brutally mutilating a random Rotling.

“Mama, did you see that? Did you see what I did?”

“Of course, honey bun. Mama’s so proud!”

“Heh heh! Mama’s proud of me!”

• Even though you don’t join missions, you’re just as insane and demented as the rest of the crew. Though you do a better job at hiding it than the others. Ken and Mud find you fun to be around because of this.

• Your kids would be busy ripping apart their latest victim and you would be just watching them, unfazed with a calm yet proud smile, completely splattered in the victims purple blood.

• Ken would always plan date nights with you whenever your schedule was open. Slow dancing in the closed butcher shop with soft music in the background was always his go-to for a romantic night.

• You and Ken were the undead Bonnie and Clyde of the town, but better. You, Ken, and Mud were the only members of the Smiling Gang before Mel and Breadhead were born.

• Mud would often reminisce those days. He would always bring up how he missed those good old times when it was just you three and how much more exciting and crazier the missions were back in the day.

“Ah, Mel. You should’ve seen (Y/N) back then when she was in the crew! She was one crazy bitch!”

“Watch it, Mud! But yes, I quite was…”

• Mud often tends to steal your things just to rile you up. He knows that pissing you off is like playing with fire, but hey, what’s more fun than bickering with his sister-in-law?

• Being the wife of a mafia don always has its perks. Ken never stops spoiling you after making a good amount of scarab from work. Dresses, jewelry, custom-made knives, he always knew what you wanted.

• He happily remembered how you squealed with joy and covered his face with kisses after he gave you a torture rack as a gift on your 4th anniversary together.

• And just like Ken, you know how to spoil him too. Cooking his favorite meals, gifting him a new car and weapons, giving him a divine massage after a long and hard day of work, and always being there for him when he needs a hand.

• Ken feels like the luckiest man on earth whenever you have his back. He always tends to solve his own problems when it comes to crooks that try to mess with his family, but when his wife does it for him? He has hearts in his eyes for you.

• There was a time when a random creepy guy tried to grope Mel in the butcher shop. Before Ken could skin the fool, the creep was already bleeding on the ground, shrieking for mercy from you. But his pleas fell upon deaf ears.

• The other residents of the shop nearly pissed icicles from the smiling death stare you gave to the creep while slowly torturing him. Your calm threats to him didn’t make it better either. While Mel watched you slowly eviscerate the creep in excitement, Ken swooned at the sight of his beautiful wife defending their daughter.

“PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!”

“…If you ever try to touch my baby girl that way again…I’ll tear out your spine through your dickhole and mulch your shit body into steaming mush…repeatedly and SLOWLY…”

• And yeah. That turns Ken on.

“Uh, dad? Why are you looking at mom like that?”

“Oh, Mel…your mother sure knows how to disturb the peace…in my pants…”

“AUGH! GROSS! TMI, DAD!”

[stillwatervoid]

Invincible’s special healing treatment | Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: Your healing powers—marketed as “Revitalizers”—made you a vital asset to both heroes and civilians. They erased fatigue, sealed wounds, boosted strength, and mended broken bodies like magic. Everyone loved them. Especially Mark Grayson.

That is, until he found out the secret ingredient behind your power was… your spit.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Heavy Making Out, sort of Spit Kink? (subtle), there’s some grinding at the end but nothing explicit.

Tags: Reader Has Healing Powers, humor?, Fluff, mutual pining, and Mark being totally whipped.

w.c: 7k  |  a/n: English isn’t my first language, so there may be some mistakes here and there. This was a draft I started ages ago and finally decided to finish. It was supposed to be kinkier than it turned out—I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote the first draft back in January... I was probably just horny or something. I guess I couldn’t live up to the expectations of past me. I don’t even like it that much but I wanted to get rid of it already!!! (And yes, I still owe you pt. 2 of ‘Now nothing’s the same’, but please accept this as compensation.) Hope you enjoy it!

It starts when Mark’s nose scrunches in disgust as he stares at the small plastic cup in his hand, the truth of its contents finally dawning on him.

“Oh my god, stop being such a baby,” you groan, rolling your eyes as you monitor his vitals on the med-bay screen. “You’ve been drinking this for months and never complained before.”

“Yeah—when I didn’t know it had your spit in it!” he snaps, pushing the cup away like it personally offended him. His face twists into a grimace, torn between horror and betrayal. “This is disgusting. Someone should’ve told me! I have a right to know what I’m putting in my body!”

You cross your arms, irritation prickling under your skin. “It’s just a bit of saliva, Mark. And it’s mixed with, like, 80% water. You literally can’t taste it.”

He pouts, eyebrows knitting together stubbornly. “Still…”

“You know what?” you snap, cheeks flushing—partly from anger, partly from embarrassment. It isn’t your fault your healing powers work this way. “Fine. Don’t drink it. Enjoy waiting a month for your ribs to heal naturally. I’ll let Cecil know you’re benched until further notice.”

Before he can protest, you snatch the cup from his hand and down it yourself, locking eyes with him in a silent challenge. It tastes exactly like water. No big deal. Mark is being ridiculous. When you finish, you set the cup down with a shrug, feeling refreshed and perfectly fine.

“There,” you say curtly, grabbing your things along with the report of his vitals. “Now suffer alone.”

“Wait, wait—!” Mark jerks forward, wincing as his injuries protest the sudden movement. “You can’t just leave! I—I need to heal fast! I can’t be sidelined for a month!”

“Oooh,” you drawl, mocking. “Well, that was the last one left. Too bad, Invincible—oh, wait. Guess you’re not so invincible right now, huh? Stuck in a hospital bed, bruised up, with broken bones…”

You shrug, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you turn for the door again. 

Mark’s face falls. “Wait. You’re joking. There’s no more?” 

“Nope,” you say, popping the p, watching as his eyes widen in panic. “I came here to make more stock for Cecil. Felt bad for you, so I whipped up one on the spot—but hey, you didn’t even want it, Grayson.” 

“Wait, Y/N—” he scrambles, voice turning desperate. “C’mon, I’m sorry, okay? I need that Revitalizer! I need to keep training! Please? Please?” 

You pause at the door, glancing over your shoulder with a slow, unimpressed stare. 

“So now you want my spit—the one that was ‘disgusting’ literally ten seconds ago?” You arch a brow. “Yeah, no. Have fun with the crutches. Later, Grayson.” 

Mark’s desperation instantly shifts to irritation. “Hey! You can’t just leave! This is your job! So do your job, Y/N, or—or else!”

You stop again, a brow twitching. “Or else… what, exactly?” 

Mark fumbles, his bravado faltering. “Or else I… I dunno—I’ll tell Cecil to fire you or something?” 

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, sure. Because firing me, the guy who keeps all his damn heroes—including you—on the field, is such a brilliant idea.” 

Mark crosses his arms, smirking like he’s found a loophole. “Well, you’re not exactly keeping me on the field now, are you? And by the way, I’m his best guy. Cecil’s not gonna be happy you’re refusing to heal his best guy.”

You press your lips into a thin line, irritation bubbling in your chest as Mark’s cocky, self-assured smirk grates on your last nerve. He was already pushing it, eating up time you didn���t have, and now he was really pissing you off. 

But there was no more stock left. Making a new batch would take at least ten more minutes—minutes you couldn’t spare. What could you do?

Then a dark, petty idea slithers into your mind.

“Fine,” you mutter, shutting the door and stepping back into the room. “If you insist.” 

With swift strides, you move toward him, grabbing his face between your hands, fingers pressing into his cheeks just enough to squish them together. His smug expression falters, confusion flickering across his face—just as you lean in and kiss him. Full on the mouth. Tongue and all. 

Mark makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, his whole body jerking as your tongue slips past his parted lips, brushing against his demandingly. You don’t give him a chance to react, to pull away, to breathe—you just press in deeper, holding him still, making sure he gets a direct dose of your healing power. 

Because, yes, your saliva contains the ability to heal. That’s why you dilute it in water—so heroes can take it without things getting… weird. It works. It’s enough, and really, Cecil would never ask for more from you.

But this—this direct contact, exchanging spit with Mark, making sure he’s drinking it straight from your mouth instead of a diluted version—is the raw, unfiltered version of your power. The kind that knits bone and flesh back together in seconds.

And if Mark was that desperate for it, then here. Take it. 

His breath hitches, throat bobbing as he instinctively swallows the saliva between your entwined tongues. Under your fingers, you feel the swollen bruises on his face smooth out, the lingering pain vanishing in an instant. Only then do you finally break the kiss, a faint line of spit still connecting you both before it snaps. 

“There. Happy?” you pull away completely, scowling as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “You’re dismissed. Go home.” 

“W-what?” Mark’s mouth opens, then closes. A flush creeps up his neck. “I—you—what the…?” 

You look away, your own face heating up. “This is the last time I’m doing this. Don’t tell anyone—” your voice drops to a dangerous whisper “—or I’ll kill you.”

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk out, leaving a spluttering, red-faced Mark behind.

The second time it happens is while you’re both on the field.

Mark is in the air, fighting off the bad guys. You’re on the ground, checking on injured civilians and offering help. 

You’re not really paying attention to what Invincible or the other heroes are doing. Your focus is entirely on offering assistance, stabilizing wounds, and evacuating as many people as you can from the area. You don’t worry. You never worry. Not when it comes to them—and especially not when it comes to Mark Grayson.

The boy’s basically a force of nature wrapped in a spandex suit. Inexperienced, sure. A little reckless at times, yeah. But strong, strong. The kind of strength that makes his skin impenetrable, his body durable, and his raw power overwhelming.  The kind of strength that makes you believe, really believe, in corny hero names like invincible.

That’s why you’re so surprised when he suddenly comes crashing down from the sky, his body slamming into the asphalt like a meteor, carving a trail of shattered pavement before slamming through the side of a building. Concrete buckles. Steel bends. The whole structure groans under the impact.

One second passes. Then two. Three. Ten.

And he doesn’t get up.

Panic grips you, and you’re already sprinting before you realize it.

“Invincible?!” you call, voice cutting through the air as you swipe the dust from your face and enter through the whole he made. “Shit—Invincible?” 

The building creaks ominously around you, but you push forward until—

A low groan echoes from the rubble.

There, buried in a mess of rubble and twisted metal, lies Mark.

Your eyes narrow, instincts kicking in as you assess his condition with clinical precision while carefully making your way over. He’s in bad shape—bruises swelling across his face, blood smearing his skin, breaths ragged and uneven, and one of his arms is bent at an angle it definitely shouldn’t be.

The sight twists something sharp and awful in your chest, but you bury the feeling beneath your professional mask. You can’t afford to panic.

“Invincible?” you mutter, kneeling beside him and brushing debris off his chest and shoulders. No answer. Just a weak, pained sound—barely more than a groan. “Mark?” you try again, softer now, a hand slipping behind his head to lift it gently. He lets out another weak noise, eyes fluttering, but there’s no real awareness behind them.

No, you realize quickly, the Revitalizer won’t cut it. Not for this. Not fast enough. Mark’s breathing is shallow and quickening—too quick, too sharp. Collapsed lung, maybe. Add that to the concussion and the internal injuries you’re certain he’s hiding under the surface. The diluted solution of your power works on minor injuries and fractures, but this is beyond that.

You pause, weighing your options, the conflict mounting in your chest. Outside, the battle still rages—the heroes definitely need Mark’s help if the panic and screams are anything to go by.

Which means this calls for a direct transfer. Maximum potency. And you know exactly what that means.

Your jaw clenches.

“Goddammit, Grayson,” you whisper to his barely-conscious form, already making the decision. “People need you out there.”

The building groans and creaks ominously above you, dust raining from the ceiling. But you pay no mind, heart hammering.

One hand slides behind his neck, the other tilts his chin up. “Sorry for this,” you mutter, even though you doubt he can hear you. Your gaze flickers briefly to his lips, the sudden thought making your stomach churn. “Trust me, man, I don’t want this more than you do. So when you wake up… no hard feelings, okay?”

And then, without another second of hesitation, you’re sealing your mouth over his. Your tongue pushes past his lips, shoving the raw, undiluted potency of your power straight into him. It’s messy, desperate, laced with the taste of blood and grit. Mark jolts under you, a weak groan trapped between your mouths—but you don’t stop. You count the seconds in your head, focusing on the transfer, making sure he gets enough. Enough to mend everything.

Then you feel it—the sharp, deep breath he takes as his lung reinflates. His ribs shifting under your palm, bones snapping back into place. His arm realigning itself with a sickening crack.

Then, the soft gasp you swallow when his consciousness starts to return.

Mark makes a confused noise, his tongue brushing against yours, clumsy and startled. You freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks in a mix of embarrassment and shock, and pull back immediately.

“Y/N...?” Mark’s voice is hoarse, and it makes your skin burn. “What... did you just—?”

You glance away, quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “Can you stand?”

Mark blinks, still dazed but healed, already flexing his newly-mended arm. “I… yeah. Yeah, I think—”

“Good,” you snap, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright. “Then move.”

But Mark just stands there, staring down at himself—then at you—then back at himself. And then, with a breathless laugh, he beams.

“Oh-ho-ho, I feel amazing!” he exclaims. “I feel great! Like, better than great!”

To prove it, he hovers a foot off the ground, spinning in a gleeful pirouette like a complete idiot. You fold your arms, glaring at him as he flexes his muscles and stretches, putting on a ridiculous display of his newfound energy.

Then the building groans again—a low, warning sound that cracks through the air.

Mark halts mid-spin, looking up at the ceiling. “That... doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you mutter, eyeing the unstable column just behind him. “We better go before—”

You don’t get to finish.

The ceiling gives out with a thunderous crack, and before your brain can catch up, Mark’s arms are around your waist, yanking you off the ground. Your eyes squeeze shut instinctively, arms wrapping tight around his neck as he blasts up through the collapsing hole he made when he crashed through earlier.

The world whips past you in a blur, and when you blink again, you’re outside. The building is falling behind you, collapsing in on itself, sending up a cloud of dust and debris that engulfs the area.

You both land a safe distance away, unscathed, while the building continues its dramatic descent.

“Aw, shit,” Mark mutters, pouting as he stares at the wreckage. “I did that?”

You hum, shooting him a side glance. “You’re lucky I evacuated that thing before it came down.”

Mark turns to look at you, his pout deepening like a sulky kid. But this time there’s a shift. He’s... uncomfortably close. Closer than you realized. You can feel his breath against your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. That’s when you realize—his hands are still curled loosely around your waist. And your arms are still looped around his shoulders.

Both of you seem to notice at the same time.

Mark drops his arms like he’s been burned, quickly turning away to scratch the back of his neck and coughing into his hand. You shift your weight, eyes darting anywhere but him.

“Well—” his voice cracks, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks for, uh. The whole. You know. The thing with the—” he makes a vague gesture toward his mouth.

“Sure,” you reply, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “Anytime.”

A mutual, full-body cringe.

The moment is mercifully shattered by Immortal calling out to Mark, urging him to get back in the fight.

Mark jolts like he’s been electrocuted. “Right! Yeah. Duty calls. Gotta—” he gestures weakly toward the fight, already floating backward. “So, uh. Thanks. Again. For the—”

“Go,” you interrupt, already turning toward a group of civilians still trapped in the area.

He throws you a final awkward half-wave, then rockets away—but not fast enough to hide the way his ears burn crimson. You watch him fly away, cheeks heating up, too.

The third time it happens, Mark isn’t bleeding, broken, or even remotely in danger.

No—he’s bored, crashing into your workspace at the GDA’s hospital wing, apparently done with his hero duties for the day—and, shockingly, with catching up with his college classes too. How he manages both, you have no clue. But here he is, picking up and poking around your things like a kid in a candy store.

“What does—”

“I swear to god,” you cut in sharply, patience already fraying, “if you ask one more time what anything in this lab does, I’ll gut you, Grayson.”

Mark pouts, carefully placing a large syringe back where he found it. “You’re no fun.”

“This isn’t a damn playground,” you mutter, returning your focus to the screen in front of you. “Now, unless you’ve got a severed limb or third-degree burns, get out.”

Mark flops into the nearest chair with a groan, legs sprawling like a petulant teenager. “Okay, fine. I’m here for, uh… a headache.”

“Oh no, how tragic,” you don’t even glance at him. “Take a pill.”

There’s silence.

An unnaturally long silence.

Long enough that you sigh and finally drag your gaze from the screen to find Mark staring at you with the most pathetic puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen.

“What,” you ask flatly.

Mark fidgets under your stare. “I just—” he sighs. “They take forever to kick in, okay?”

“So?” you arch a brow. “Suck it up, Invinci-boy. I’ve seen you take a hell of a lot more and never flinch once.”

“Yeah, but—” he glances away, wincing while pressing his fingers to his temple exaggeratedly. “This is a migraine. Like, brain-melting pain. Totally screwing with my focus.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flickering in your gaze. But as he keeps avoiding your eyes, fidgeting awkwardly, wincing every time he shifts—one hand pressed to his temple—you finally sigh and lean back in your chair.

“Fine,” you mutter.

Mark straightens up immediately, his eyes wide with surprise, cheeks flushing a faint pink. “Really?”

You blink at the sudden change in energy, head tilting. “Yeah…?” you say slowly, reaching into your desk drawer. Inside are several little Revitalizer cups—80% water, 20% your saliva. You grab one and set it in front of him with a soft thud. “Here. Thank me later. Cecil’s weirdly strict about the inventory—he hates wasting these on stupid things like a damn headache.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn back to your computer, resuming the work you’d been organizing before Mark decided to drop in unannounced.

Silence falls again—long, lingering, and just awkward enough to pull your attention back.

You turn to him, exhausted. “What now.”

Mark’s expression sours into a pout, his shoulders slumping as he stares down at the little cup, as if it’s the most disappointing thing he’s ever seen.

He sighs, closing his eyes before weakly reaching for the cup. “Nothing. It’s—nothing.”

Mark pops the lid off, staring at the clear liquid with exaggerated contemplation before drinking it all in one gulp. You watch silently, noting the way his throat moves as he swallows. Finally, Mark exhales, setting the empty cup on the desk.

Then he blinks, licking his lips with a curious hum. “Huh. Now that I’m really paying attention... it really does taste like nothing.”

“It tastes like water,” you point out distractedly, returning to your task.

“And water tastes like nothing,” Mark grumbles. He puts a hand to his chin, like he’s suddenly contemplating life’s biggest mysteries. “But it’s weird… did you know your spit has a taste?”

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. Slowly, you turn your chair to face him fully. “Huh?”

“Yeah!” Mark springs up, suddenly animated, twirling the empty cup between his fingers. “It’s got this...I dunno, this flavor. Kinda—I can’t describe it.”

In all your years working with the GDA, through countless medical exams and power analyses, never—not once—has anyone mentioned your saliva having a flavor.

Your brows knit together in confusion. “You mean... like how everyone’s spit tastes?”

“No, no way,” Mark insists, shaking his head vigorously. “This is different. It’s like—” he waves his hands around, struggling to articulate. “Sort of... sweet? But not too much. More like—a feeling. But also a taste? And it lingers. You really can’t tell? It’s your spit after all.”

You tilt your head, gaze drifting in thought. “Not really.” Then your eyes narrow. “Can you taste your own spit? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, fair,” he admits with a shrug, though his cheeks are now dusted with a light flush. He glances back at you, this time with a different kind of glint in his eye. “Hey—so. This thing—” he shakes the empty cup, “—hasn’t really worked yet.”

“It’s been, like, fifteen seconds—”

“The other method was instant.”

You glare. He looks away like he finds the ceiling lights particularly fascinating.

“The other method?” you repeat slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to kiss your migraine goodbye or something?”

Mark chokes on air, spluttering. “No, no, I didn't say that! I just want, uh, I want—I just want to know what your spit tastes like!”

A long beat.

“For science!” he rushes to add, flustered beyond salvation. “I wouldn’t want to kiss you! I mean, ew, eugh, no, I—that’s—I don’t—”

You hum thoughtfully, tuning out the rest of his babbling. The scientific implications are intriguing. Flavor? In your saliva? That’s a whole new variable. Could you isolate whatever this is? If there’s something in the taste that links to your power’s effectiveness, maybe you can concentrate it, increase the strength of each Revitalizer beyond the current 20% dilution. If Mark’s being honest about all this… it could be groundbreaking.

“—and kissing dudes? Not my thing! Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just—”

“Alright,” you cut in sharply, standing up from your side of the desk. “C’mere.”

Mark’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “Hmm?”

“Come here,” you repeat, already grabbing a notepad. “You’re going to describe this supposed ‘flavor’ in exact detail.”

Mark’s mouth hangs open, eyes wide in disbelief, and for the first time in the last five minutes—he’s finally silent.

“Wait—so you’re saying—does this mean we’re…?”

You roll your eyes. “What do you think, Grayson? Unless you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”

Mark scrambles to his feet so fast he almost knocks over his chair. “No! I mean—yeah, I want to,” he says, and you catch the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple as he adds, weaker, “for science.”

“For science,” you echo with a slow nod, watching him as he rounds the desk with nervous, rigid movements. “Then I need you to be very attentive, okay, Mark?”

“Sure,” he says quickly, voice lower now, eyes flicking over your face before landing—and staying—on your lips. “Super. Attentive. So... how exactly do we—”

You reach for his chin, thumb pressing lightly on his lower lip. “Shh.”

He goes still, sucking in a sharp breath.

Then you guide him in, sliding your hand to the back of his head as you draw him into a kiss. Mark comes willingly, lips already parted. The moment your mouths meet—warm, tentative, tongues brushing in a slick, electric glide—it sends a jolt through you both. A quiet groan rumbles from deep in his throat as his body melts into yours, tension giving way to something softer, needier. You take a single step back from the force of it, your breath catching, but neither of you pulls away.

You move slowly, letting your tongue sweep languidly against his, the taste of him mingling with your own as saliva slicks between your mouths. As the seconds pass, Mark’s movements grow more eager, his confidence rising with the heat between you. Then, without warning, he licks and sucks on your tongue in a way that makes your whole body shiver, goosebumps scattering across your skin.

“Mmh,” you groan softly into the kiss, one hand drifting to his chest—his firm, toned, distractingly solid chest—and you try to pull back just enough to catch your breath.

But Mark whines, his grip tightening, pulling you back in.

“Mmph?!” you mutter, muffled and breathless. 

His hands, which had been awkwardly hanging by his sides, finally move, fingers sliding up to your hips. His touch is hesitant at first, then turns urgent, twitching with anticipation. Your heart pounds in your chest, lungs burning from the lack of air, as his lips move hungrily against yours. His grip tightens, drawing you impossibly closer, until you feel every inch of him pressed against you—the steady beat of his heart syncing with your own.

Hell, you can even feel the bob of his throat as he drinks from you.

When you finally wrench your mouth free, a glistening thread of saliva connects you for one obscene second before it snaps. Mark chases after your lips like a man starved, but you press a cautious hand against his mouth.

“Grayson,” you pant, “that’s enough. I need—data.”

Mark blinks, dazed. “Huh?”

“The flavor,” you remind him, voice rougher than you’d intended. “The point was to, y’know, describe it.”

His pupils are blown wide, lips parted and panting. He looks confused for a second—then realization dawns across his face.

“Right! Right. It’s, uh—” his tongue darts out, licking his swollen lips. “Definitely... sweet. But like, honey-sweet? Only—more subtle. I think—” he clears his throat, voice rough, “I think I might need... further testing. For accuracy.”

“Accuracy,” you repeat flatly, raising a brow.

At this point, you seriously doubt he came here out of curiosity about the taste of your spit, or that he gave a damn about the ‘science’, or that he ever had a migraine to begin with. That realization makes your cheeks burn hot, your heart thudding harder.

Still, you pull him closer, noses brushing. “Well,” you murmur, “it can’t be helped, then. We do need to be extra accurate. So pay attention, yeah?”

His breath hitches, forehead resting against yours as his fingers flex on your hips. “Yeah…” he breathes. “I’ll be super attent—”

You cut him off with another kiss.

Science demands repeat trials, after all.

It keeps happening as the weeks go by, for reasons you can’t quite understand.

If Mark’s seriously injured, it’s become your go-to method—because, really, the world can’t afford to have its strongest hero benched for weeks just waiting to heal. If he’s just feeling sore or tired, it’s your method too—because otherwise, he’ll whine and mope and follow you around all day. And if he says he just needs an energy boost, claiming your powers make him feel like he could fly to another universe and back, then yeah, it’s your method again—because he won’t stop asking until you finally snap and kiss him just to shut him up.

But this time, it’s not Mark who’s critically injured.

It’s Rex.

Somehow, he survived a bullet to the head, severe blood loss, and an amputated hand. And even now, after all the surgeries and treatments, still confined to a hospital bed, he has the nerve to act cocky and cheerful.

“C’moooon,” Rex groans the second you step into his room to check his vitals. “You’re my only hope here, Y/N. I can’t take another day in this prison—I’ve read every magazine Eve brought me twice, and I’m dying of boredom.”

“No,” you reply, not even glancing up from his chart. “You know Cecil—”

“Cecil doesn’t let you waste your powers like this because it’s ‘pointless,’ because he’s got it all covered, blah blah blah,” Rex mocks, rolling his bloodshot eyes. “I just don’t get why we have a healer hero who’s not actually healing me, y’know?”

“You are healed,” you mutter, irritation seeping into your voice. “You just need to stay in bed, rest, and let it be.”

Rex glares. “That’s not being healed. That’s the boring process of healing!” Then he squints at you, brows scrunched. “Why are you even here if you’re not gonna do your job?”

You scoff and drop the clipboard onto the end of the bed with a thud, fully turning to glare at him. “For your information, the only reason you’re still alive is because my Revitalizers kept your dumbass brain together while they rebuilt your skull.”

“Oh, those little cups?” Rex shrugs, unimpressed. “Yeah, they’re fine, but we both know there’s a way faster method to get me out of here.”

You press your lips into a tight line, brow twitching as he gives you a pointed look, waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously.

“No.”

He sighs dramatically. “C’moooon, Y/N. It’s not like I want to do it either, but if—”

You don’t hear the door slide open as you continue glaring at him.

“—a kiss is all it takes to fix me up, then get over here, baby,” Rex puckers his lips, closes his eyes, and starts making exaggerated smooching noises. “One little magical mouth-to-mouth and we’re both outta here. C’mon, lemme taste some of that miracle spit, mmh?”

You open your mouth to go off on Rex, but another voice cuts in, sharp and disbelieving.

“What.”

You whip your head around, glare softening instantly as your eyes land on Mark. He’s standing at the doorway in his civilian clothes, wide-eyed and frozen.

“Oh, hey Mark!” you say quickly, snatching the clipboard from Rex’s bed as you move to leave. “Came to visit Rex? Good luck—he’s extra insufferable today.”

“Hey!” Rex shouts, trying to prop himself up, waving his good arm like a flag of protest. “Don’t bail yet! What about our special healing session?”

You scoff, eyes still fixed forward. “Didn’t promise anything, asshole. Bye now.”

Mark doesn’t move. He stares at you, then at Rex, then back at you again with a look of wide-eyed panic and something suspiciously like betrayal. Just as you reach for the door, he suddenly jumps forward, blocking your path.

“Wait—!” his voice cracks, just slightly. “Do you—do you do that a lot?”

You blink, thrown. “Do what?”

Mark pouts, hesitating for a second before glancing over at Rex, who’s watching the scene unfold with curious eyes. Mark scowls, jaw tense, then puts both hands on your shoulders and pulls you close, not taking his eyes off Rex.

“You know…” he mutters, voice low and pointed, “that.”

Your still confused, baffled expression only makes Mark deflate. He sighs, looking away shyly, his cheeks turning pink, though his face is still tinged with a touch of disappointment.

“You know…” he mumbles again, quieter this time. “The  ‘special treatment.’ I didn’t know it was… Rex, too. I thought I was the only one you kisse—mmph!?”

Mark is swiftly silenced when you slap a hand over his mouth with an echoing clap, panic rising in your chest as it hits you halfway through what he’s talking about. But by then, it’s too late. You know it’s too late.

Five seconds of pure silence drag on.

Then, behind you, Rex gasps dramatically. “No way…” he whispers, eyes widening with dawning comprehension. And then, louder, “No way!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god…”

“Dr. Y/N!” Rex clutches his chest in mock outrage, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Kissing your patients? That’s highly unprofessional! What would Cecil say if he knew? You know he hates wasting your power like that.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again, dragging your hands down your face, trying to hide from the embarrassment.

You whip around to glare at Mark, who shrinks under the intensity of your glare. But whatever you were about to say dies in your throat as Rex’s obnoxious cackling rings through the room, making your last nerve snap.

“So you are into special treatment, huh?” Rex laughs, eyes squeezed shut in amusement. “You were all high and mighty, denying it to me earlier. Well, look at you now!” Then he pauses, blinking in confusion, tilting his head. “Wait wait wait—so why does Invincible get the premium package, but I’m stuck with the watered-down version? That’s some bullshit favoritism! I don’t wanna be stuck here any longer! Hey! Do your job!”

Your jaw clenches. In one fluid motion, you throw the door open, grab Mark by the collar, and turn back to Rex with your most dangerous glare.

“Your treatment is called shutting the hell up.”

And with that, you drag Mark out of the room, slamming the door behind you with a resounding bang.

It’s silent at first—just the pounding of your heart and the flush burning across your cheeks. Embarrassment, dread, and the terrifying thought of Cecil ever finding out. You flinch just imagining the long, agonizing lecture he’d have locked and loaded if Rex opened his mouth. You have to make sure he doesn’t. And oh, you can think of several ways to ensure Rex’s silence—each more creatively painful than the last, all of them tempting—

“I’m sorry,” Mark says softly, cutting through your dark thoughts. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize there were... others.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and damn it all, when he looks up with those wounded puppy-dog eyes, your anger dissolves into mist.

You cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Mark. There are no ‘others.’” Your thumb brushes his cheekbone. “You seriously think I go around swapping spit with every hero who gets a paper cut?”

He winces. “No...”

“You think I’d kiss Rex of all people?”

His nose scrunches. “No.”

“Think that—” you pause, suddenly aware of the barely-there space between you. Of how your breaths mingle, how he’s leaning in without realizing it. Drawn to you like instinct. Like gravity. The next words come out softer than you mean them to. “That I’d do this with anyone but you?”

Mark’s eyes widen. His lips part—whether to answer or ask for clarification, you’ll never know, because you choose that moment to shut him up the only way that ever really works.

Closing the distance and kissing him.

Your lips crash together, deep and intense and hungry. His tongue meets yours halfway, practiced and eager, moving against your mouth in the way he’s learned you like. His arms wrap around you, hands slipping down your back, pulling you in closer, pressing you tight until there’s nothing left between you—not air, not space, not thought.

Your heart stutters and then races, excitement surging through your veins, raw and electric, leaving you lightheaded and weightless.

You hum into his mouth, slow and content, before finally pulling away—only to place one last, lingering peck to his lips.

Mark grins at you, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, that familiar giddiness and energy radiating from him—just like always when he feels the effect of your power. You can’t help but grin back, your chest warming at his boyish enthusiasm, before letting your forehead drop against his shoulder with a dramatic groan.

“Cecil’s gonna skin me alive if Rex blabs about this,” you mumble into the crook of Mark’s neck, feeling him shiver at your breath against his skin. “That little bastard’s definitely gonna hold this over me...”

Mark stays quiet for a long moment, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your back. His warmth and steady presence grounds you, but you can feel the slight tension in him—the guilt he’s trying to hide, stretching the silence longer than it should.

Then—

“What if...” he starts, hesitates, then tries again, voice low and unsure. “What if we just... dated?”

You blink, pulling back just enough to study his face. He’s red. Like, really red. Avoiding your gaze like it physically hurts him to meet your eyes. His throat bobs as he swallows, clearly nervous.

“I mean,” he rushes to explain, “Cecil can’t exactly lecture you about healing kisses if they’re just... regular boyfriend kisses, right?” He nods to himself, clearly pleased with this flawless logic. “Totally normal couple behavior. He can’t be mad if your power just happens to work that way…”

You stare at him for a few seconds, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. You notice the way his lips pout slightly, the hopeful look in his eyes, and how his fingers twitch lightly where they rest on your waist.

“Is this your subtle way of asking me out by pretending it’s not a big deal?” you ask, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mark Grayson—oh, my hero, swooping in to do the favor of dating me so my boss doesn’t scold me for kissing one of his heroes an unnecessary number of times, just because he whines and cries like a total baby when I don’t?”

“Hey!” he protests, though there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It was justified! I was—y’know, in severe pain and everything…”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, tilting your head. “Like that time you said you needed extra energy and a good luck kiss before your Mars mission? Was that also you being in pain?”

“Well—that—I did get lucky from that, okay?” he stammers, cheeks flaring red. “And we succeeded, didn’t we? Thanks to your power enhancing my power.”

You can’t help but laugh, and soon he’s joining in, the sound warm and bright as you stay wrapped in each other’s arms. His laughter does funny things to your heartbeat, sends warmth blooming across your cheeks.

Then he sobers, his expression turning uncharacteristically shy. “So... is that a yes? To the... dating thing? Or…”

You smile softens, fingers brushing along his cheekbone with tenderness. “Well,” you murmur, eyes flickering to his lips, “we did skip a couple of steps, didn’t we?”

He huffs a breath of laughter, relaxing a bit. “Yeah… I guess we did.”

“Then why are you even asking, Grayson?” you murmur, lips brushing just barely against his as you lean in. His breath catches. “Of course I’ll date you.”

The kiss that follows is sweeter than any before it—slow and certain, filled with promises rather than excuses. Mark sighs into it, his arms tightening around you as if to say mine, finally mine.

You smile into the kiss, kissing him back with just as much eagerness, heart full, lips willing. You weren’t going anywhere.

It happens late at night, when Mark’s bruised, battered, and still trembling after a draining fight with Angstrom. The man hurt his mother, his little brother, and left him stranded in some godforsaken alternate universe. Mark’s body is shaky, yet he’s profoundly grateful to be back, grateful that your healing powers pulled his family together in minutes as soon as you learned of it. Grateful that you’re here now, with him tonight, wrapped in his arms, sharing a bed, and sharing kisses, because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

His kisses are desperate things—raw, needy, equal parts gratitude and desire, as if he’s trying to imprint the feel of you beneath his hands into his memory in case the universe decides to be cruel again.

“You know,” you murmur against his mouth when he pauses to breathe, “sometimes I think you like my powers more than me.”

Mark nips at your lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp, his hands sliding down your sides with possessive certainty.

“Course not,” he growls against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through you. His knee slots between yours as he rolls you gently onto your back. “I like you because it’s you.” His teeth graze your jaw, sending a shudder down your spine. “Because you’re stubborn.” A soft kiss to your pulse point. “And brilliant,” he adds, as his hands mold to the curve of your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt like he’s desperate for more contact. “And you taste like warmth.”

You hum, rolling your tongue against his in a slow, deliberate movement, a tease that leaves his breath hitched and ragged. The slick slide of your mouths against each other fills the quiet room, punctuated by Mark’s low, guttural groan when you suck gently on his tongue. His hips buck instinctively, pinning you deeper into the mattress. His body is warm and heavy and grounding. His hands roam, bolder now—urgent with the need to feel you, have you, anchor himself to you after almost losing everything.

And you let him.

Because you need it too.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” you whisper, breath hitching as you rock your hips up, seeking the delicious friction of his body against yours. A soft moan escapes his lips in response. “Even if you didn’t… like me back or whatever. I’d still let you have me. Give you anything you needed.”

Mark’s head snaps up.

“But I do like you,” he says, like it physically hurts him to think you’d believe otherwise. His hand slides down, purposeful and shaking just slightly, squeezing the growing bulge in your jeans. He swallows your gasp in a hungry kiss, lips messy and desperate. “Shit—I love you. I love you so much.”

The second the words escape him, Mark freezes. His whole body stiffens, eyes going wide with panic, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all. Like the confession yanked itself out of him before he could stop it. He pulls back, breath catching, lips parted  like he’s about to take it back or apologize—

But you just laugh softly, even as your heart slams against your ribs.

“I love you too, Grayson,” you murmur, pulling him back down by his collar, lips brushing lightly against his. “So don’t go getting yourself trapped in some alternate wasteland again, okay? You scared the shit out of me.”

Mark’s entire body sags with relief, the tension melting from his shoulders as he nuzzles into your touch like a starved man.

“Okay,” he says with a breathless laugh. “I’ll try. I mean—I’d really rather not be stuck in a version of reality where I’m not with you. Or where you don’t exist. That’d suck.”

You huff, amused and affectionate. “Then be more careful next time.” And before he gets a chance to reply, you seal your lips over his.

Mark groans against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours as you tug him flush against you.

“Yeah,” he breathes between kisses, his voice rough with longing, his hips rolling against yours in a way that makes your vision blur. “Yeah, I’ll—mmph—be real careful next—”

The rest of his promise dissolves into the hungry press of lips and the slick slide of tongues—but the way his fingers lace through yours, squeezing like he’s afraid to let go, says everything he can’t put into words.

Then, of course, Mark ruins the moment.

He pulls back with a breathless chuckle, eyes locking with yours—dark, dilated, cheeks flushed, forehead damp with sweat, and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Hey so—” he rolls his hips deliberately against yours, drawing twin groans as denim strains between you. “The way you keep kissing me like that?” Another teasing grind. “Think I might have enough energy to last all night and morning.” His lips brush your earlobe. “What d’you say, baby?”

You stare at him, heat blooming across your cheeks like fire—but you can’t help the smirk that creeps in.

“Well,” you say, playing along easily, “I don’t exactly have anything better to do the next couple days… Might as well give the world’s strongest hero all the healing treatment he needs.”

Mark’s answering kiss is filthy—all tongue and teeth and saliva, like he’s trying to drink every last drop of your power straight from the source.

Then he pulls back just enough to pant, “God, I love your powers.”

You grin cheekily. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who they belong to.”

He huffs a laugh—and before you can say anything else, he steals another kiss. There’s nothing patient about the way Mark moves—like he’s got something to prove, and you’re the only one he wants to prove it to.

No matter—you’re happy to let him.

A/N: Oof, I know... I didn’t really know where I was going with this either. I swear this was supposed to be worse—like, a lot kinkier, definitely 18+—but here we are. Thank you for reading!