#me when I create a problem and the solution

[em1i2a3]

Adore Me

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: When the air conditioner of the Watchtower breaks during peak summertime, Bob finds an odd solution to your overheating problem.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff yall. Bob and Reader are in an established friends with benefits relationship (that has hints of something more), Bob is a problem solver lol.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up yall), Temperature Play, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Nipple Play, Dirty Talk, Bob is a bit freaky in this, but it’s a great change up, Spit Kink (kind of…An interesting take on it lol) Bob is totally a super soft dom in here to be completely honest and he’s an absolute tease, Aftercare (cause it’s essential and we love aftercare scenes!)

Authors Note: It is disgustingly hot where I live at the moment and I got this idea when I was writing something else and thought ‘Jesus Christ this is perfect’ and EUREKA 💡 it’s been made and created. And it’s so fitting cause today is supposed to be one of the hottest days of the year where I live and I’ve been sweating it up, so CHEERS TO THAT! Enjoy the read yall ❤️❤️

Word Count: 9,364

You felt like you were choking on the air you were breathing. It clung to your lungs like steam in a sauna, heavy and thick, each inhale a sluggish, labored thing that coated the inside of your throat with undeniable heat. The Watchtower had become a pressure cooker–walls sweating, tempers rising, body’s slowly melting into puddles of collective misery.

The central air system had sputtered its final breath two days ago, and since then, the compound had been thrown into environmental purgatory. Val, of course, couldn’t be bothered.

“You’ve been trained in worse conditions? So there’s a little bit of heat…” She said over the comms, dismissing the situation with a lazy flick of her tongue, “Adapt. Hydrate. Be resourceful. You guys are a bunch of trained professionals. Jesus.”

Bucky had tried to find a solution by rush-ordering industrial-grade fans for everyone’s room. It was a notable effort, but ultimately it turned futile–the machines just churned around warm air like oversized hairdryers, only adding to the misery. Everyone had begun to crack in their own unhinged little ways soon after.

Walker had abandoned his bedroom entirely, calling it a hotbox of death–because it was facing the sun head on–and was now taking refuge on the cool concrete floor of the weapons bay, curled up beside an icebox and using a half-eaten bag of frozen peas as his pillow. Nobody knew if he was the one who ate the peas, and truly no one wanted to ask.

Alexei had opted to walk around shirtless, unapologetically drenched, swearing in Russian every time his back stuck to the leather chairs of the common room. You hadn’t seen cotton touch his torso in thirty-six hours.

Ava had tried to stick her head in the freezer at least three times–silent, dead-eyed, standing with the door propped open like a statue. She once murmured, “There’s no use…Not even the freezer can cool me down,” Before slamming the door shut and stomping away angrily.

Yelena didn’t even pretend to tough it out. She booked a hotel in the city with central air and an infinity pool and sent a group text that read: Temporarily unavailable. Followed by a photo of her in a robe, flipping everyone off.

You, on the other hand, were stuck in the sweltering hellhole that used to be the Watchtower. Unfortunately, you had responsibilities. Paperwork, of all godforsaken things–an Everest-sized pile of clearance reports, post-op evaluations, requisition forms, and incident debriefs that needed to be reviewed and signed off yesterday. As you worked through it though you were convinced the paper pile was actively multiplying every time you blinked.

You had stripped down to bare undergarments midway through the first day of this whole ordeal–tank tops and boy shorts, cycling through a mix of fabrics and colours, and faded cotton that clung to your skin within minutes of putting it on. A real outfit felt like a joke at this point. The way your thighs stuck to chairs, the way your bra would turn into a soaked band of torture across your ribs–it was all unbearable. So you stopped pretending, cause everyone had seen you in much less–unfortunately. A little skin in the name of not dying seemed fair game.

You’d made camp in the common room, spread out across the wooden floor: limbs splayed, eyes half-lidded, lips dry, surrounded by open folders and half-filled forms. Your pen was stuck between your fingers, and your knees were damp from the humidity clinging to the floorboards. You used half-complete reports as manual fans, your wrist flicking back and forth in a tired desperate rhythm.

Under the dim overhead lights your skin was shimmering. Sweat collected in the hollow of your throat, slicked down your back in slow, miserable trails, and glistened across your chest in a sheen that was just enough to be maddening.

Especially to Bob.

Bob wasn’t bothered by the heat–not one bit. In fact, he seemed to be thriving in it. While the rest of the compound staggered around like melting wax figures, Bob was walking proof that some unholy fusion of celestial physiology and boyish stubbornness could, against all logic, turn a heatwave into a personal spa retreat. His body already ran hot, warmer than any humans should be, so the shift in temperature just…Matched him. Balanced him. He was in his element. You’d caught him once humming as he refilled your water bottle and didn’t even look winded. It had taken every ounce of your willpower not to throw a folder at him out of sheer spite.

But as much as Bob was coasting through the inferno like a Sun God in July, there was one thing the heat did make difficult, and that was you.

More specifically: being around you without physically attaching himself to every available inch of your skin. And that was a problem. Because all you wanted was to peel your limbs off your own body and shove your head in the freezer next to Ava’s.

The first night the central air had gasped its last breath, you had trudged into your room in a haze of exhaustion and heat delirium. Your tank top was soaked, your shorts were riding up in ways that made you irrationally furious, and your entire back felt like it had been slow-roasted on a rack. All you wanted was to collapse onto your bed, cool yourself down on your fresh pillow, and not die.

Bob had followed in behind you a few minutes later. Barefoot, shirtless in his boxer shorts, and radiating heat like a bonfire. You had barely flattened yourself on the mattress before you felt the bed dip and a very warm, very clingy arm wrap around your middle.

“Bob–no. No. You’re a human space heater. I am going to combust.” He had blinked down at you like you had kicked him, lip tugging downward, but he didn’t retreat. His eyes shimmered slightly.

”Just–Just my arm. I won’t move around and make it hotter! I pr-promise! How about my leg? Just a little le-leg.” You tried to slither out from his trap, but he was persistent, curling his body around you like a cat trying to fit into a shoebox, “You know I ca-can’t sleep without cuddling you…Please.” He begged.

In the end, you had given up just enough to let him have his victory–an arm draped over your waist, a thigh tucked between your sweaty ones. His skin was boiling, his breath stuck to your neck, and you were sweating so much your sheets were damp. But he sighed with such softness and content, like that moment of closeness was everything he needed. And even though you mumbled curses and threatened to sleep on the floor next time, you didn’t push him off.

Now, he was watching you from his usual perch in the common room, planted in one of the worn armchairs, looking relaxed, comfortable-and absolutely lovesick in shorts and a t-shirt.

Every movement made your tank top shift and stick in new ways. A bead of sweat curved down your chest, catching the attention of Bob’s traitorous eyes before he jerked his gaze away, returning it to the book in front of him, like he hadn’t been staring.

You weren’t even trying to be provocative. You were just trying not to pass out. But the heat had made you soft-limbed, loose-spined, and languid. It made you sigh out loud and stretch like a cat, chasing relief. And every time you did, Bob’s eyes trailed after you like he was tethered. He swallowed thickly when you adjusted your posture again, thigh flexing, tank top riding up a bit more, your sweat-dampened back arching ever so slightly as you reached for another form.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke, but your voice was low and teasing. “Your eyes are gonna burn holes in me if you keep staring like that.”

Bob stiffened in his chair, legs snapping closer together. “I–uh. Wasn’t–” You snorted softly, not buying it for a second.

“You forget how I can feel when you’re looking at me.” You said, still not looking up from your papers, “Your gaze is like a goddamn laser. Feels like I’ve got sunburn from the inside out.” You could hear the hesitation in his breath, the soft rustle of fabric as he fidgeted in his seat, gathering the courage to speak. And then–

“Well…Ev-even though you’re melting…” He started, voice cracking like a sun-baked sidewalk, “I still th-think you’re… pretty.” You paused, pen hovering above a requisition form like you were about to stab a signature into it, then slowly tilted your head up. Your eyes locked onto him from across the room, narrowing ever so slightly.

“Bob,” You warned, a soft edge to your voice. “You know I’m a softie for compliments and your face…”

His lips twitched into a nervous smile, hopeful–but you cut him off.

“…But I swear to God, I think I would kill you if you even attempted to take my clothes off to have sex with me right now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered rapidly and he swallowed hard, the book lowering to his lap slightly.

”I-I was just s-saying you looked p-pretty…” He mumbled, face turning scarlet. You squinted, pointing your pen at him accusingly.

”Yes. And then it escalates. It always escalates.” Bob’s mouth opened like he wanted to object, but you were already rolling, “You say I look pretty, then it’s something about how good I look in the outfit I’m wearing–which is barely even an outfit, mind you–then you get all sentimental and say something sappy like ‘I’m so lucky to have a friend like you’ and ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you’ and blah, blah, blah–I’m not falling for it.” Bob looked like a man trying to explain himself at a trial with no legal counsel.

”I–I didn’t–this time, I wasn’t gonna–“ You lifted a brow, and he wilted a little further into his armchair, “Okay…I might’ve said something sappy later…Maybe.” You snorted and went back to fanning yourself with a requisition form.

”Exactly.”

“But–“ He tried, hands wringing in his lap, “You do look really go-good right now. Even with the sweat…And the uh…Paper stuck to your thigh.” He added. You glanced down and sighed, peeling a requisition form off your leg and flinging it to the side. Bob let out a small laugh at the sight, before lowering his voice.

”I really wasn’t trying to escalate. I know you’d kill me if I even–tried. I’d pr-probably turn into the sun the second I touched you.”

“You would,” You replied firmly, wiping a drop of sweat from your collarbone, “I’d light you up like a match.” There was a pause, then he hummed.

”…It’d still be wo–worth it.” You looked up again, slowly. Bob looked sheepish, guilty, and totally sincere.

“You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to throw something at you.” Bob smiled a little wider now, cautiously hopeful.

”Could I at least get a hug?” You groaned.

”No…”

”A sweaty hug?” He corrected, as you dragged your hands down your face, shaking your head. He stood anyway, walking over with slow, careful steps. You felt his shadow fall over you, tall and soft at the edges, and when you peeked up, he was grinning down at you–dimples and all.

”I’ll just hover then,” He said, crouching next to you and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, tasting a bead of sweat on his lips, before settling down beside your paper fortress, legs stretching out beside yours.

You let out a soft laugh through your nose–quiet, breathy, the kind of sound that would’ve floated past someone else entirely. But not Bob. Never Bob. He absorbed everything you did like a sponge pressed to water–hyper aware, quietly observant, and always aching in the silence between moments. No matter what you were doing, he always made it feel like he was watching an artist paint their biggest masterpiece.

You could’ve been cleaning blood off your boots, half–catatonic from fatigue, or wearing yesterday’s tank top turned inside out, it didn’t matter to him. He looked at you like he was witnessing a miracle, and it was never just lust that filled his eyes, never only want–it was that stunned, adoring kind of interest that made you feel like the world quieted when you moved.

Even now, in this godforsaken heat, when your skin felt slick and your hair clung to the back of your neck, he sat beside you like he was somewhere sacred. His shoulder barely grazed yours, but you could feel it–the press of his attention, the steady warmth of his presence folding over you like a second sun.

And despite your endless complaints, despite telling him time and time again that you were overheating and one more inch of skin contact might kill you, you were glad he hadn’t listened. Not fully. Because the truth was–you liked that he didn’t give you space. Not really. You liked the orbit of him. The magnetism. The strange, constant gravity that pulled him to you no matter the setting.

Ever since the two of you started hooking up though, that tether had only grown stronger. It didn’t matter if you were in bed or on opposite ends of the training floor–your bodies reached for each other instinctively. Your minds always seemed to be aware of one another in a way that felt cellular.

And though you were actively trying not to spontaneously combust under the heat dome that was the Watchtower, though you’d explicitly told him not to try anything, you still craved him. The pull of his voice, the shape of his breath, the way he sat beside you like you were something holy that made him forget himself.

But until something–anything–cooled you down enough not to literally die during sex, you had to suppress it.

You kept working, even as the sweat made your pen slippery in your grip. Even as your thighs stuck to the hardwood and your spine ached from the sticky angle of your slouch. You scribbled notes into the margins of reports for Val–“Slight concussion, extreme belligerence. Unsure if it was the wound.” All the while, you felt Bob watching you.

Now that he was close, it was worse. His gaze was warm. Not burning. Not greedy. But hot–like you’d stepped into late afternoon sunlight and knew it was going to follow you until dusk. He watched the way your collarbone caught the light, the slow trail of sweat that disappeared beneath the line of your tank top, the rise and fall of your chest like a tide he wanted to wade into.

He could smell you now, too. Your body wash–the mix of basil, blueberry, and lemon–had softened and bloomed in the heat, curling around you like a halo of late-summer air. You smelled like a drink he wanted to taste, a memory he wanted to bottle and keep forever. It made his throat feel thick. It made something ancient and hungry stir in him.

You swiped a hand across your forehead again, let out a huff, signed another sheet–and that’s when you felt his gaze sharpen.

”Bob,” You said dryly, not even glancing at him “Keep your eyes to yours–“

”There’s ic-ice in the freezer,” He interrupted, voice cracking slightly like it was tripping on the edge of his desire. You paused, turning your head toward him with a squint.

”Yeah? And why are you bringing that up so randomly?” His eyes widened at bit, then he flushed, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck–a tell that he was nervous.

”Maybe I want to…Cool you do–down?” Your eyes narrowed, the corner of your mouth twitching up in slow suspicion.

“Yeah? And how would you do that?” He hesitated–just for a moment–and then leaned in ever so slightly, his voice low, uncertain, trembling with barely-leashed tenderness.

”Why don’t you let me sh-show you?” God, the way he said it–it wasn’t a line. It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t even seductive in the traditional sense. It was something softer than that. Sweeter. Gentler.

It was Bob wanting to worship, not possess. To soothe, not seduce. It was in the way his voice cracked around the word show, like he meant something more than just a practical gesture. Like he wanted to lay you down and press ice to every patch of you that felt too hot, not to make you moan, but to make you breathe again.

Like cooling you down would be an honor.

He wasn’t talking about sex. Not entirely at least. He was talking about the intimacy of care. The small, slow rituals that said I see you, I know you, I’ll take care of this part too.

You felt it in your spine–the way the suggestion settled, the weight of the moment bending inward like a candle flame curling toward its own wax. You turned your head slowly to look at him and found him already watching you with that same melted-lovely stare. Eyes wide. Lips parted. Hope curling behind his lashes.

He looked like he was waiting for permission to make the heat bearable. Waiting to touch you only if it meant relief.

Your throat worked once, then you set your pen down.

“…Alright then, Bob,” You murmured, tilting your head. “Show me.” Bob shot to his feet like a firework, the shift from softness to sudden motion making you laugh a bit. He offered you both hands, palms open, eyes bright with some boyish spark you hadn’t seen since before the heatwave hit.

“C’mon,” He urged, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips like he was already proud of whatever plan had rooted itself in his head. You glanced down at his hands, then back up at him.

”You’re not gonna do it here?” He shook his head quickly, his light brown, sun-kissed strands of hair flopping slightly.

”Tr-Trust me,” He said with a nervous unmistakable glimmer in his eye, “You want to do it in a be-bedroom.” Your stomach flipped. Not because it sounded dirty–though your traitorous mind was already sprinting toward some variation of shirtless–Bob dripping ice water down your spine–but because of the tone, and the way he said it. So sure. So gentle. So full of barely concealed affection. Your skin prickled from anticipation. He helped you up from the floor with ease, and turned, starting for the hallway.

You followed closely behind, your legs stiff and heavy from too much time on the floor. He stopped at the kitchen, and you caught the distinct sound of the freezer opening, the crinkle of plastic, the quiet clatter of something.

Curious, you poked your head around the corner–only to find Bob standing in front of the counter, brow furrowed in focus, tearing open a large bag of ice with his teeth and pouring generous handfuls into a wide stainless steel mixing bowl. The ice chimed and cracked as it landed, a sound almost obscene in the still, overheated silence of the Watchtower.

Your eyebrows rose.

Bob caught your expression immediately and looked sheepish, shrugging one shoulder at you.

”The mo-more the merrier,” He commented, lifting the bowl like a trophy. You huffed a laugh, low and incredulous.

”This is either going to be really sweet or very dumb,” You muttered, shaking your head as he approached.

”It’ll definitely be both.” He replied, not missing a beat.

He took your hand in his free one, fingers warm and steady even as he balanced the cold weight of the bowl in the other. His thumb slid along your knuckles as he led you back down the hallway, his touch grounding despite the faint sheen of sweat that coated you, it only took a few steps until you finally reached your room.

It was hot there. Thick, slow, swampy heat. The kind that stuck to the corners of the ceiling and refused to move. The blackout drapes you’d thrown up were trying their best, but the sun still managed to bleed in around the edges–gold streaks slicing through the air like knives. The only saving grace was the cracked window above your headboard, which at night had allowed the barest hint of a breeze to creep in. It didn’t help much–but it was something at least.

Your room was a lived-in kind of mess. A fan sat on your desk, humming uselessly. There were two half-drunk bottles of water near your nightstand, a crumpled hoodie discarded on the floor, and the sheets were tangled from restless nights. Still, it smelled like you. That same clean, citrus-sweet scent that clung to your skin. Bob inhaled it without even thinking.

He moved with purpose now, stepping around you to the bed, placing the bowl of ice on your side table before grabbing the nearest towel from your hamper–fresh, fluffy, cream-colored. He spread it over the foot of your bed carefully, smoothing out the creases like he was setting a picnic for something sacred.

“Okay,” He said, crouching slightly and patting the towel with one hand, “You sit th–there. And I’ll sit behind you.”

His voice was soft. Intentional. No teasing now–just quiet care threading every syllable. And it did something to you. Something that reached down into the heat-numbed center of your chest and gave it a gentle squeeze.

You obeyed without a word, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the bed, the towel rough and cool beneath your thighs. You could hear the clink of ice behind you, the shifting of his body as the mattress shifted under his weight. And then, slowly, the warmth of him pressed close behind–legs on either side of yours, his knees bent so he could sit just barely higher, his breath ghosting near the back of your ear.

”Ready?” You nodded–immediately, instinctively–before the word even had time to form in your mouth.

The air was still thick and stifling, but the anticipation split through it like a thunderclap. You heard the soft rustle of movement behind you–the dip of Bob’s arm into the bowl, the telltale clink of shifting ice. A pause. A breath. And then–

Cold.

Your spine arched in reflex as the first piece of ice touched your upper back, the sensation so stark against your overheated skin that you gasped. The cube dragged in a slow, deliberate line between your shoulder blades, leaving a shivering trail in its wake. Your breath hitched.

Bob’s free hand came to rest against your waist–not forceful, not possessive, but anchoring. His palm was hot, fingers splayed across your damp skin like he needed the contact just to stay grounded.

He was slow with it.

The ice danced across your skin, trailing up and then outward over the curve of your right shoulder blade. And then the left. The path was meticulous, methodical, melting little rivers that trickled down the curve of your back until they disappeared into the band of your tank top.

You shuddered–eyes fluttering shut–just as you felt his breath behind you, warm and steady, before his lips grazed your skin.

Bob leaned in.

And then he licked the droplets off your back.

Your entire body jolted like it had been kissed by lightning. His tongue was hot, a perfect, obscene contrast to the cold that came before it. He followed the rivulets the ice had left behind, slow and deliberate, his mouth brushing against your skin with almost unbearable care. You could feel his breath between licks, the air stirring goosebumps in its wake.

“Jesus, Bob…” You whispered, voice already shaky, barely above a breath.

He didn’t respond. He just kept going.

He trailed the ice once more–lower this time, letting the cold slip just beneath the band of your tank top before dragging it back up in a long, trembling sweep. Then came his mouth again. His lips. His tongue. You felt his teeth graze your shoulder–not biting, just there, like he couldn’t help but taste the saltiness of your skin.

Every time he kissed the water from your spine, it felt like he was drinking in something sacred.

You leaned forward slightly, head bowing as your hands clutched at the towel beneath you. Your breathing was shallow, pulse thrumming behind your ears. Bob’s hand on your waist squeezed just once, steadying you.

And then his voice, soft and low and trembling with something barely restrained, broke the silence against the shell of your ear.

“Take off your sh-shirt.”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even a request.

It was a prayer. A plea.

Like he couldn’t bear the barrier between you a second longer. Like he needed more of you, not just for heat or for want, but for relief. For whatever spell that had overtaken both of you in the dense summer silence of your bedroom.

Your fingers moved before your mind caught up. You gripped the hem of your soaked tank top and–slowly, shakily–peeled it upward. It clung to your skin in stubborn patches, lifting in jerks until it passed over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up. Damp. Glowing. Breathing hard.

Bob’s breath stuttered.

You could feel his eyes on your back–devouring, worshiping, stunned silent. You started to turn your head over your shoulder, to ask what he was thinking–but you didn’t get the chance.

Because the next thing you felt was the ice again–this time sliding down your spine unburdened by cloth. And then his mouth. Hot. Open. Worshipful. He let out a soft moan against your skin, the sound low and trembling like it had clawed its way up from somewhere deep. His breath was hot, reverent. “Tastes s–so good…” he whispered, the words pressed into your spine like a confession–fragile and feral all at once.

You felt the faint scrape of his teeth next, dragging along the sensitive ridge of your lower shoulder blade, making your back arch into him involuntarily. His hand–still splayed wide on your waist–tightened once, then slipped away with purpose. A soft clink sounded beside you. Another piece of ice.

And then–

Cold.

This time, not against your back, but your chest.

You gasped–body jolting forward, spine bowing–as the ice skimmed the swell of your breast. The contrast was devastating. Your skin was already buzzing from the heat and his mouth, but the sudden bite of chill stole your breath.

Bob’s lips chased the line of melting droplets down your spine, tongue trailing them like he was memorizing every bead. Every curve. Every shiver.

And then the second piece of ice–still in his other hand–dragged across your chest in slow, deliberate passes. He brought it lower, tracing under the curve of your breast, then–so slowly it almost broke you–up toward your nipple.

Your mouth fell open. A moan spilled out before you could stop it.

“Bob…H–Holy fuck, Bob.”

You felt the corners of his lips lift where they pressed to your back–smirking. Smug and innocent like he hadn’t just unraveled you with frozen water and heat.

“Wh–What?” He asked, faux-innocent, his voice thick and trembling with barely restrained want.

He circled your nipple with the ice–quick, swirling passes that sent lightning through your chest. Then, without warning, he moved to the other, just as devastating.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, half a prayer, half a curse.

Your body leaned back instinctively, seeking him. The moment your spine met his chest, you felt it–all of him. His warmth. The racing thrum of his heart. The hardness pressed beneath his shorts. The quiet tremble in his hands as he reached around you again.

His mouth hovered near your ear.

“Can I…” His voice was barely audible now, so close it vibrated in your bones. “Can I lick the droplets off?”

“Yes,” You breathed, without hesitation. “Yes…”

You felt him smile against your temple. Not greedy. Not cocky. Just grateful. Devoted.

He slipped off the bed slowly, deliberately. His palms ran down your thighs as he sank, and then he was there–on his knees in front of you, golden in the streaks of sun that leaked through the curtain’s edge. His eyes were glassy, wide with awe, his curls damp from sweat, sticking to his forehead. He looked like he was looking at a fever dream.

He reached for the bowl of ice beside him and set it gently on the floor, then looked back up at you with a question in his eyes. You nodded once, breathless.

Bob guided you forward with careful hands, his fingers feather-light beneath your arms as he encouraged you to lean down toward him, your chest close to his lips.

And then–

His mouth latched onto your nipple.

His tongue was warm and needy, lapping at the cold water like it was something holy. You cried out–soft and broken–as he sucked gently, pulling the chill into his mouth and swallowing your heat like he needed it.

At the same time, his hand reached into the bowl and lifted another piece of ice. He guided it slowly to your other breast, circling the nipple with glacial focus, letting it bead and drip while his mouth worked the other in steady, wet rhythm.

Your fingers tangled in his hair.

He moaned softly at that, tongue pressing flatter now, lips tighter, like he couldn’t help himself.

And when you looked down at him, flushed and kneeling between your legs, worshipping you with his mouth and melting ice, you swore you’d never been touched more sweetly in your life.

He pulled off your nipple with a soft, wet pop, licking it one last time, tongue circling tenderly before he released it. His lips grazed the curve of your breast in a gentle kiss, trailing heat in their wake. Then he shifted–slow, purposeful–toward the other, where the ice had melted into a glossy sheen over your skin. He didn’t rush. He paused to admire you, blue eyes glazed with something more than lust–adoration, worship, the kind of awe that made your chest cave in. He was drunk on the taste of your skin, and all he wanted was more.

His mouth sealed around your other nipple with a desperate hunger softened by devotion. His tongue moved languidly, drinking the cold from your body and replacing it with his heat, like he needed to balance you out. As his lips worked, he moved the piece of ice in his hand–down your ribcage, trailing it along the edge of your ribs with devastating slowness.

You gasped when it passed the under-side of your breast, the chill biting in contrast to the molten heat of his mouth, then lower, across the dip of your stomach, inching toward the space just above your navel. You flinched as it reached the sensitive skin right above the waistband of your boyshorts, and he groaned low in his throat in response–like your every twitch was a prayer answered.

Your hands tugged gently at his hair, not to pull him away but to feel something tethered, something grounding, because your entire body was floating–adrift in heat and cold and sensation.

He pulled away from your breast with a breathless sigh, mouth shiny and pink, and leaned in to chase the wet path down your stomach. You watched his tongue trace the same line the ice had carved, warm and wet, mouth open and panting against your navel as he moved lower and lower. Every kiss was a blessing. Every lick, a declaration.

And then he stopped at the waistband.

His nose brushed it gently. His breath was a humid puff across your lower belly. He looked up at you through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, curls curling slightly with sweat, his tongue running absently over his lower lip before he tilted his head–so soft, so careful.

“Can I take these off?” He asked, voice low and quiet, almost bashful despite everything. You nodded immediately, breath hitching.

”Y–Yeah.” He helped you stand with that same steady grace, his thumb sliding along the elastic at your hips, eyes never leaving yours–not even for a second. Then he slowly tugged them down. The fabric peeled from your thighs with a sticky reluctance, damp with sweat and tension and heat. He bent as he went, lowering himself with each inch until he was on his knees again, breath ghosting across your inner thighs.

Your hands trembled as he sat you down at the edge of the bed once more, steadying you with one hand on your hip, the other bracing your thigh. You watched as he pulled your legs gently over his shoulders, a smile coming up on his lips.

Bob’s breath hitched the moment he saw you–already glistening, already soaked, slick with heat and want and sweat. He stared like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he’d stumbled into something mythic, something divine. And then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for the bowl.

The ice clinked gently as he dipped his fingers in, searching by feel. When he pulled one out, the cube was already slick in his grip, catching the dim light like crystal. He held it there for a second–then looked up at you.

“C–Can I put this on you?” He asked softly, voice breathless with awe.

You nodded without a pause, lips parted, heart thudding somewhere in your throat. “Yes… do it.”

He smiled.

And then he moved–slow, reverent, a priest in the presence of a miracle.

He brought the ice to your center, resting it just above your clit, and immediately–you felt it. A single drop fell.

You gasped.

The cold dragged across your head, contrasting so violently with the flushed wetness of your core that your hips jerked. Another drop slid between your folds, trailing downward like a teasing finger. Your whole body shivered–and that’s when Bob leaned in.

He licked the first droplet as it passed your clit.

And then he lost himself.

His mouth met you with heat so sharp it made your knees lock around his shoulders. His tongue licked up the length of your folds, slow at first, but with increasing urgency. The chill of the ice was still there–he never removed it, just held it against you, letting it drip while he worshipped you with his mouth.

You moaned–a high, breathless, broken thing–and your fingers dove into his hair, yanking just enough to feel him groan into you. It was obscene.

The ice kept dripping. His mouth kept moving. And the contrast was too much. Cold sliding into hot. Wet meeting wetter. His tongue was everywhere–flicking, flattening, curling against your clit, lapping up the melting droplets like he needed them to survive. Every moan that rumbled from his chest vibrated into you. He wasn’t holding back. He was devouring you.

Feral. Controlled. Utterly consumed.

You tried to speak–tried to tell him how fucking good it felt–but all that came out were broken syllables and a whispered, “Oh my God… Bob, please–”

He answered by moaning into your core, low and guttural, dragging the flat of his tongue up from your entrance to your clit in one long, devastating pass. The ice cube shifted slightly, grazing your skin, making you cry out as your body jolted again.

And then–he slipped two fingers inside you.

You nearly sobbed.

They pushed in slow but deep, curling instantly. He knew exactly where to touch you, exactly how to fuck you with his hand while his mouth never stopped moving. His lips sealed around your clit, tongue swirling, licking away each cold droplet before it even had the chance to fully fall.

“Fuck–Bob–don’t stop, don’t you dare–” You whimpered, legs trembling.

He didn’t.

His fingers thrust harder. His tongue licked deeper. And when you rocked your hips forward–desperate for more–he groaned again, rutting subtly against the bed, lost in the taste of you.

The heat in your belly cracked wide open.

You felt the wave before it hit–felt your thighs tightening, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your back arching towards him.

“Fuck!” You cried, one hand gripping the edge of the sheets, the other twisted tight in his curls. Your orgasm ripped through you like wildfire, your whole body locking up before it collapsed into tremors, your thighs clamped tight around his neck, shaking. He held you through it. Tongue still moving. Fingers slowing just enough to prolong it, to guide you down from the cliff as gently as he’d brought you there.

When your body finally eased, when the waves started to ebb and your limbs stopped trembling, he pulled back–slowly, reluctantly.

His face was soaked.

Completely, reverently drenched. His lips were swollen, his cheeks glistened with your slick, your sweat, and faint trails of melting ice. His eyes were glazed with something carnal, but soft–softer than anything should be after what he just did to you.

He looked like he’d just returned from the edge of something sacred.

He exhaled, licking his lips slowly, pulling his fingers out gently before looking up at you like you’d just changed the orbit of his universe.

“…You ta–taste like fucking salvation,” He whispered, hoarse. Your thighs were trembling, your chest rising in ragged, shuddering breaths, your lips parting in the aftermath of the orgasm he had just wrung from you with nothing but his mouth, fingers, and a melting piece of ice. His tongue darted out again, slowly, to taste the last bead of wetness from your inner thigh.

Then, he lifted his hand–the one still holding the ice cube. It had shrunk to half its size now, slick and trembling between his fingertips. He raised it with the same care you might offer a relic, brushing it over your clit, before pulling it away completely.

”I wa-want you to open your mouth.” He instructed gently. You listened to him without hesitation. Bob brought the ice to his own lips, slipping it into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he chewed it slowly, the cold cracking and popping between his teeth. You watched every second like it was a ritual–like he was about to give you something sacred. And he was.

He slid your legs gently from his shoulders and rose to his full height, towering over you in the low, golden light. His face glowed with sweat and flushed a light red, as he cups your cheeks with his hands–fingertips damp, warm, trembling with care–and leaned in until his lips hovered just above yours.

Then–he parted his lips and let the water drip into your mouth.

You moaned at the first taste.

It wasn’t just water. It wasn’t just ice. It was you. Your taste lingered in it–your slick, your arousal, your salt and sweetness and heat. It tasted like shared sin. Like everything Bob had just taken from you with his mouth and was now giving back in liquid communion.

You swallowed slowly, lips brushing his, breath mingling.

And then—he kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was intimate, filthy in how much love was packed between teeth and tongue. His lips crashed against yours, his mouth open, slick, tasting of melted ice and you and him. His tongue slid against yours, greedy and slow, like he was still trying to share the taste of you back and forth between your mouths.

You whimpered, hands flying to the waistband of his shorts, tugging at the tie. It loosened easily in your grip, and his hips jerked forward with a soft, broken sound.

Bob panted into your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re go–gonna get hot again…”

You shook your head, smiling through the haze of pleasure still coiling in your belly. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper, lips brushing his as you said, “Not if my legs are on your shoulders and you’re fucking me with my hips on the edge of the bed.” His entire body shuddered. His throat bobbed in a tight, desperate swallow. He didn’t even respond. Just–moved.

His shirt was off in seconds, ripped over his head and tossed somewhere you didn’t care about. You moaned at the sight.

You always moaned at the sight.

His chest was flushed and glowing, the heat making every line of him more vivid–shoulders broad, chest rising fast, his skin glistening with sweat and want. And then–his shorts dropped. He stepped out of them like he was shedding a burden. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, twitching at the air between you. He was painfully ready, his tip flushed, veins prominent along the shaft, his body trembling with restraint he no longer seemed interested in holding.

And still–he looked at you like you were a miracle.

He kissed you again before you could speak, devouring your mouth with a groan, hands gripping your hips with reverent, aching need.

Bob pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead still resting against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged urgency. His blue eyes flicked over your face, searching, drinking you in like you might vanish if he blinked. You could feel the tremble in his thighs, the barely-restrained hunger in the way his grip tightened on your hips.

Then–gently–he guided you backward.

Your body yielded beneath his touch, melting into the mattress as your back met the damp sheets. The towel beneath you was bunched and wrinkled now, forgotten. All that mattered was him. The way he looked at you like you were something sacred, and the reverent hush that settled over the room as he bent to his knees on the bed, positioning himself above you.

He slid one arm beneath your thigh, guiding your hips down the bed ever so slightly, adjusting your body with the same care one might use to arrange something fragile–something precious. His touch was patient, but deliberate, until your hips were at the edge of the mattress and your legs could rise, slow and trembling, to rest over his shoulders.

The moment your calves draped across his skin, he paused. His breath hitched. You watched the awe flash across his face as he looked down at you–completely bare, flushed, and glistening with sweat. Your fingers reached for his hand, and he found yours instantly, weaving his fingers through yours, palms pressing tight like a lifeline.

Then–

He pressed his cock against your entrance.

The head of him was thick and hot, sliding slowly through your slick folds, smearing himself in the mess he had coaxed from you with ice and mouth and praise. He nudged your entrance gently, gliding in just enough to make your breath catch. Your lashes fluttered. His hips paused, trembling with restraint.

And then–he pushed.

You both moaned–broken and breathless–as he sank into you inch by inch. The stretch was slow, deliberate, perfect. His cock filled you in a way that made your whole body seize with need, the stretch burning just enough to make you tremble. He pressed forward until he was fully seated inside you–his hips flush with yours, his body rigid above you, the head of him brushing so deep you swore you saw stars.

Your hand tightened in his. His head dropped slightly, lips parting with a shaky groan.

“F-fuck…You feel so good…” He whispered, his voice hoarse, eyes screwed shut in overwhelmed bliss. Then, after a breathless second, he leaned down and kissed your calf–softly, reverently–before he started to move.

The first thrust was slow. Gentle. A pull and press that made your hips rock into his instinctively. He dragged his cock almost all the way out before easing back in, groaning at the way your walls clung to him.

You gasped, back arching. “Bob…”

He began a rhythm. Measured. Loving. Each thrust slow and deep, dragging against every aching spot inside you until your thighs were trembling and your core was fluttering with need. The sounds were obscene–wet, slick, breathless. Every push of his hips made you gasp. Every roll of your body made him moan.

“Feel so perfect,” He panted, his free hand sliding to your waist to anchor you. “So warm…So fucking tight…Fuck–”

He picked up the pace just slightly, hips rocking harder now, deeper. Your body jolted with each motion, the slap of skin against skin echoing beneath the hum of the useless fan in the corner.

Your walls began to pulse around him. You whimpered, breath shattering.

“I’m–I’m close…”

That was all it took for him to unravel a little more.

He let go of your hand and leaned down, bringing his weight forward until your knees were nearly touching your chest, his chest flush with yours, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss so hungry it knocked the breath out of you. He moaned into your mouth as he thrust harder, deeper, every drag of his cock stealing another cry from your throat.

Your legs tightened around his shoulders. His thrusts grew rougher, more desperate.

“I’m go–gonna finish so deep inside you,” He groaned into your mouth, voice low and trembling. “I’m gonna fill you up so fuckin’ deep–you’re ne–never going to get rid of me.” Your entire body convulsed.

The orgasm hit like a wave, hot and endless. Your mouth fell open in a soundless cry as your back arched off the bed and your walls clamped down around him, milking his cock with fluttering, pulsing waves of pure pleasure.

“Fuck–fuck fuck fuck–” Bob gasped, his rhythm faltering. And then–with one final, deep thrust–he came.

He buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching inside you as he spilled into you in thick, hot waves. You gasped as you felt it–his cum filling you, warm and devastating, the heat of it flooding your already over-sensitized body. His cock pulsed with every spurt, deep inside, pressed right against your cervix. Your hands clutched his back, fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped in pure, broken pleasure.

You could feel it.

The way it filled you. Coated you. Seeped so deep it felt like you were glowing from the inside out.

Bob moaned against your mouth, his hips stuttering once, twice, as he gave you the last of it, trembling. He stayed like that, buried in you, his forehead pressed to yours, your legs still locked over his shoulders.

The room was quiet but for the panting–your breaths, tangled and uneven, and his, rasping against your skin like wind through trees. Your hands slowly began tracing soft, lazy circles along his shoulders, fingertips dragging through the sweat and heat still clinging to his flushed skin. You could feel the way he was still trembling–just a little–from the aftershocks. Every breath he took made his chest rise against yours, pressed so tightly together it was hard to tell where your heartbeat ended and his began.

And then–he laughed.

Quiet and disbelieving. Almost dazed.

You tilted your head, blinking up at him. “What?”

Bob shook his head, curls sticking adorably to his damp forehead, a flushed, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded but glowing.

“You ju–just have so much control over me…” He murmured, voice still breathless. “And I lo–love it so much.”

Your lips curled in a slow, sultry smirk. You kissed him–soft and sensual, dragging your mouth across his like you had all the time in the world. You felt him melt into it, sighing, his hips still pressed to yours, his body heavy with contentment and heat.

Then–slowly–you slipped your legs down from his shoulders. The stretch burned instantly, a ripple of dull ache shooting through your inner thighs. You let out a soft groan, your face twitching at the sting.

Bob pulled back, eyebrows immediately knitting in concern. “You okay?”

You nodded, exhaling through the slight discomfort. “Yeah. Just…a little sore from the position. I may be flexible during missions, but when I have the weight of you pressing into me like that…” You gave him a pointed, teasing look. “It’s a different story.”

He flushed at the implication, letting out a shy little laugh before you reached up and brushed a strand of damp hair from his forehead. Your fingers lingered on his cheek, tracing the curve of it with a tenderness that made his lashes flutter.

Bob leaned into your palm instinctively, eyes slipping shut. Then he cracked a smile again, eyes twinkling with something mischievous.

“Y’know wh–what would be great?” He asked softly, voice low and hopeful.

You hummed. “What?”

He leaned forward until his nose brushed yours, his voice a conspiratorial whisper:

“A shower with you… Pr-Preferably a warm one. So neither of us are miserable.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, shaking your head as affection welled up in your chest. “Sounds good…” You whispered. “Can you carry me to the bathroom?”

His brows raised like you’d just told him the sun rose for him. “Of co–course,” he said with no hesitation, already shifting. “Only you deserve the five star treatment.”

You let out a soft laugh as he gently pulled out, the stretch and warmth making you sigh, his cum slipping and pooling between your thighs with a hot, sticky glide. He moved carefully, placing a kiss on your collarbone before sliding his arms between your back and the mattress.

You yelped lightly as he scooped you up in one smooth motion–like you weighed nothing at all. His strength was effortless, infused with the serum but wrapped in the gentleness that was uniquely Bob. He held you against his chest like you were precious cargo, one hand tucked under your knees, the other cradling your back.

You looped your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder, your lips finding the warm skin there in a soft kiss. He smiled at the contact, turning his head to nuzzle your temple as he carried you toward the bathroom.

With one foot, he kicked the door open, stepping over discarded clothes and damp towels without missing a beat. The bathroom light flicked on, flooding the space with soft golden glow. You heard the quiet thud of the door shutting behind him and the click of the lock.

The air inside was warm already–trapped heat lingering from earlier, but not unbearable. You felt it shift as Bob moved toward the shower and set you gently on the counter’s edge, making sure you were stable before reaching for the faucet.

The pipes groaned as the water sputtered to life. Within seconds, warm steam began curling in lazy tendrils from behind the frosted glass.

Bob turned back to you with a smile, silhouetted in the hazy light, and asked softly, “Sh-shampoo or no shampoo?”

You grinned, eyes heavy, heart full.

“Shampoo,” You murmured. “Might as well go for the full spa package.”

He chuckled, Bob turned back from the shelf with your preferred shampoo already in hand, fingers slick from the steam curling up around you both. He stepped into the shower first, testing the water with his wrist, then held a hand out for you to follow. You took it wordlessly, skin still flushed and legs still weak, letting him guide you under the cascade of warmth.

The water streamed down your back in lazy waves, soothing the tension from your spine as Bob gently eased your head back beneath the spray. His touch was careful, reverent. Once your hair was wet enough, he tipped the bottle, squeezing a dollop into his palm, and then set to work.

His fingers threaded through your scalp like he was touching something sacred, slow and deliberate, working the shampoo in with gentle pressure. He never scratched too hard, never rushed. It was more massage than anything–his knuckles dragging lazy circles, thumbs brushing along your hairline, his eyes locked onto you the whole time like you were the most important thing he’d ever been trusted to care for.

Just before he let you rinse, he leaned in again–lips pressing to your collarbone in a kiss so soft it barely registered, just heat and breath and affection. And then his voice, low and warm and dripping with adoration, spilled over you like another layer of steam.

“You’re incredible…So fucking beautiful. Yo-You know that, right? So smart…So strong, and you let me–let me to–touch you like this, hold you like this. God, I’m so lucky. You taste like the sun. You feel like home. You make everything good again…”

You huffed a soft breath, overwhelmed and flustered, tilting your head just slightly to rinse the lather away. Bob’s hands helped guide the water down, careful not to splash you in the face. When you blinked through the droplets, still breathless from how he spoke like worship poured from his chest, you couldn’t help but murmur:

“You’re always so soft after sex.”

Bob stilled behind you for a moment, as if processing it. Then he leaned forward, voice tinged with surprise and a faint, teasing pout. “Am I no-not soft any other times?”

You laughed, turning in the warm spray to face him, droplets beading along his flushed collarbones. “You’re soft other times, Bob. But you’re way more soft after sex. Like…Melted marshmallow soft.”

He grinned, cheeks going red as he ducked his head slightly, the water slicking his hair to his forehead. “Well…We are releasing bo-bonding hormones, so…” He said with a small shrug, “How could I not want to be attached to you and be so–soft with you?”

You stepped closer, chest brushing his. Your lips met his in a warm, lingering kiss, water slipping between you as your hands smoothed up his arms. “You’re right…”

What followed was a slow, shared ritual of care. Bob washed your body in sections, treating each limb like it deserved a love letter. He murmured praise against your shoulder, your belly, the back of your knee. His hands glided with reverence, touching as if your skin might flake away like ash if he wasn’t gentle. And when it was your turn, you returned the care—rubbing slow circles into his broad back, tracing over his chest, lathering his curls with the same tenderness he’d shown you.

“You smell like sunshine and sin,” he whispered as you rinsed him off. “Like citrus and heaven. Like something I’m not supposed to touch, but I get to anyway.”

You giggled softly, pressing your lips to his neck. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love it,” He breathed, eyes glowing.

You were just about to pull him into another kiss–foreheads close, smiles sticky sweet–when a shout rang out through the compound, muffled by walls but unmistakably furious:

“WHO TOUCHED MY BAG OF ICE!?”

You both froze.

Then, slowly, your gazes turned toward each other–eyes wide, lips twitching.

“…Oh no,” You whispered.

Bob’s eyes went round with guilt. “I-I’ll buy her another one–”

“She’s gonna kill us,” You said flatly.

And then the both of you burst out laughing, muffling the sound in each other’s shoulders as the water kept streaming, and the heat of the Watchtower still pressed in around you–but somehow, in that tiny sanctuary of steam and love and whispered giggles, you barely felt it anymore.

[httpwintersoldier]

『 freak. pt1 | b. barnes x reader 』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: mega words summary: after suppressing his feelings and emotions for so long, Bucky found himself at a romantic standstill, unable to form a connection due to his discomfort with anything related to the matters of the heart and the mind. That is, until he met you, someone with the same problem, looking for the same solution. a slow burn between two people who didn't allow themselves to love.

fluff ; angst ; smut

James Barnes was convinced he had seen and experienced just about every single terrifying experience. Being drafted to war, captured by Nazis, experimented on, forced to kill, attacked by aliens...

And yet fear overcame him whenever the topic of dating came up.

He had tried to date, his therapist had encouraged him to - "creating connections with people", and all. But Bucky wondered if it had done any good, he wondered if it had made it worse, actually. He could handle taking care of someone else, being romantic, protecting and being chivalrous towards someone else came pretty natural to him (even after nearly a century of being single), it was the rest that he found complicated.

The man didn't mind consoling people and wiping their tears, giving them a friendly shoulder to cry on, and although the display of emotions could make him uncomfortable sometimes, he was happy to help, more than anything. It was when his partners asked him to be vulnerable that all Hell broke loose.

It's not that he didn't trust the people he dated, he didn't have any secrets - much to his distaste, his past was very public and anyone could just make themselves known of his trauma if they so pleased - but he did not want to dissect anything. Bucky did not want to think about it, much less talk about it, and he wanted to explain his feelings even less. He'd soon find out that his partners disliked that in him, they loved how caring he was, but they felt as if Bucky was only attentive as a way to make up for hi emotional unavailability, to make up for not being able to let anyone in other than at a surface level.

Multiple people had explained it to him, they told him that people felt hurt when they would expose so much of themselves and not get the same amount of trust back, and Bucky understood it (he wasn't a robot, after all, human emotions and behaviours weren't foreign to him), but the man still couldn't bring himself to open his heart up to anyone.

Whenever he did do it, on his last relationship, it wasn't enough, and it sent him spiraling.

He was sitting on the couch, arm lazily draped over the shoulders of the pretty girl he had taken on a few dates. She was beautiful, kind, genuine, mature... Everything was right with her, Bucky really wanted to make it work. The girl was telling him a story, he could no longer remember what it was about, something about feeling lonely in the world and trying to overcome it by putting herself out there.

Then came his turn to share. Ah. He recognized the look in her eyes, as if silently asking "can you relate to what I'm saying?". It would be cocky (and a lie) to say that he couldn't see himself in what she said, he had to respond, he knew he had to say something, to share.

"I was an army brat, my family moved around a bunch so I didn't have many friends growing up, I only met Steve when I was around thirteen, but up until then moving around had me feeling pretty lonely." Bucky had a small smile as he told the story, remembering his old friend, whom at the time was but a frail boy that needed much protection.

The girl to his side, however, scrunched her nose. He could tell she wasn't happy about the answer.

"Haven't you felt lonely... recently?" She asked, more specifically.

Bucky tried to fight it, but he couldn't help the way his body stiffened at the question. Of course his answer was an attempt at dodging the question, he wasn't actually sharing something vulnerable, just as she had, he was simply sharing a memory from a time when he was happy and comfortable, the girl wanted something that told her what kind of person he was in the present.

Millions of thoughts ran through his head - the cold walls of the H.Y.D.R.A dungeon where he was tortured and treated as less than, the small apartment in Bucharest where he hid while trying to figure out who he was, the time he spent in the Avengers tower, getting side eyes and being seen as some "unstable threat one wrong move away from snapping" by everyone, the flat he rented and slept alone in after Steve left. Bucky had felt lonely plenty of times - most of his life, really, but it wasn't something he was willing to explore, it was too deep, too real, and too soon.

The man smiled and chuckled dryly, trying to mask the discomfort of the situation.

"More recent? Are you calling me old?"

He tried cracking a joke to shake away the tension he had unknowingly created in the air, desperately licking his lips and brushing his hair back with one hand to distract himself (and her) from the fact that he was trying to stray away from the girl's question.

Upon hearing his comment, she straightened herself on the couch and turned her body to look at Bucky.

"Listen, James, you're a great guy, you don't find many people like you nowadays, so I tried my best and I stuck around because of that, but you've built this... wall. And it's impenetrable. No matter how much I try to get to know you under the surface level, no matter how much I share of me, I don't get the same from you. And- and this isn't an insult to you, but I need more, I can't be wondering what you're thinking and feeling all the time, and I can't be guessing what triggers you or not every day, I'm sorry."

That conversation lived in his head every day. Bucky apologized, it was all he could do, really. He gave her a reassuring hug and yet another woman walked out of his front door to never come back, leaving a sour taste on his mouth and a heavy feeling of disappointment on his chest, as if he was a freak, as if something was deeply wrong with him.

Months passed, Bucky sat with himself and his thoughts on his couch, alone, with a glass of bourbon in hand, wondering if he'd ever find a partner, if he'd ever be able to free himself from the muzzle that kept him from speaking, if he'd ever be able to tear down the wall within him that everyone criticized so much.

Bucky couldn't get drunk, one of the unfortunate side effects of the serum that had been given to him - yet another thing that helped make people vulnerable and it didn't work on him. But he was still human, and, one dark night, the amount alcohol he consumed was too much, and he got sick, so much so that the air coming in from the open windows wasn't enough. He opened his front door and dragged himself to the rooftop, thinking the cold breeze would do him some good.

There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, only bright stars and the occasional blinking lights of a plane passing overhead. Bucky preferred the natural sounds of Wakanda, or the ones from Brooklyn in the 30's, they were both much quieter, but he had learned to find peace in the busy city noises. The cold hair hit him in the face and helped the sickness substantially - he hadn't noticed how stuffy his apartment had gotten, be it from the heat, or from all of the tension and sulking he had been doing within those four walls.

"Got a lighter?"

The voice startled him - which was surprising, he was usually very aware and observant, he just didn't expect to find anyone up there, alone, at such a late hour.

He looked in the direction of the voice, finding you sitting down against a wall, with a blunt between your lips, smacking the lighter against your palm.

Bucky patted his pockets, hinting at the fact that he brought nothing with him.

"Don't smoke, sorry." He responded dryly.

You shrugged, and tried lighting your blunt again. You flicked the wheel of the lighter, the rasping sound and small sparks filling the air, but no flame.

"Can I?" Bucky offered, finally, extending his hand your way.

He disliked not being useful, so he would at least try to help whenever he could.

Your eyes flickered between the man and the lighter, before you shrugged, stood up and handed him the items.

You watched as he took it, placing the blunt between his lips. He covered the joint and lighter with the palm of his free hand, and the flicking, metallic sounds resumed. After a few tries, a small flame ignited, big enough to light the poorly-rolled blunt. Bucky breathed in the smoke as he lit it up, then breathing it out, and a small cloud separated the two of them before the man used two fingers to take the joint from his lips, handing it back to you, as well as the lighter.

"Thanks," you said, taken aback by his skill "I thought you said you didn't smoke."

You took a hit and blew out the smoke, then turning your head to look at him.

"For someone who doesn't do this, you sure know your way around it." You joked.

The man curved the corner of his lips in a half smile and chuckled.

"When you're a hundred years old, there isn't much you haven't tried." Bucky responded.

He didn't know if you knew who he was, but he suspected as much - he'd heard the whispers in the hallways and around the corners when he moved in, and they hadn't stopped, so the man guessed you had heard them too.

You blinked a few times and tapped the side of the joint with your index finger.

"Are you actually a hundred?"

His half smile expanded into a full smile.

"Well, I fought in the second World War, so I gotta be over a hundred."

"Damn..." You covered your mouth with your hand quickly once you realized what you had said, but Bucky had already burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... you know. It's just that the people around here say a lot of stuff and it's kind of hard to distinguish truth from farse."

Bucky's smile faltered a little, not because he was sad, but because for the first time, he met someone who questioned what they heard, someone who didn't instantly believe every horror story and every rumor about him.

"Well, what did you hear?" The man asked.

You shrugged, you didn't really want to throw all of the awful things you'd heard to his face, especially because you questioned the veracity of most of them.

"I heard you're a ladies man."

Bucky threw his head back with laughter, something he hadn't done in a long time. He expected it to be something dark, something vile and horrendous, like the rumor of his mind still being controlled by H.Y.D.R.A, but your sincere, genuine tone about something so silly... it was refreshing, and it caught him off guard (in a good way).

"Ms. Dolores from down the hall sees everything, you know? And she tells everyone's business to everyone."

The male brushed his hair back with one hand, and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"I used to be." He admitted, flatly, memories of his young self back in Brooklyn suddenly flooding his memory.

"Well, if a stud like you is having a hard time, then it's curtains for the rest of us, common folk." You joked, blowing yet another cloud of smoke in front of you.

The soldier laughed again, and a small, involuntary blush spread on his cheeks.

"Well, unfortunately it's not all about looks." Bucky commented, and you nodded, taking a long drag from the joint.

You read between the lines of what he was saying, the underlying sad tone that told you he had a hard time finding a connection with someone. You'd seen him before, feeding the cats in the alley next to your building, leaving medicine and food by the doorstep of the elderly neighbours when they were sick, recycling... You knew he wasn't a bad person, so you assumed his lack of connections stemmed from his history.

"The words get stuck in your throat, and they don't wanna come out. You try to speak, but it feels heavy in your chest. Right?" You said.

You'd been there before, you had a relationship several years prior, one where you shared everything, you poured your heart out to that person and they weaponized it against you at the very end. They threw it back in your face and used your deepest, darkest fears as flaws, as a reason not to date you, as a reason to call you a freak.

It took a long time before you were able to trust anyone again, several therapy sessions before you could actually speak to the therapist about the very reason why you sat in her office. It was her that prescribed the weed, at first, for the anxiety. It was meant to be for that, but it had been two years and you had gotten accustomed to using weed as a way to escape from feeling... well, anything. But the pretty boy next door didn't need to know that.

You were able to trust your friends again, to tell them your thoughts and emotions, but after that you remained single, never able to confide in someone with your heart.

Bucky licked his lips and chuckled - a humourless chuckle, he was in disbelief to be understood, for the first time.

"Right."

You were stuck on his mind, after that night, every single aspect of you, but mostly, how he felt seen by you. He wouldn't admit it though, and he'd never knock on your door and ask to hang out because he was afraid that something that went so well organically would be awkward if forced.

He didn't believe in soulmates, much less in the whole "meant to be" thing, but truth was, he felt attracted to you, in a way that transcended the usual physical attraction that drew him to most women.

Bucky wanted to see you, he wanted to talk to you and go deeper into your mind, to know how much you could relate to him - but how? Would it be too on the nose if he went up to the roof again?

He had no way of knowing that you were already up there waiting for him - it was unconscious, you used to hang out and smoke there because your landlord didn't allow smoking in the apartment (and the meticulous little shit always seemed to know when you did), but you found yourself looking at the heavy metal door, waiting for a certain big, blue-eyed man to come through it.

But Bucky didn't come, too scared to just follow his heart - after H.Y.D.R.A, he had taken a logical, practical approach to life, there had to be a proper reason for every of his actions, and he didn't accept "because I want to see them" as reason enough to go up those stairs and look for you.

A week passed and you didn't see him again. You also didn't go looking for him, you suspected he knew where to find you, and if Bucky didn't come, it was because he hadn't enjoyed your company all that much.

Fate (or convenience) seemed to be determined on bringing you together, however.

Your sink was clogged, you had watched a Youtube video on how to fix it and then stood in front of it, wondering if you wanted to take the chance to save money and do it yourself (and then possibly spend hundreds to have a handyman fix your mess), or if you should just skip straight to the handyman part.

You sighed, eventually deciding on saving yourself the time and the trouble.

"Hi, Ms. Dolores! Do you happen to have the number of any affordable handymen? My kitchen sink is clogged and I don't want to risk calling some random guy that's going to overcharge me." You asked your elderly neighbour, hoping she'd have some advice.

"Hello, dear! I could give you the number of my plumber, but the young man at the end of the hallway, the soldier boy, he fixed my plumbing issues last time I had them, why don't you give him a try, hm? I bet he wouldn't say no to a pretty face like yours!" The woman said with a smile, reaching up to pinch your bashful cheek.

"Thank you, Ms. Dolores." You said quietly, and bid goodbye.

You didn't move, however, standing in front of the woman's closed door as you looked at the outside of Bucky's apartment. Couldn't hurt to try, it's not like you were going over there to ask to be friends, you were simply asking for a favour - well, another one, given he'd been kind enough to light your blunt for you. You were walking over there for a logical reason, there were no feelings behind it, or so you told yourself.

Before you knew it, your body had already decided for you, and you knocked on his door, softly but loud enough for anyone inside to hear.

Bucky didn't get many visitors, so he was surprised to hear the knock. He was even more surprised to find you on the other side of the door.

The man had never taken a good look at you, he had never paid attention, not even that day on the roof, since you were wearing a big, large sweater with your hood up to protect yourself from the cold, but now that you stood in front of him he couldn't help but to note every feature of your face that had gone unnoticed by him - every single one of your beautiful traits.

"Hey!... You?" He realized suddenly he hadn't asked for your name, and embarrassment struck him.

"Y/N." You introduced, shyly realizing that you had a conversation with the man without ever saying your name.

"Right, Y/N, sorry about that." Bucky laughed awkwardly "What can I do for you? Got another blunt that needs lighting?"

The man chuckled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips formed the most beautiful, charming smile. You were caught in a trance for a second, but masked it by awkwardly laughing at his joke.

"Well, actually, I think a pipe is clogged in my kitchen and Ms. Dolores very charitably recommended your services, but if you're busy I can just call someone else!" You explained.

"On a Sunday? No one's picking up that phone call, sweetheart. Let me just get my tools and I'll be right there, okay?"

The nickname came out naturally, and you could tell it was a pet name he used on the regular, that it probably didn't carry any real weight, but it still made your heart skip a beat.

"Right... The days of the week get jumbled in my mind sometimes." You laughed awkwardly "I'm two doors down, just knock whenever you arrive! Oh, and thank you!"

If you weren't already attracted to Bucky, seeing him all sweaty in a tight, white tank top would've done it for you.

"I didn't know you were a repairman, James." You said, leaning against your kitchen table.

The man got startled by the name, and banged his head against the pipes as he came out from under the sink to look at you.

"Ow! James?" He asked, softly rubbing the sore spot on his temple.

"Yeah, it's your name, right?"

A million scenarios ran through your head, what if you had misheard his name? What if you read his name wrong at the museum and James was someone else? Oh God, you had messed up.

The man just laughed and licked his lips.

"Yeah, it's my first name, but no one's used it in... well, ever, really. It's always been Bucky, or Sergeant Barnes." He explained, cleaning his hands on an old rag he had brought along as he reached for a different tool in his toolbox.

"Bucky? How the fuck do you get 'Bucky' from the name James?" You asked, with furrowed brows and a confused voice.

"You don't," he said and chuckled lightly "it comes from my middle name, Buchanan."

You opened your mouth and a small "oh" came from it, as he explained the nickname.

"But about what you said, I work in a garage. Fixing bikes and cars mostly, but sometimes people bring old junk around for me to fix, dishwashers and all, once you get the hang of it, everything feels like pretty much the same."

He picked up a wrench, and you couldn't peel your eyes away from the way his muscles flexed as he tightened the loose parts that connected the pipes. You swallowed and blinked rapidly, forcing your gaze away from him before it became awkward.

"Bikes, hm? You ride?"

"I do." Bucky smiled softly "But bikes and cars don't talk, makes it easier to work. I tried bartending before, but there was too much socializing."

That was somewhat... calming. Maybe Bucky didn't strike a conversation with you again because he wasn't very social, or because he didn't feel very comfortable around people - maybe you weren't the problem.

You were usually good at dissecting people from a distance, but you could never tell when it came to people's attitude towards you... you simply couldn't put your finger on it. You always blamed yourself, saw yourself as the problem, so it was easier to walk away and not even try, rather than getting hurt once again.

"Don't costumers talk?" You asked, trying to get the conversation going.

He chuckled.

"We got someone for that. Some young guy looking for a job came in, talked his ass off, monologued for about five minutes about giving him an opportunity. Bob's a good kid but he blabbers a lot - which is good for costumer service, something I'd rather pay someone to do."

You nodded along to what he said - he definitely wasn't a people person then, which was odd, he seemed great at conversation...

"I swear I'm not rude, I'm just no good at small talk." Bucky explained, as he realized how antisocial he must've sounded.

He didn't want you thinking he was some weirdo who couldn't talk to people (or didn't want to), Bucky just wasn't very good at faking interest or kindness. He had once been good at that, and you could tell that he was a charming man from the way he spoke to you, but life hadn't been kind to him and the young, flirty kid from Brooklyn that he had once been was locked away behind the big heavy walls he had unknowingly built.

"How much do I owe you?" You asked, as soon as he began putting away his tools.

Bucky looked up at you with his pretty blue eyes, a hint of mischief that told you there was no way he would let you pay, and then looked back at his toolbox as he shut it.

"Don't worry about it." The man said, confirming your suspicions.

He loved to help, Bucky loved to feel useful, as a way of compensating for not being good with words, for not being very warm and inviting when it came to his looks.

"What? No way, Bucky-" You began complaining, but he cut you off almost instantly.

"I mean it, it was no problem, took me like, twenty minutes."

He was too kind, as you had guessed, from all of the things you had seen him do. But that felt like taking advantage of his kindness, you felt like you owed him, and you didn't like owing anyone.

"At least let me offer you a drink then. Wine?"

Bucky stood up, towering over you, and smiled. He knew you wouldn't back down (thankfully), and that was just the chance he needed (and wanted) to talk to you, something he had been wanting to do ever since you exchanged your first couple of words.

"How about I wash up first, and we can have that drink then?"

You wouldn't have minded sweaty Bucky next to you, his glistening, golden skin, and his sweaty strands of hair that he constantly brushed back in a way that shouldn't be sensual - but it was.

"I'll be waiting for you on the roof."

You wondered if he had worn those grey sweatpants just for you, if he knew of your adoration for those pants. When he waltzed outside, in his unholy form, your eyes couldn't stop themselves from wandering.

The white t-shirt he wore was tight on his chest and shoulders, not leaving much to the imagination, and his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips - whenever he raised his hand to brush his hair back you could see a glimpse of his skin, a tad of his hip bones peeking out in the most tempting way.

You nervously picked up the two glasses you had bought and extended him one, as the male took a seat beside you, back against the brick wall just like you.

"I hope you enjoy this eight dollar wine that I carefully picked out from the clearance aisle."

Bucky flashed a smile that you caught from the corner of your eye as you focused on pouring him drink.

When both of your glasses had a decent amount of wine, you clinked them together and said "cheers" in unison. Both of you took a sip, and although Bucky tried to mask the disgust, you could see his brows twitch slightly as soon as he took a sip.

The sour, unpleasant taste danced on your tongue and you winced, almost as if it pained you to savour something like that. You smacked your tongue against the roof of your mouth a couple of times, trying to get rid of the nasty aftertaste, and set the glass down in front of you.

"That's eight dollars alright... Sorry." You apologised.

"No, no, it's... good?" Bucky said, and you would've thought someone so old would've learned to lie at some point.

You cocked your head to the side and raised a brow at him, clearly not believing those words (especially in the tone they were delivered in).

"Okay, fine, it sucks." He admitted, setting the glass down by his side as well.

"I guess we won't be getting drunk tonight." You sighed, and leaned your head back against the brick wall.

"Ah, well, I can't get drunk anyways." Bucky blurted out.

He didn't mean to admit that, he didn't mean to say something that would lead to a part of his life that he did not want to reveal, but in an attempt to make you feel better about the poor choice in wine, it just came out, naturally (which was very uncharacteristic of him).

"Are you on antibiotics or something?"

Bucky chuckled at the sweet innocence of your question, finding it amusing how you seemed to overlook the fact that he was a super soldier - he wondered if you did it on purpose, in attempt to make him feel normal, or if it was genuine forgetfulness. Whatever it was, he appreciated it.

"Yeah, an antibiotic called super soldier serum." The male joked, catching you off guard.

"So you can't get drunk? Like, ever? Is that why you rejected the blunt the other day? You can't get high?"

"Touché, sweetheart. Everything is enhanced, including our metabolism. Can't get drunk, can't get high."

Bucky expected more questions, it always happened. He didn't blame people for being curious about his person, it wasn't like he was some average Joe after all, but it bothered him - it felt like they were dissecting him. He felt exposed and vulnerable, which made him uncomfortable.

What he didn't expect, however, was the question that followed.

"Is it harder for you to cum?"

His head snapped to look at you, with wide eyes, raised eyebrows and a shocked expression that Bucky couldn't control. To his surprise, you were looking at him with the exact same amount of shock and surprise, as if what you had just said was a rogue thought that had escaped past your lips.

"I'm sorry- I'm- I don't know what I was thinking, that was so inappropriate-"

Before you could apologize once more, Bucky threw his head back in boisterous laughter, his hand was over his chest and small tears formed on the corner of his eyes. The sound was simply marvelous, and you couldn't help but join in with shy giggles.

The male took a deep breath and turned to look at you, head still rested against the cold wall behind you.

"I haven't laughed like that in years, Y/N, thank you."

"So... you're not offended that I asked that?"

He shook his head no, a devious smile playing on his lips.

"And the answer is no, but I do have more stamina." He winked as he finished the sentence.

You didn't expect an actual response to the question, let alone one so raunchy and flirty, one that made your thighs press together as you imagined what promise hid behind those words.

From that night on, it was pretty clear to the both of you that you enjoyed each other's company - you just didn't know to what extent.

You both dipped your toes in the pool further and further each day - Bucky would place his hand on your lower back to guide you, you'd brush your thigh against his when sitting down, his touch would linger on you longer than necessary...

The visits to the roof became more frequent, it somehow seemed more intimate than inviting each other over for a drink inside, as if that was your secret spot, hidden away from everyone, where you could look at the stars and take in the breeze of the night and the cold air.

"Hey."

You hugged you legs against your chest and rested your chin on your knees as you waited for Bucky and, when you heard his voice, it was almost like a trigger to your happiness. You couldn't help the smile from spreading on your face, and the warm feeling on your chest, or the way your heart beat faster. You ignored it all.

"Hey there!"

Bucky sat next to you and extended a glass, before waving a bottle of Cutty Sark in the air playfully.

"I don't trust it, Sarge. What if you replaced what's inside to get back at me for that wine?" You joked, as you extended your glass for him to pour the scotch in.

The male's face contorted in disgust upon remembering the bitter taste from some nights ago.

"No one deserves anything like that, dollface."

You nudged him softly with your elbow, as you pretended to be insulted by the dig he took at your cheap wine, and you hoped he couldn't see the small smile that crept up on your face upon hearing the pet name.

"So... my friend set me up on a blind date the other day..." You said, breaking the comfortable silence that the two of you would often sit in.

You didn't know what had pushed you to say that, but you found yourself wondering if you'd be able to maintain the friendship with Bucky if you were to suddenly get a boyfriend. You weren't sure if it could be called a friendship yet, it had only been a couple of weeks since the two of you had spoken for the first time, but there was an underlying layer of understanding between the two of you, something that made whatever the two of you had transcend past "just acquaintances".

"Yeah? How'd it go?" The male asked, out of instinct.

"Well," you began, looking down at your glass as you swirled the drink within it "it's Saturday night and I'm sitting on a rooftop drinking with you instead of hanging out with him, so I'll let you guess."

Bucky chuckled as he took a swing of the scotch. He felt sorry, but at the same time relieved that your date hadn't gone anywhere.

"You know, I don't know what's worse, getting through the small talk in the beginning, or feeling forced to share deep parts of your life just on the off chance that you might click." You admitted, thinking back to your date.

Bucky sighed and nodded in agreement - his desperation to prove himself worthy of love had lead him to a fruitless and forceful pursuit of connection. Your refusal to fully trust anyone with yourself, with your heart and your vulnerabilities, had lead you to the same dead end, and so the two of you found yourselves lonely and alone, together.

There was suddenly a shift in the mood, it became heavy and stuffy, as if your bad date confession had taken the two of you to consider your love life, and where it had gone wrong.

But even then, even when the you both knew you could relate to each other's emptiness and loneliness, you refused to share any feelings.

"How about we finish this drink and I take you on a ride down to my shop?" Bucky suggested, unsettled by the atmosphere that had ensued, and unsure of how else to break it.

"Your shop? Look at Mr. Successful over here." You mocked.

Bucky licked his lips and rolled his eyes in the most enticing way you had ever seen.

"Do you want to or not, sweetheart?"

There he was again with the pet names. If only he knew how those made your stomach flip and turn...

You downed the remaining drink in your cup and Bucky widened his eyes at you.

"Woah there cowgirl, easy on the drinks!" He joked, as he stood up and extended his hand for you to take.

You stood up, with his help, and pushed the empty glass against his chest.

"I'll be fine!" You said (or hoped).

You could feel Bucky's muscles flex under your touch as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

"You good back there?" He asked, looking over his shoulder.

You nodded, and a couple seconds after you heard the roaring from the motorcycle's engine. Your bodies were glued together, your chest pressed against his toned back, arms circled around his waist and thighs squeezing his legs from the nerves and excitement.

Bucky found freedom in riding his bike, the wind on his face, cutting through the elements with whatever speed he pleased, on his way going nowhere and everywhere. That night he had to go slower, he had to control his movements a lot more because you were in the back and he didn't want to scare (or hurt) you, but he didn't miss the adrenaline, he found comfort in your presence.

He couldn't help but to smile at the sound of small giggles coming from you. The male would sometimes speed up slightly or do a curve a little too recklessly because he found your reactions simply adorable.

The motorcycle soon came to a halt, in front a somewhat large brick building with two big garage doors and a regular front door in between.

You climbed down from the bike, fixing your hair as you removed the helmet Bucky had given you. You looked up and saw the sign with the name of the establishment.

"The Garage..." You read "Creative!"

Bucky, whom was already heading towards the door of the shop, looked over his shoulder.

"Funny. I'm not good with names, and I thought it should be straightforward, you know? It's a garage, I fix automobiles, that's enough!" He explained, as he reached for his back pocket to grab the keys to the entrance.

He slid the metal into the lock and turned it a couple of times. Bucky gripped the handle of the door and pushed it open, then stepping aside and giving you space to walk inside before him. You didn't expect someone who was so socially awkward to be so polite and gentleman-like. You had assumed, to a certain point, that he had lost some manners along the way, that he'd forgotten certain social cues, but you were proven very wrong.

"This is where I work, used to be a smaller place close to home but more people started bringing in stuff for me to fix, so I had to expand the place. And the team too."

Bucky leaned against one of the cars and stared as you walked through the shop and curiously looked around.

"Do you need to use a jack or can you just lift the car with that shiny arm of yours?" You asked, pointing at his vibranium arm.

The male found it amusing how you always had the strangest questions about his abilities - they were always things no one had ever thought to ask, things that didn't really matter, and he appreciated that.

"I can lift them up, but I still need to use the jack while I'm working." Bucky explained.

"Show me!"

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you and licked his lips to mask an amused smile.

"You want me to lift a car, right now?" He questioned.

You walked over to him and knocked on his vibranium arm, almost expecting it to make the sound of an empty trashcan when knocked over.

"It's not like it's gonna hurt your arm." You joked with a giggle.

"I guess you're right." Bucky agreed, and pushed himself off the car.

The man walked around the vehicle and stood behind it. His enhanced arm reached underneath the machine and pulled it up, successfully lifting up the back of the car, as if it was nothing, as if he was lifting up a pen from a desk.

Your mouth was agape as you stared in awe. You couldn't see his bicep flex as the arm was machine-made, but something about the whirring sound and the vibranium twisting and turning made you feel things in the pit of your stomach - not quite the butterflies a teenage girl would feel when walking by her crush, definitely not that. Bucky's constant display of strength and virility ignited something much more animalistic inside of you.

Your gaze followed his movements as Bucky slowly placed the car down, not wanting to be too rough and risk messing up the client's car.

Before you could process it, your feet walked over to him on their own. Your eyes were glued to his arm, and you mindlessly traced it with your index finger. Bucky watched you carefully, entertained by the sight, excitedly waiting for you next move - he could never tell what you were thinking, what you'd do next, which made being in your company that much more fun.

You looked up at him, there wasn't much of a distance between your faces, you could smell his cologne and his natural musk - a combination you found yourself hypnotized by.

"I wonder what else those hands can do..." You blurted out.

Your face felt hot, you slowly looked away, too shy to meet his gaze after your dirty comment, but you didn't move, you didn't dare step back and neither did he.

Suddenly, Bucky's hand grabbed your chin and made you look at him - the grip wasn't rough, it was tender, but firm, as if saying "you can leave, but I really don't want you to".

"Is this the scotch talking?" The male asked in a low, husky voice, as he turned his head to the side slightly.

His eyes shifted between your eyes and lips, his intentions were clear, but Bucky didn't intend to hide them.

"Sure, let's say that." You responded, hinting at the fact that it most definitely wasn't the alcohol, but something else that had been building up within you.

The two of you knew the implications in what you were about to engage, you knew that one kiss would change everything, it would open the doors to something. You weren't quite sure what, but you wondered if there could be a wall between your emotional connection and your sexual relationship (if that were to happen), if the two things could co-exist without getting mixed and intertwined.

Your faces inched closer, moving out of their own volition, ignoring whatever thoughts crossed their minds.

At first it was just a peck. Your lips touched momentarily, in a kiss that could be seen almost as negligible. It was an experiment, a trial to make sure that you two definitely wanted to do that, that it wasn't just from the proximity, from the hormones, from the moon shining down on you from the big window to your left, or from the dim lighting of the room.

The moment your lips met, it felt like throwing gasoline on a flame - the fire ignited even more, it was now wild and out of control.

It escalated quickly and violently. Bucky's body pushed you against the hood of the car, until you were leaning against it. He forced your legs open with his knee so he could stand between them, his hands grabbed your ass and brought your body against his so he could feel your cunt pressed against his hardening cock.

Your hands were entangled in his hair, making a mess of it as he made a mess of you.

The small groans he let slip every so often sounded like Heaven, they were like nothing you had ever heard before, and you were sure you could get yourself off to that alone.

You pulled away for a second, and your fiery, hungry gazes were locked on each other - begging for more, needing more. Bucky wanted to take you back home and fuck you properly, but he didn't know if he could wait, the man would happily take you on the hood of the car as well, and then take you back home for a second round.

From the corner of your eye, however, you could see something... no, not something, but someone.

"Oh my God who is that?!" You shrieked, as your eyes widened in horror.

Bucky turned around quickly, and looked in the direction of your gaze, to find a man, on the corner of the room, standing awkwardly and waving stiffly with a goofy smile on his face.

"Bob? Bob, what are you doing there- what are you doing here? The shop has been closed for hours."

"John left and I guess he forgot I was in here as well, he locked me in." Bob said, and he sounded just as uncomfortable as you felt.

"And you didn't think to call anyone?" Bucky asked, annoying and irritated at the situation that had ensued.

"Oh, none of you gave me your number."

Bucky held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and placed the other hand on his hip as he sighed - public displays of affection were his worst nightmare, let alone in front of co-workers. He was mortified, trying to stand in a way that would make his boner less obvious to his co-worker - Bob had already heard too much, he didn't need to see it too.

"Door's open, Bob. You could've just left." Bucky said, looking down at the ground still.

"Yeah but then you were lifting the car and that was super cool so I wanted to watch. But then-"

"I know what happened after, Bob. You don't need to tell us just- please go." The male cut off his co-worker as he finally looked up, unable to look Bob in the eye.

"See you tomorrow, Boss!"

You were left in awe as Bob's steps echoed in the building and then faded into obscurity after the door shut behind him. You didn't know what to say, or think. You weren't even sure of how to feel, but one look at Bucky told you he was not happy.

Not at all, he was stiff as a board, his eyebrows were furrowed and he had that terrifying, locked expression that he usually walked around with. He sighed, finally, ran his fingers through his hair and extended you one hand.

"Come on, let's get you home."

"minors do not interact" banner credit: @cafekitsune

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Pierre Poilievre says a Conservative government will establish mandatory minimum prison sentences for anyone convicted of extortion.

The opposition leader said Friday that extortion-related crime has skyrocketed, with police in multiple provinces dealing with organized crime threats against businesses. [...]

The opposition leader singled out the Liberal government’s amendments to the Criminal Code in 2022 that repealed some mandatory minimum penalties for various crimes, including a four-year minimum for extortion with a firearm.

However, there remains a five-year mandatory minimum sentence for first-time extortionists who use a restricted or prohibited firearm, or who use any type of gun on behalf of a criminal organization. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada, @vague-humanoid

[hoforwonho]

My desk area is so cozy rn - I have the ac going and blackout curtains I could take a nap right now…

Now this is a problem because I work from home and I’m currently working 🥲

[delta-piscium]

mmh and what if i rewrote an entire wip just to change the pov what then? (tears, that's what)

[rampant-testiculitis]

i used to be extremely sensitive to anything and even a slight consequence would push me to fix the issue but now not even the worst things happening will get me to do anything about it

[great-and-small]

When I was in vet school I went to this one lecture that I will never forget. Various clubs would have different guest lecturers come in to talk about relevant topics and since I was in the Wildlife Disease Association club I naturally attended all the wildlife and conservation discussions. Well on this particular occasion, the speakers started off telling us they had been working on a project involving the conservation of lemurs in Madagascar. Lemurs exist only in Madagascar, and they are in real trouble; they’re considered the most endangered group of mammals on Earth. This team of veterinarians was initially assembled to address threats to lemur health and work on conservation solutions to try and save as many lemur species from extinction as possible. As they explored the most present dangers to lemurs they found that although habitat loss was the primary problem for these vulnerable animals, predation by humans was a significant cause of losses as well. The vets realized it was crucial for the hunting of lemurs by native people to stop, but of course this is not so simple a problem.

The local Malagasy people are dealing with extreme poverty and food insecurity, with nearly half of children under five years old suffering from chronic malnutrition. The local people have always subsisted on hunting wildlife for food, and as Madagascar’s wildlife population declines, the people who rely on so-called bushmeat to survive are struggling more and more. People are literally starving.

Our conservation team thought about this a lot. They had initially intended to focus efforts on education but came to understand that this is not an issue arising from a lack of knowledge. For these people it is a question of survival. It doesn’t matter how many times a foreigner tells you not to eat an animal you’ve hunted your entire life, if your child is starving you are going to do everything in your power to keep your family alive.

So the vets changed course. Rather than focus efforts on simply teaching people about lemurs, they decided to try and use veterinary medicine to reduce the underlying issue of food insecurity. They supposed that if a reliable protein source could be introduced for the people who needed it, the dependence on meat from wildlife would greatly decrease. So they got to work establishing new flocks of chickens in the most at-risk communities, and also initiated an aggressive vaccination program for Newcastle disease (an infectious illness of poultry that is of particular concern in this area). They worked with over 600 households to ensure appropriate husbandry and vaccination for every flock, and soon found these communities were being transformed by the introduction of a steady protein source. Families with a healthy flock of chickens were far less likely to hunt wild animals like lemurs, and fewer kids went hungry. Thats what we call a win-win situation.

This chicken vaccine program became just one small part of an amazing conservation outreach initiative in Madagascar that puts local people at the center of everything they do. Helping these vulnerable communities of people helps similarly vulnerable wildlife, always. If we go into a country guns-blazing with that fire for conservation in our hearts and a plan to save native animals, we simply cannot ignore the humans who live around them. Doing so is counterintuitive to creating an effective plan because whether we recognize it or not, humans and animals are inextricably linked in many ways. A true conservation success story is one that doesn’t leave needy humans in its wake, and that is why I think this particular story has stuck with me for so long.

(Source 1)

(Source 2- cool video exploring this initiative from some folks involved)

(Source 3)

[valiasims]

Cozy Cabin Collection - Bedroom

Hey everyone!

The final part of the Cozy Cabin Collection is here! It is a bedroom set and includes a modular closet with items to fill them up with.

I'm a little sad to say goodbye this cabin theme because I gained a lot of followers through the time I was making these sets and I also learned a lot of new skills and techniques. When I came up with the idea of a large collection to guide us through autumn and winter, I hadn’t expected it to become so significant in terms of sentimental value. I was always thinking about the next idea to bring to life and living in a cabin in my mind. Despite this being a sad moment, I’m so excited for what’s next! I’ll be creating a set for a commercial lot, and I’ve had this idea for about a month and a half. After seeing what the next expansion pack will be, I’m even more excited because I think it will complement it well.

A bit more about this set: It started as a bedroom set but somehow turned into a closet set with bedroom items. At first, I only wanted to add two closet pieces with the door, but I figured it would be more versatile (and not too much extra work) if I included the corner piece as well. A little info on how the door works: You can slot the door onto the closet pieces, with three slots available on each piece. It only makes sense to use the side slots if you have two or more pieces placed next to each other. I added multiple slots for hanging clothes so you can use the in-game clothes (or other CC ones) that are grouped together, but also place individual items without using the TOOL mod.

The wicker basket, folded sweaters and the hat box are stackable.

For the curtains, I made a curtain rod that, for some godforsaken reason, looks completely different in-game than the rod on the curtain items themselves, despite them having the same texture and everything. This was the reason I couldn't include them in the last set—I just couldn’t get them right no matter how hard I tried. I even checked out other CC that does the same thing by separating the rod, and they all had the same problem. Somehow, the lighting on them looks different, and I couldn’t find a solution. So sorry for this issue but hopefully it's not too noticable.

I think that’s all! I’m really grateful for all of you being here—thank you, and I hope you’ll like this set as well. Let me know if you have any issues, and feel free to leave your thoughts below so I can see what you like and what you don’t.

The Set Includes

Wooden Bedframe

Bed Mattress

Decorative Pillows

End Table

End Table Lamp

Wooden Bench

Closet (3 types+corner)

Closet Door

Hanging Elegant Coat

Hanging Jacket

Hanging Puffer Jacket

Hanging Tops

Wicker Basket

Designer Hat

Fluffy Hat

Folded Sweaters

Decorative Footwear (3 styles)

Hat Box

Makeup Bag

Curtain Rod

Closed Curtain (3 heights)

Opened Curtain (3 heights)

Antler Wall Lamp

-DOWNLOAD HERE- Public release on the 15th of March 6PM CST

[iamthedukeofurl]

Discworld is an interesting beast in the age of ACAB. Like, the city watch books are a story about police and the way in which a good police force can help and protect people. Which would make it copoganda. And I'm not going to say that the City Watch books are completely free of copoganda, but they also do something interesting that fairly few stories about heroic police officers do, and I think it has a lot to do with Samuel Vimes. A lot of copoganda stories like, say, Brooklyn 99, are perfectly capable of portraying cops as cruel, bigoted, and greedy, but our central cast of characters are portrayed as good people who want to help their communities. The result is that the bad cops are portrayed as an aberration, while most cops can be assumed to be good people doing a tough job because they want to help protect people from the nebulous evil forces of "Crime". The police are considered to be naturally heroic. Pratchett does something very interesting, which is provide us with Vimes' perspective, and present us with an Unnaturally heroic police force. In Ahnk-Morpork, the natural state of the watch is a gang with extra paperwork. It's the place for people who, at best, just want a steady paycheck and at worst want an excuse to hit people with a truncheon. Rather than be an army defending people from the forces of Crime, the Watch is described as a sort of sleight-of-hand, big burly watchmen in shiny uniforms don't stand around in-case a Crime happens in their vicinity, they stand around to remind people that The Law exists and has teeth. The Watchmen are people, when danger rears it's head, their instinct is to hide and get out of the way. When faced with authority, their instinct is to bow to it out of fear of what it might do to them if they don't. Carrot is a genuine Hero, but his natural heroism is presented as an aberration. Normal Cops don't act like Carrot does. The fact that the Watch ends up acting like a Heroic Police Force is largely due to the leadership of Sam Vimes, but Vimes himself is a microcosm of the Watch. The base state of Sam Vimes would be an alchoholic bully of an officer, one who beats people until they confess to anything because that makes his job easier. Vimes The Hero is a homunculous, an artificial being created by Sam Vimes fighting back all those instincts and FORCING himself to behave as his conscience dictates. Vimes doesn't take bribes or let his officers do the same because, damnit, that sort of thing shouldn't happen, even if doing so would make things a lot easier. Vimes doesn't run towards sounds of screaming because he WANTS to, he forces himself to do so because somebody needs to. It's best summed up in Thud “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Your Grace.” “I know that one,” said Vimes. “Who watches the watchmen? Me, Mr. Pessimal.” “Ah, but who watches you, Your Grace?” said the inspector with a brief little smile. “I do that, too. All the time,” said Vimes. “Believe me.”

In the hands of another writer, or another series, this exchange would be weirdly dismissive. To whom should the police be accountable to? Themselves, shut up and trust us. But from Vimes, it's a different story. Vimes DOES constantly watch himself, and he doesn't trust that bastard, he's known him his entire life. The Heroic Police are not a natural state, they're an ideal, and ahnk-morpork only gets anywhere close. Vimes is constantly struggling against his own instincts to take shortcuts, to let things slide, but he forces himself to live up to that ideal and the Watch follows his example. Discworld doesn't propose any solutions to the problems with policing in the real world. We don't have a Sam Vimes to run the NYPD and force them to behave. We don't have a Carrot Ironfounderson. But it's at least a story about detectives and police that I can read without feeling like I'm being sold propaganda about the Thin Blue Line.

[sleepdeprivedfrfr]

Don't wake daddy dad!bucky x mom!reader

synopsis: you've never been able to surprise your husband considering he's an ex trained assassin, but he'll make an exception for you and your daughter on fathers day. not proofread.

wc: 1081

"Mommy when is it gonna be done?" your daughter tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Shh baby, we don't want to wake daddy." You smiled and whispered to her as you finished plating your husbands food.

Giggles and the smell of breakfast filled Bucky's senses as he woke, eyes fluttering open from the couch that he most likely fell asleep on from being to tired to get to bed after getting in from work last night. He watched his four year old daughter clumsily walk into the living room with a marker and paper in her hand. Placing the paper on the coffee table, she locked eyes with her father and let out a gasp.

"Mommy he's awake!" She ran back to the kitchen shouting.

You looked down at your daughter who had the cutest little pout on her face, you opened your mouth to speak before you felt an arm slither around your waist.

"Mornin' love." Bucky mumbled into your neck, the grogginess apparent in his voice.

You turned to face your husband and gave him a slow kiss on his lips, "You aren't supposed to be awake mister."

"Daddy ruined the surprise." You looked back down to your daughter who was now teary eyed staring up at her father.

You glanced up at your husband who was now looking at you wide eyed before he crouched down to pick your daughter up, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean too."

She sniffled in his arms and you watched as he gently wiped away your daughter's tears, Bucky tried to get her to stop crying but nothing was working.

You walked over to the two and placed a hand on your daughter's back as she cried, you slowly placed your head beside hers on Bucky's shoulder, "Don't be upset honey, daddy didn't know."

Bucky could feel his heart twist at his daughter's upset, especially since he's the one who caused it. The moment was too sweet for Bucky to handle, seeing his daughter cry over something so innocent while you consoled her so gently. Becoming a mother came so naturally to you, you were nurturing, loving and so selfless when it came to your family.

Your daughter wouldn't let up about the problem her poor father unknowingly caused, so Bucky decided to try and create a solution.

"How about I go back to sleep, hm? And then you and mommy can finish the surprise?" Your husband suggested in a hushed tone. Gaining not only your attention, but your daughters as well.

Your daughter's head shot up and she nodded with teary eyes. Bucky set her down and walked back to the couch but not before grabbing the hands of your and your daughter, "You and mom gotta tuck me in though, okay?"

"Okay!" Your daughter replied cheerfully, the way her could change so abruptly always surprised you and your husband.

You rolled your eyes playfully at Bucky earning a wink from him, as the three of you walked into the living room. Bucky returned to his original sleeping position and gave you a cocky grin while you placed the blanket over him.

You were just about to walk away before your daughter grabbed onto the hem of your shirt, "Mama what about goodnight kisses? Daddy needs them to sleep!"

"Yeah mama, I want my goodnight kisses." Your husband restated, the man was quite literally beaming while awaiting your kiss.

You giggled and bent down to give Bucky a peck on his forehead, but he swiftly angled his head upwards and your lips landed on his as he gripped your face gently, causing you to squeal slightly before pulling away.

"Okay, Daddy is going to bed now." You picked your daughter up as Bucky shut his eyes and went back to 'sleep'.

You walked back into the kitchen and finished setting up the breakfast tray with your daughter. You carefully walked with the tray in your hands as your daughter held a handmade drawing and a small wrapped rectangular box.

You set the tray down on the coffee table and signaled for your daughter to wake up her father. Bucky pretended to stir in his sleep earning a small chuckle from you.

"Mmm, m' so tired princess. How about you and Mommy join me?" Before either of you could respond, Bucky pulled both of you on top of him and squeezed you both. Your daughter shrieked with excitement before somehow freeing herself from Bucky's grasp,

"Daddy look what I made!!" She revealed the drawing to your husband, it was a picture of you and Bucky holding your daughter's hand along with a scramble of letters that didn't spell out anything, but he wasn't gonna tell that to his little girl. "Look I drew your arm!"

"Oh my. I love it, princess." Saying he loved it was an understatement. Bucky was on the verge of tears, he had been all morning. Bucky never thought in a million years that he would get to experience peace like this. He never thought he would ever deserve to live the domestic life, hell he still doesn't think he deserves it.

"Sweetheart, give daddy the present you got him. " You whispered.

You watched as her tiny fingers handed Bucky the small box. Your daughter watched eagerly as your husband opened the box to reveal a necklace with a small silver rectangular locket, similar to the shape of his dog tags he always wore around his neck.

Bucky's heart almost stopped as he opened the locket, inside was a picture that he had taken of you and your daughter on the beach during his birthday two years ago. The photo was of you holding your daughter in your arms, the two of you smiling in on the sand as the sunset painted the background with beautiful shades of pink, red, and orange.

That was it.

That was Bucky's breaking point, he could no longer hold back the stinging in his eyes. Tears slipped down his cheeks, he wiped them away quickly but not without you seeing.

"Daddy? You don't like it?"

"No no, I love it princess. Thank you." He said while clearing his throat, he pulled the two of you into his lap and smotherd you both with kisses.

"I love you both," He said softly

"I love you too." You pulled him into a kiss before your daughter separated the two of you.

"Ewww."

Bucky snorted out a laugh,

"Let's eat hm? Im starving."

a/n: this is completely self indulgent but idc. also late fathers day post, this was supposed to be posted three days ago oops. anways this is like a test run for me maybe posting a bucky mini fic I've been working on lol.

like, comments, and reblog appreciated!

[haru-dipthong]

Did you know that the english word “star” and the japanese word 星（ほし）don’t actually mean the same thing?

Language does not simply name pre-existing categories; categories do not exist in 'the world'

— Daniel Chandler, Semiotics for Beginners

I read this quote a few years ago, but I don’t think I truly understood it until one day, when I was looking at the wikipedia article for “star” and I thought to check the Japanese article, see if I could get some Japanese reading practice in. I was surprised to find that the article was not titled 「星」, but 「恒星」, a word I’d never seen before. I’d always learnt that 星 was the direct translation for “star” (I knew the japanese also contained meanings the english didn’t, like “dot” or “bullseye”, but I thought these were just auxiliary definitions in addition to the direct translation of “star” as in "a celestial body made of hydrogen and helium plasma").

To try and clear things up for myself, I searched japanese wikipedia for 星. It was a disambiguation page, with the main links pointing to the articles for 天体 (astronomical object) and スター（記号）(star symbol). There was no article just called 「星」.

It’s an easy difference to miss, because in everyday conversation, 星 and star are equivalent. They both describe the shining lights in the night sky. They both describe this symbol: ★. They even both describe those enormous celestial objects made of plasma.

But they are different - different enough to not share a wikipedia article. 星 is used to describe any kind of celestial body, especially if it appears shiny and bright in the night sky. “Star” can be used this way too (like Venus being called the “morning star”), but it’s generally considered inaccurate to use the word like this, whereas there is no such inaccuracy with 星. You can say “oh that’s not actually a star, it’s a planet”, but you CAN’T say 「実はそれは星ではなく惑星だよ」 (TL: that’s not actually a hoshi, it’s a planet). A planet IS a 星.

星 is a very common word, essentially equivalent to “star”, but its meaning is closer to “celestial body”. I haven’t looked into the etymology/history but it’s almost like both english and japanese started out with a simple, common word for the lights in the sky - star/星 , but as we found out more about what these lights actually were, english doubled down on using the common word for the specific scientific concept, while japanese kept the common word generic and instead came up with a new word for the more specific concept. If this is actually what happened, I’d guess that kanji probably had something to do with it - 星 as a component kanji exists inside the word for planet, 惑星, and in the word for comet, 彗星, and in the scientific word for “star”, 恒星, so it makes sense that it would indicate a more general concept when used standalone.

This discovery helped me understand that quote - categories don’t exist in the world, we are the ones who create them. I thought that the concept of “star” was something that would be consistent across all languages, but it’s not, because the concept of “star” is not pre-existing. Each language had to decide how to name each of those similar star-like concepts (the ★ symbol, hot balls of gas, twinkling lights in the sky, planets, comets, etc), and obviously not every language is going to group those concepts under the same words with the same nuance.

Knowing this, one might be tempted to say that 恒星（こうせい） is the direct translation for “star”. But this isn’t true either. In most of the contexts that the word “star” is used in english, the equivalent japanese will be simply 星. Despite the meanings not lining up exactly, 星 will still be the best translation for “star” most of the time. This is the art of translation - knowing when the particulars are less important than the vibe or feel of a word. For any word, there will never be an exact perfect translation with all the same nuances and meanings. Translation is about finding the best solution to an unsolvable problem. That's why I love it.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: angst, smut

wc: 1.9k

synopsis: you call your best friend in the middle of the night, seeking comfort in his presence and it takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: swearing, depression, semi-public, unprotected sex, creampie, mildly proofread

a/n: i love deftones with a burning passion

masterlist

You couldn't take it anymore.

Sitting alone in your apartment as you stared out the window and into the night, watching life pass you by. While you just stood in place. The same old routine over and over again, your body was moving on autopilot at this point. It seemed as if everyone around you was getting everything they wanted. A dream job, a perfect partner, whatever their little heart desired; while you were stuck with nothing.

Your hands were always left empty just like your soul.

And the emptiness kept growing every day until your tears had dried. There was no point in crying anyways, it never brought any solution to your problems, it only gave you headaches and bloodshot eyes. Your hand reached out for your phone hesitantly, shakily.

You knew he was awake because you knew your best friend like the back of your hand. So, you called him up. And he knew just what you needed without you having to explain it. He could read it in the tone of your voice and even though it made his heart clench in pain when he saw you like this, totally and utterly defeated; he still craved to be next to you. At least as a distraction.

That's how you ended up in the passenger seat of his car somewhere around 1:30am, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, your face bare and tired. And still he gave you a dazzling smile as if he was looking at the sun, not the dark cloud filled with rain that you felt like right now.

"You wanna put your playlist on?" Chan asked and you nodded, the familiar comforting tones of Deftones' Sextape flooding through the speakers of his car made you slump into the seat instantly.

Chan didn't ask, he never did, he always waited for you to start talking about it by yourself, he knew you needed some time to collect your thoughts before pouring your soul out to him. So, he just started driving into the dark night.

You stared out the window, everything seemed to pass by so quickly the more he sped up, the lights of the city becoming a river of blurriness as you pressed your forehead against the cold glass, your warm breath creating a little cloud on it.

You hugged yourself and closed your eyes tightly. You were transported to another place, a place where you weren't lonely and disappointed. A place where you weren't a let down. A place where you felt like you actually belonged, so far away from all of it. All the smiles of people who suddenly stopped talking to you just because they found someone better, someone more interesting to share their time with. They all started fading away into the darkness of the night sky.

Chan drove and drove, your playlist was almost finished by then, meaning you had spent an hour just driving around mindlessly together. He parked in a spot you always ended up at, high up above the city where you could see every building, every road and every tree.

Silence replaced the last song of the playlist before both of you got out wordlessly. You took a deep breath of the fresh night air and walked over to the little wall that was built there for safety reasons. Chan followed you after stretching his arms and legs and you let out a deep sigh.

Both of you stared at the stars quietly, your eyes connecting the little shining dots into various shapes before they found Chan's.

He gave you a small smile and you couldn't help but return it even if it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"My intrusive thoughts are telling me to throw my phone over the wall or some shit like that." you said suddenly and Chan let out a short laugh.

"Please don't do that." he shook his head. "I really don't wanna have to go climbing down there to get it."

"I'm not that crazy."

"Debatable." he teased you and you punched his arm, making him laugh.

The two of you went quiet again before you felt the nagging sadness washing over you again.

"I wish I could fucking disappear sometimes. Or just run away from here, somewhere far away." you said as you stared at the city in front of you.

"You'd be running from yourself then. That's kind of impossible."

"Don't go all psychological on me." you rolled your eyes playfully and Chan sighed with a smile on his face. "You know what. I don't wanna talk about it at all. Sometimes I don't even know why I even feel like this. Sometimes I'm just... not me."

"It's okay, Y/n. You don't have to always have a reason for feeling down, sometimes it just is what it is." Chan said, standing closer to you.

"I know." you said quietly, suddenly feeling bad that you made him come here in the middle of the night and you couldn't even give him a proper reason for it.

But, Chan didn't mind. In fact, he loved that he was the first person you'd reach out to when you get like this, it meant he was your comfort. And you had no idea that despite millions of stars shining in the sky, your best friend still found himself drawn to the sparkle of your eyes.

His fingers twitched by his side; how many more nights of this could he take? How many more times will you hurt yourself until you finally learn just how much you're worth?

He had no idea what the hell washed over him but something snapped deep inside his soul when you looked up at him as if you were searching for an answer inside his eyes. He reached out and cupped your face, the last thing he saw before closing the distance between you was your eyes widening and then fluttering shut.

You also had no idea what came over you but as soon as Chan's lips touched yours it was like in those cliche romantic movies, the feeling like everything clicked and fell into place. It wasn't fireworks exploding as they always describe it but it was definitely a fire burning deep inside you. The spark was always there and you just needed one push to finally ignite it.

Your hands clutched onto his shirt as you pulled him closer and his hand splayed on the back of your neck as he tilted your head and pushed his tongue into your awaiting mouth. Everything was spinning around you, and you were enveloped in Chan's warmth and his familiar smell.

Your brain melted and you couldn't think about consequences as he gripped your hair and swirled his tongue around yours. You couldn't form one coherent thought as he backed you up against the car, pressing his body against yours, making you feel wanted, warm, protected. You grabbed at his shoulders as his hands landed on your waist, then slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to ground himself. His lips never left yours not until you needed to breathe desperately.

You gasped for air and Chan opened the back door, a darkness in his eyes that you've never seen before but it made you shiver, tingles running up your spine.

"Get in the back." he said, softly but firmly and you got in, grabbing his hand and pulling him with you. As soon as he sat down and closed the door you were pulled into his lap and you pressed yourself against him. Neither of you said anything, your bodies melted together as your hands roamed on each other, lips dancing together again.

"Chan... please." you said, you had no idea what you were asking for, you only knew that you needed him to completely cover you and to erase everything with his touches and kisses.

Chan was everywhere, his lips and teeth on your neck, hands on your thighs, your hips, your ass, your back. He was mapping you out, making you his, making you feel everything you always craved for.

"Fuck! I can't take it." you don't remember the last time someone touched you like he did, kissed you like he did and you started grinding on him, even through layers of clothing you could feel how hot and hard he was and you were getting desperate.

Desperate to erase all the thoughts plaguing your tired mind.

Clothes were pulled off, albeit clumsily in the small space of the back of his car and Chan didn't even have time to admire you and worship you like he always wanted, you were already grabbing his length and lining yourself up.

"Wait, wait!" he stopped you and you looked at him, your heart beating hard against your chest.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You knew there was no going back or backing out of this right now.

"Yes." you said and sank down on him, whimpering at the stretch. Chan let out a low grunt as his hands gripped your hips, his middle lifting up automatically into you.

"God, you're so tight." he groaned and looked at you and you whimpered, your entire body shivering.

There was a thought in the back of your mind, a realization that you were fucking your best friend and that nothing will be the same after this but you ignored it and started moving on top of him. Chan guided you, holding your waist and helping you fuck yourself on him as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and fell forward into him, your breasts pressing into his chest.

"That's it baby... Fuck, just like that." Chan groaned and couldn't help it as his hips lifted up to meet yours. You clenched around him involuntarily when he spoke like that, his voice soft and familiar in your ear.

Nothing existed in that moment except him, his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck, his low moans in your ear and his length buried deep inside you. The car windows fogged up from the warmth your bodies created and all your worries melted into a puddle somewhere in the back of your mind. It doesn't matter, that was the only phrase bouncing around in your brain as Chan gripped your hips with a bruising hold, fucking up harder into you and bringing you back to the present moment.

You almost didn't realize you were making such loud sounds until you became aware of yourself, your body as it tensed up, close to the edge you so desperately wanted to fall off of.

"Fuck, Y/n!" Chan moaned your name, like a prayer spilling from his lips and you were pushed off the cliff as you exploded around him, your entire body shaking and your ears ringing.

As you clenched around him, Chan lost it, drowning in your warmth, your scent, your hands, your body slick with sweat and he pushed you down on him, burying himself so deep inside as he came, moaning your name over and over again.

You slumped against him, the warmth of his seed filling you up completely erased any thought left in your brain. Chan didn't say anything, afraid to break the fragile moment and have you try to run away from him. He held onto you, his embrace warm and familiar as you clung onto him, your face buried in his neck and your hearts beating together rhythmically.

You didn't want to think about what this meant or what tomorrow could bring.

But Chan's warm hand found yours and you thought that maybe, just maybe, life can be bearable if he was there with you and this time you wouldn't be left empty.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr @hyunjincanraptoo @yaorzu-blog @ari-hwanggg @linofthelace @hyunjinlosthisamericano @the2000girlani @hhjlvr @beabidoobee @psychicdreamers

the playlist i love sm:

[thesophistiicate]

small shifts that helped me enjoy daily life more

stopped breaking promises to myself. and stopped making promises i wouldn't keep. every time you betray yourself by not following through on an intention, you fracture your ability to trust yourself. (your ability to trust yourself is foundational to living in calm confidence.)

stopped orienting my life around judgement and outrage. instead, i began spending more time focusing on positives and people/things i admire. the more i did this, the more goodness seemed to flow into my life, while also creating healthier space to productively (!) engage with issues i care about.

wrote morning pages and learned to listen to myself. morning pages in particular have a way of highlighting obstacles and recurring patterns that need addressing. i also found in the course of writing, i'd effortlessly come up with solutions which have so far had a 100% success rate at solving my problems.

ruthlessly edited my online experience. personally, getting off social media entirely is not for me. i love community and connection and seeing all the cool and creative things people are doing. i just make sure to only follow accounts that truly inspire and uplift me.

stopped focusing on being 'realistic' and leaned into my vision and creativity. being 'realistic' and 'rational' can feel intelligent, and there's certainly a place for it (balance is key), but i started to feel so much happier when i allowed myself to romanticise and dream a little, too.

[justmanifestit]

justmanifestit

I hear people all the time complaining about wanting a boyfriend, a house, or their dream job — like it’s the hardest thing in the world to get. And every time, I just say: JUST MANIFEST IT.

When I say that, people act like I offended them. They give me the dirtiest side eye ever. Like, no it can be that easy, I have been strugling with this for x amount of years. But honestly? It can be that easy. You can change your circumstances. You can do anything.

When you truly realize that, youwill want to manifest anything. Want cake? Just manifest it. Problems? Manifest a solution. Life isn’t about waiting for things to happen; it’s about knowing you have the power to create your reality.

We all manifest all the time just subconsciously. But you? You’re one of the few who actually knows about the Law of Assumption. That’s rare. Most people suffer, trapped by their circumstances. But you’re not one of them.

This found you for a reason: you weren’t meant to suffer. You were meant to have anything you want. Didn’t like the season finale of your favorite show? Just manifest a different one. Having a problem with your coworker? Manifest the version of them that’s easy to work with, or the version of you that handles it with ease.

You’re manifesting every single day, whether you realize it or not.

So when something bothers you, remember this: YOU CAN MANIFEST A DIFFERENT REALITY. Always.

[wilwheaton]

It seems to me that some of the wealthiest and most powerful individuals in our society think they can create one kind of world for everyone—a world where human life is disposable and as cheap as it can possibly be made—but then think they don't have to live in the world they've forced us all to occupy, too. They think they can make a world where some people matter and other people don't, and in so doing will remain perpetually the ones who matter. They're certainly going to try to make it so. There are shocking policies already in place and even more shocking ones being proposed. I think we will find that wealthy and powerful and influential people, who have decided that our healthcare system is very complicated and its problems intractable and unsolvable, will suddenly find that structural changes have become very simple and easy when the topic is not the overall well-being of humans in society, but rather the safety and security and reputations of those who generate profit by destroying the overall well-being of humans in society. I think the murder of a CEO will be treated as dangerous, in a way that millions and millions of people suffering for years in despair and dying broke decade after decade never has been, because our society values corporate profit over human health. Yes, they'll try to make us live in one world while living in a different one. And for a while, that might even seem true—but it's a lie. The truth is, we all live in the same world. It seems to me that when you create a world where human life has been made as cheap as possible, you will eventually find you live in a world where your human life is deemed by others to be cheap, too. It seems to me that when you create a world that is deliberately callous about human life, you live in that world—which might be a problem, if you are a human.

Peaceful Solutions

[kitten4sannie]

middle of the night

pairing: boyfriend! san x fem! reader

genre: pure smut

summary: these days, san can never seem to get a good night’s rest, that is, until he’s able to completely unload himself inside his pretty little girlfriend. good thing you‘re laying right next to him.

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: mean dom! san, subby painslut! reader, both of these mfs are nymphos, somno that turns into full blown sex (they have an established agreement and there is strict consent involved), san’s got a big curved cock as per usual, pet names/name calling, praise/degradation, manhandling, tit play, spit, finger sucking, pussy slapping, marking, possessiveness, spanking, vaginal/anal sex also known as the two for one special <3 (psa: never switch from ass to pussy irl btw), rough altered missionary/doggy/back to missionary, san puts reader in a headlock (muahahahah), creampies, squirting, breeding kink, bulge kink, dumbification, brief oral, san eats his own cum out of reader, this is really filthy btw i should be locked up :3c

a/n: i literally can’t stop writing bc of the horneee that is constantly brought upon me against my will 😞 it’s all san’s fault </3 also i realized i’ve only written one fic about somno like two thousand years ago even tho it’s in my top ten kinks so i gotta fix that <3 *screams* i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed coming up with it~

song recs: angel by massive attack - beware by deftones (GRRRRRRRR BARK BARK)

San couldn’t seem to stop tossing and turning in bed, forcing his eyes shut and waiting for one side of his pillow to grow far too hot for comfort, before letting out a frustrated groan and rolling onto his other side, his cheek squished against the feathered pillow. Squinting at the glowing analog clock on the bedside table across from him, San blinked a few times, his eyes getting used to the darkness inside the room. It was already nearing dawn and he still hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. There had to be some kind of solution.

It was then that you shifted besides him, emitting a soft moan and rolling onto your back, your loose tank top lowered just enough so that one of your tits had popped out of it, creating another obstacle for San to overcome, one that wouldn’t let him fall asleep until he confronted it.

“Fuck,” San whispered to himself, pushing the covers down far enough to confirm his growing problem. With half-closed, tired eyes, your boyfriend watched his cock repeatedly throb upwards against his loose black sweatpants, as if it was begging him to do something, and quick.

Hs thought back to a conversation you had earlier that week, one you brought up after he had just got done fucking you all over the house in every position imaginable. Like many of your sex marathons, it was initiated because of something simple — you being bent over the washing machine to fill it up with a load of detergent, which, of course, led to San filling you up with his own load in every possible area of your house, including the back patio when you tried to water your poor succulents.

“Sannie, you might as well fuck me when I’m asleep too, at this point,” you giggled, running your fingers through San’s soaked hair, admiring the way he looked in between your legs, with his mouth and tongue exploring your leaking, cum-filled cunt.

“You mean that, angel? My dumb slut wants me to fuck her even dumber in her sleep?” he asked in between licks, humming softly as he continued to languidly clean you up after the destruction he caused to your used hole. It was his favorite pastime, besides rearranging your insides and painting them white with his seed, of course.

Moaning at his mean words, you tugged on his hair, rubbing your soaked pussy in his face like you always did. “Yes, I mean it, baby. Now, shut up and clean up your mess.”

Before San knew it, he was hovering over you, your thighs wide open and resting against his own, your loose, nonexistent sleep shorts tossed to the side so that he could eagerly rub his slick cock along your plush folds, his thick, calloused fingers exploring every inch of your heated skin, groping at your soft thighs, your hips and waist, eventually getting distracted by your tits, rolling your tank top up over them until they spilled out into his greedy hands. He squeezed and rolled them around, bringing his drooling mouth down to your chest to drag his hot tongue up and over your tits until they shined with his spit, pinching your puffy nipples in between his teeth until you whined out in your sleep, feeling your arousal leak out onto his pulsing cock when he finally pushed inside.

“Mmn, my angel is such a good little cocksleeve, so fucking wet for me even in her sleep,” San sighed lovingly to himself, sucking one of your tits into his mouth, spitting on it for good measure, before exchanging it for the other, moaning around your soft flesh, his eyes never leaving your pretty flushed face, even though you weren’t even awake to look down at him.

Unable to hold himself back, he began to buck his hips wildly into you like he always ended up doing when your tight, warm cunt sucked him in the way it did, the headboard beginning to bang loudly against the wall behind it. Grunting, San licked up from your spit-laced chest to your neck, sucking and biting into it, leaving his mark on you. “My baby, my sweet girl, you’re mine, all mine, even when you’re dreaming,” he whispered against your slick skin, slowly pulling back when he heard the breathy gasps you were letting out turn into full-blown moans.

“S-sannieee, I’m so full,” you voiced in a sleepy tone, reaching up to rub your tired eyes, studying your boyfriend’s rosy cheeks and lips, the way his drenched hair stuck to his forehead, a few drops of sweat landing on your face, unable to look away from his intensely dark, lust-filled gaze. “Is my pussy making Sannie go crazy?”

A low growl erupted from San’s throat, a vein starting to grow taut against his skin, now that he was pounding into you with abandon, reaching up underneath your thighs to forcibly fold you in half like you were nothing but a doll for him to use. “Your slutty cunt always drives me crazy, princess, so be good and take responsibility, hm?”

Barely able to breath now that you were akin to origami, your brain grew delightfully fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, encouraging the hazy, half-asleep state you were still in and the oversized cock that was being driven relentlessly into your cervix to work in tandem until pleasure overtook your body to the point of orgasm. “Fuck, Sannie, baby, fffuuck, I’m cumming…!”

“Oh, my dirty girl, creaming yourself so soon?” San mused with his lips quirked into a shit-eating grin, his dimples and canine teeth on display. Just as your eyes begin to disappear underneath your fluttering eyelids, San suddenly grabbed you by the chin, reaching down in between your sweaty bodies to smack his hand down roughly against your spasming cunt. “Look at me when you’re squirting on my cock, baby. You know better.”

“S-sannie, it’s so, oh my god–” you cried out, opening your mouth to moan and instead feeling his thumb slide over your tongue, your lips closing around it. You continued to suck on his thumb as he fucked you through your first mind melting orgasm of the night, biting into it when he smacked your cunt again with his free hand.

“Owww, bad girl.” San watched you lick and suck on his thumb with a lecherous smile plastered on his red, sweaty face, rubbing his other thumb roughly into your puffy clit, rolling it in circles until he felt your thighs trembling nonstop against his moving body, suddenly stopping his movements to sheath himself fully inside you, groaning heavily as he flooded your pulsing cunt with his hot load. “Mm, you feel that, princess? I’m pumping all my cum into this slutty womb of yours, so I can get you nice and knocked up for me…You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Just as he pulled his thumb out of your drooling mouth, you clasped your hands onto his cheeks, looking up at him hearts in your teary eyes, and begging, “Yes, Sannie, I like it, love it so much. Can I have more?”

And there it was. You might’ve been the love of his life and his beautiful angel of a girlfriend, but you were still his personal breeding bitch at the end of the day — and in the middle of this hazy, sleepless night.

“Oh, yeah?” San hummed, slowly pulling out of you and running his fingers through his wet hair, just for it to fall back into his half-lidded eyes, watching as his cum began to flood out of your gaped, fluttering hole. He wanted nothing more than to eat it out of you, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting the warm saltiness mixed with your sweet squirt on his lips, but he still had to pursue his mission of pleasing his baby. “My little slut still hasn’t had enough?”

“No, Sannieee, I need your cock in my other breeding hole. Please?” you whined softly, pouting up at him, hoping you’d get your way now that you were fired up and desperate for him to fill and own as many of your holes as he could before the both of you fell victim to drowsiness.

San closed his eyes to ground himself for a second, not even fully prepared for the filth that you exuded, despite being quite the pervert himself. When he opened his eyes back up, he looked down, his curved cock now painfully stiff and twitching upwards into his heaving abdomen, somewhat winded from how hard he had been fucking you just a moment ago. “Head down, ass up, little slut. Don’t make me ask twice.”

And just like that, you were lying with your head pressed into bed, drooling heavily from both ends, getting saliva onto the arousal stained mattress, your sopping wet cunt pushing out all of San’s load and causing it to drip down your inner thighs, your weak, bruised knees wobbling beneath you, your ass being relentlessly pounded into by your ravenous boyfriend. “Gonna cum, gonna cum–”

Your warning was cut off by a sharp gasp, just as San’s hand collided with the side of your reddened ass, his fingers grabbing into the soft, sensitive flesh until you whimpered pathetically. “You’re such a filthy slut, aren’t you?” he growled between gritted teeth, smacking the other side of your ass and making you cry out before you could answer him properly. He suddenly pulled out of your ass and forced himself back into your cunt, stuffing you completely full, hunching over you so that he could put you in a headlock, loose enough so that you remained conscious, but tight enough so that you could feel deliciously dizzy. “You’re my filthy slut. All mine to fuck raw, to ruin, to breed. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered hoarsely, opening your mouth up to accept his tongue inside when he closed in on you, feeling breathless once he manipulated your body until you were back underneath him, your legs near your head, his cock so deep inside your cunt that the tip of it created a prominent bulge inside your stomach, one that San was already palming as he began to shudder, his lips, teeth and tongue attacking your neck again to leave more marks, darker ones that you would have to put concealer over before you went to work the following morning. “That’s it, that’s it, cum inside me, San, please, make me yours!”

“You’ve been mine since the beginning, angel, but I’ll make you mine again, and again, and again,” San exhaled onto your lips, wrapping his arms protectively around you, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his tip just about kissing the entrance of your cervix, your bodies so entangled together, neither of you knew where the other began. You gazed into each other’s hazy eyes, moaning into each other’s open mouths, as another seemingly endless flood of thick, hot cum claimed your womb. “I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

“I love you too, San,” you sighed back, caressing his heated face, your fingers slipping into his hair just as he began to lower himself down, shuddering at the sensation of his lips and teeth making their mark on your chest, abdomen, hips, then gasping when he made his way to your center, his hot tongue slipping inside your pulsing cunt.

Like every time before, San ate his warm load out of you like a starved man, his nose nudging your sensitive clit as he moved his head in an up and down motion, coaxing more of the saltiness onto his tongue, reaching up to rapidly rub your clit just because he could, pleased with the way you began to cry and shake, your warm squirt pouring down his throat. He swallowed it all down with a low, pleased groan, dragging his tongue up and over your used, puffy cunt to collect the last few drops of nectar, before he finally felt tired enough to collapse down onto the bed next to you.

With the last ounce of his strength, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips, letting you taste your combined essence. “Bedtime?” San whispered, cradling and rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, looking at you with a fondness that bordered obsession. He chuckled softly, giving you a dimpled smile. “I promise I won’t wake you up again.”

“You won’t wake me up, but you still might fuck me in my sleep? Huh, nympho?” you teased jokingly, cradling his face back, so close that you breathed in the same air, your eyes never leaving his, despite how heavy your eyelids began to feel. “I need my sleep, you know.”

San was in a similar state, starting to drift off, his hands leaving your face so that he could wrap them protectively around you. “Sorry, baby. I’ll try to be quieter next time,” he murmured, letting out a soft giggle, pressing a kiss to your lips just as his eyes began to close. “Just don’t be mad at me when you wake up with my cock still inside you…”

Leaving a kiss on his nose, your eyes started to close as well, completely relaxing into your boyfriend’s warm embrace. “I’ll be mad if it’s not still inside me.”

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