#much as they're using it to fuck with him)

[sortagaysortahigh]

Juno | James 'Bucky' Barnes

A/N: Heyyyyy, here's part 2 to Lovefool, can technically be read as a stand alone if you're a fluff kinda person. This is the most fluff I've written in YEARS, some angst is thrown in as well! They're getting MARRIED! ugh my babies <3, also writing joaquin was so much fun in this fic, love his comedic timing as readers bestie! Anyways I hope you all enjoy! This is definitely also named after the sabrina carpenter song, so just GUESS WHERE THIS FIC GOES. Also everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing most of this, and to @anxietyandtacos for encouraging my bs <3

Summary: In the early stages of your relationship with Congressman Barnes, you swore he was kidding anytime he mentioned the idea of being his wife, however, it is apparent that he wasn't kidding. It's also obvious that there's nothing more that you want in the world.

Warnings: 2nd PERSON POV, use of Y/N, spelling and grammar errors fr (I am who I am), angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of bucky sleeping on the floor, mentions of insecurities, mentions of vomiting/throw up, pregnancy (AHHH), cursing, anxiety, Joaquin being an amazing bestfriend (he's so annoying i lvoed writing him), kissing, SMUT: unprotected p in v, praise kink if you squint, choking, smacking/spanking, spitting, squirting, somewhat rough sex, BREEDING KINK, wife kink, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), creampie, getting absolutely railed fr, honestly theres not a ton of smut but it's there fr and they're freaks.

Word Count: 14.8k Part One

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Secretary!Reader

UGHHHH LET ME AT HIM GOD DAMNIT IM FERAL!

The past eight months have been a whirlwind. 

In the early stages of your official relationship with Bucky, you swore he was kidding anytime he mentioned his ‘bright idea’ of you being his wife rather than his secretary. 

He was still a Congressman and you were still his bossy secretary, but behind closed doors, you were much more than that, and the both of you were irrevocably in love with one another.

It was obvious that you two were more than just professionally involved. Bucky would pull you closer to him in large crowds, his arm wrapped around your waist as if he was safeguarding you from the public. You’d both hold hands on your walks through Capitol Hill, and he’d even pull you into shaded areas to plant quick kisses along your jaw and neck, a series of giggles leaving your lips accompanied by ‘Bucky! Stop it’. 

Not to mention the way he’d sit back and let you speak during committee meetings, not a single argument or glare exchanged between the both of you.

Some journalists even reported that he’d been doing a much better job as a congressman, stating that it was clear something had changed in his life that brought Bucky more satisfaction and genuine joy. That joy clearly spread into all aspects of his life—publicly and privately.

You also didn’t shout at him as much. Sure, you’d still argue with him, and in the first few months of dating, it was obvious that you knew how to separate your professional relationship from your romantic one, but that didn’t stop him from fucking you in his office or workspace in both D.C. and Brooklyn. 

That usually only occurred after an argument on the principle that Bucky knew how to put you in your place. He’d always known, but prior to being romantically involved with you, he would’ve never crossed that boundary.

Slowly but surely you’d let your guard down, easing into being in a publicly known relationship with him. There was still an element of controversy surrounding dating your boss, but the bits and pieces of media coverage on the two of you focused on your relationship prior to his Congressional career, then segueing into the career, and even focusing on the future regarding the New Avengers.

Truthfully, Bucky didn’t care about what the future held, as long as you were with him. He even considered running for re-election after you helped him get his first major bill passed that addressed homelessness in New York and other major urban metropolitan spaces.

You moved in with Bucky one month after the night of the fundraiser. It made sense to live with him—he had two residencies, one in New York and Washington D.C., and you were pretty much always with him regardless. It also alleviated the financial stress of paying rent in two different states. 

Plus you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy being around him all of the time. Especially when your predominant residence was in New York, and now it was with him in a cozy apartment in Brooklyn. Although his lack of furniture in his Brooklyn apartment was shocking.

You were used to seeing his furnished apartment in D.C.. Sure, you knew that it came furnished, but you thought with him having the same place of residency in Brooklyn for so long, that he’d have more than a worn couch and a few bar stools. His bed also looked almost untouched, as if he never slept in it.

Then two weeks into living with him, you found out that he didn’t sleep in his bed. 

The two of you would usually go to sleep at the same time and you were always a heavy sleeper, so when you’d wake up in the morning and he was already up brewing coffee, you didn’t think much of it.

Not until the night that you’d woken up around two in the morning from a nightmare. You jolted out of your sleep, eyes wide, hand to your chest as you caught your breath. Then you looked around the room, squinting, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you used your right hand to feel around—looking for Bucky.

He wasn’t there. 

You thought that maybe he was in the bathroom, so you waited a few minutes, grabbing your phone from the bedside table, looking at the time, letting a few minutes pass as you read through the missed texts from your group chat with Joaquin, Kate, and Peter.

After ten minutes had passed and he didn’t come back, you got out of bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you padded out of the room, down the hall a bit, noticing there weren’t any lights on, and into the main living room space. Then you saw him, the faint yellow glow from the overhead stove light illuminated the space just enough for you to make out the sight of Bucky on the floor, his head against a couch pillow, and your thin pink throw blanket overtop of his figure.

You were confused at the sight of him on the floor. 

He clearly wasn’t sleeping peacefully, not when his chest was rapidly rising and falling and a sheen layer of sweat coated his skin. It was evident that Bucky had been tossing and turning, the sheet beneath him wrinkled and tangled around his lower body.

The sight of him like that made you tear up. You knew he still dealt with the nightmares, he’d told you about it a few weeks ago, said that they weren’t common anymore, but they hadn’t exactly disappeared overnight.

Bucky had spent a while in Wakanda working on coping with them as well. Once he was finally free of the Hydra brainwashing, it had gotten easier to manage the nightmares. He knew grounding himself usually helped, but after seventy years of being tortured, brainwashed, and constant cryopreservation, sleep didn’t come easily. 

You slowly kneeled beside him, placing one hand on his chest, and the other gently caressing his face as you whispered, “Buck, baby it’s me.”

He stirred at the sound of your voice, taking in a deep inhale while squeezing his eyes a bit tighter, then slowly opening them. His eyes met yours in the dimly lit room as he blinked a few times, adjusting to the light.

“You weren’t supposed to know about this,” his voice was groggy, laced with sleep as he whispered. His vibranium hand met yours on his chest, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You sleep like a rock, didn’t think you’d find me this soon.”

You shook your head, sniffling slightly, bottom lip quivering a bit as you tried to hold in your tears. “I don’t like seeing you like this Buck.” You slowly moved your thumb along his cheek, caressing it ever so slightly as he leaned into your touch.

“I should’ve told you, I know.” He sighed, taking the chance to wipe away a few of your tears. “It’s hard for me to fall asleep sometimes, it’s just easier on the floor—bit of a bad habit.” He wasn’t telling you everything, and he knew you saw right through his bullshit.

You nodded, leaning closer to him, kissing him slowly, sincerely, pouring every emotion into the moment. He easily kissed you back, hand now on the back of your neck as you focused on deepening the kiss, tongue sliding along his bottom lip.

Bucky pulled away first, blinking a few times while looking at you, faces inches apart. 

“This your plan? Kiss me until I feel better?” He was clearly joking, but it came off a bit harsh. It wasn’t that he was upset with you for finding out, he didn’t know how to cope with someone caring so deeply about him. Even in the dark, he could see the emotion and concern evident on your face. Your heart was practically racing, and it was clear that he was making you upset.

“No, actually, I was gonna kiss you until I felt better. Don’t think there’s anything I can say to convince you to come back to bed.” You sounded so defeated.

He felt as if he’d broken part of your heart.

“Doll, I’ll come back to bed with you.” His voice was soft as he spoke, peppering kisses along your cheek and jaw. 

You shoved him back a bit. “Not if you think I’m forcing you to come. I just want to know that you’re alright, if you’re more comfortable out here, that’s okay with me—it just hurts to see you like this. To know that you’re still dealing with the nightmares and that I can’t help fix it.” You sounded so small, eyes leaving his to look down at your intertwined fingers.

He lifted your intertwined hands, kissing the back of your hand. “Sweetheart, I’m coming back to bed with you, won’t sleep out here anymore. It’ll just take some getting used to ‘s all.”

You nodded your head, still avoiding his gaze, feeling as if you were pushing him, pressuring him into something that he didn’t want to do. This wasn’t work, it wasn’t something that you could fix for him or something you could save him from. All you could do was be there for him, and that in and of itself wasn’t enough for you.

But it was more than enough for him.

Bucky took the time to stand up, pulling you up with him, then he was grabbing the throw, tossing it onto the sofa before picking you up bridal style. He kissed the top of your head as he made his way back to the bedroom, placing you down onto your side before climbing back onto his.

It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable, quite the opposite really. Especially considering you’d added two mattress toppers to it, claiming that you needed to ‘sleep on a cloud’. Then, with you next to him, it added another element of comfort that he hadn’t anticipated. 

Maybe his problem was that the bed was too comfortable. 

He felt too safe, and that scared him. It terrified him. He hadn’t gone a single night feeling nothing but comfort in decades, and so, each night for the past two weeks, after you’d fallen asleep, he’d ease himself out of your hold, and snuck away, finding familiarity in the discomfort of the hard wooden floors.

That familiarity also welcomed the nightmares in a way, he hadn’t had them much anymore, but maybe it was the fear of him hurting you that had the negative memories and emotions resurfacing. Bucky knew that it also had to do with his own personal fear of being genuinely unlovable.

He was scarred, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he was very self-aware of that. He’d managed to land the woman of his dreams, but he thought you could do better, that you’d be a better fit for a man that hadn’t been through hell and back, someone who wasn’t scarred and jagged.

The two of you laid in silence before you finally turned to face him, shifting even closer, slipping your leg between the both of his, one hand on his abdomen while you propped your head up with the other arm, now looking at him in the moonlight.

“Tell me how to be there for you,” your words were quiet, but they were full of emotion. You needed to be there for him, you wanted nothing more than to show him how much you truly cared for him.

He bit his bottom lip, gaze leaving the ceiling, eyes landing on you. “You already are there for me.”

His response made you blink a few times, brows knit together, “Then why are you leaving in the middle of the night?”

“Because I’m afraid of hurting you.” There was so much raw emotion in Bucky’s voice as he spoke, he’d never been more sure of anything. He was terrified of hurting you, terrified of showing you the worst parts of himself, terrified that you’d leave the second you got to see who he truly was.

You shook your head, “You’d never hurt me James. I know that. I trust you with my life, I don’t think I’ve ever trusted or loved someone more than I trust and love you.”

Bucky smiled, eyes tracing every detail of your face, you’d never looked more serious.

“I don’t care about your scars, physically, or metaphorically. I want to be there for you, I want you to let me in, I want you to know that I’m here—I don’t want you leaving in the middle of the night when I’m asleep—” your voice cracked “—I love all of you. I want you to know that you’ll never, ever hurt me. Even if you did hurt me, I’d kick your ass.”

You sniffled again, blinking away your tears, “If I have to tell you that every night, I will. I love you—all of you.”

That night was the first night that he’d slept in his bed in years. 

Every night following, he was in bed, right beside you. Even when he’d wake up in the middle of the night in a harsh panic, you were right there, right beside him, curling into his side, whispering sweet nothings to him, calming him down and reassuring him. 

Even on days that you two would fight over work, you never went to bed mad at one another. It was an unspoken rule, someone had to swallow their pride and apologize, going to sleep upset wasn’t an option. 

Your shared bedroom was a place of peace, a place of genuine solace for the both of you.

If you hadn’t already been in love, two months into living with one another, you and Bucky were definitively truly, madly, and deeply in love.

James Barnes proposed to you six months ago, on a rainy day in D.C. under the awning outside of 54 after carrying you in his arms while sprinting through a storm.

The neon glow from the signs in the window reflected against your skin in a way that made his breath hitch and head spin. You looked so beautiful, splotches of color along your damp face as you looked at him with a wide smile, followed by a series of contagious laughs and giggles at the sight of his soaked attire. 

The umbrella he’d brought had broken when a large gust of wind hit, leaving the both of you to sprint to your destination, or rather, he picked you up bridal style and ran down the block until you were both fully shielded from the rain.

Both of your outfits were soaked, your hair was a bit of a mess as you scooped it into a claw clip, and he had to shrug off his suit jacket because the material was weighing down on his shoulders. 

He hadn’t planned to propose at that moment. Bucky actually wanted to propose to you by the Cherry Blossoms. He was going to wait a month until they were in full bloom, but he always carried the small red heart-shaped box in his pocket, squeezing it slightly anytime he felt anxious or irritated.

In a way, it grounded him. The thought of you grounded him.

But you looked so beautiful and joyous in that moment. He couldn’t help himself.

You were utterly confused as you watched him get down on one knee, your brows knit together as you glanced around, trying to figure out if maybe he’d dropped something, or if he was trying to adjust his shoe. Then you glanced through the window of the restaurant, watching Ms. Minh’s eyes widened as she shot up from her seat behind the counter.

You were too focused on her actions to notice Bucky placing his briefcase on one of the chairs outside of the restaurant, then fishing through his pocket for the ring box. Ms. Minh was quick to grab her phone, holding it up as if she was recording something while rushing through the front door and standing a few feet away from the two of you.

Then, you were looking back at Bucky, confusion quickly shifting into shock as he ran his hand through his wet hair, looking up at you, then with one hand he opened the heart-shaped ring box where a beautiful golden ring with a princess cut diamond sat. 

“Bucky what are you doing?” You tried to laugh it off, biting into your bottom lip as you stared at him.

He smiled at you, icy blue eyes full of nothing but pure adoration and love.

When Bucky said your full name—middle name included—your jaw dropped, this was really happening. He was actually proposing to you.

“I’ve loved you since you kicked my ass on top of a moving vehicle in Germany when we were both technically war criminals—” You laughed, shaking your head, eyes welling up with tears. “—and I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you and everything about you. I love your good qualities and the uh—not so pleasant ones—” He laughed a bit while shaking his head. 

“I’ve lived a thousand lives and the one thing that I’ve ever really wanted is to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. So, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” He watched as you sniffled, nodding your head, red teary eyes blinking several times as if you were trying to stop crying. 

Then you gave him your left hand, and he slid the ring onto your finger.

“I’d be an idiot to say no to you James Buchanan Barnes.”

He was off the ground in seconds, right hand intertwined with your left as he pulled you into a kiss. His left hand on your cheek, gently caressing your face while he kissed you under the awning of the Vietnamese restaurant that you two had been frequenting for years. 

The first place that you’d genuinely bonded at was now the place you’d gotten engaged at. It made you laugh, smile, and cry as you kissed Bucky under the old rusted awning. The world around you frozen, and in that moment, all you cared about was James Buchanan Barnes.

Breaking the news of your engagement to everyone had been stressful to say the least.

Sam was the easiest person to tell, he was already in D.C. on base, so when you strolled into his office at the Airforce base with Bucky in tow, he was somewhat surprised. You’d visited the base a few times in the past, having the top secret clearance to do so, but never with Buck.

You sighed, hoping that Joaquin would’ve been there, but you knew he’d probably cry so maybe it was better to wait on telling him. 

“Care to explain the impromptu visit? I know this isn’t to talk about anything work related—we already had that call this week. So, what’s going on with Capitol Hill’s hottest couple?” He wiggled his brows, looking between you and Bucky. Your arms are crossed in front of your chest, hands tucked into your sides as if you were hiding something.

“Don’t tell me you’re here with bad news.” Sam clearly braced himself, jaw clenched as he took a deep breath. “Okay, lay it on me, I’m ready.”

You couldn’t hold your laugh in as you elbowed Bucky, smiling up at him before approaching Sam. When you were a few feet away you paused, now leaning against Joaquin’s messy desk, looking around at his different trinkets and small gifts that he’d clearly gotten from his girlfriend.

Then, you glanced back at Sam. “I’m pregnant with Joaquin’s kid.” You deadpanned.

Your poker face had Sam in a clear panic, and that made you crack as you shook your head. “I’m kidding! Sam please! Oh my god!—” Then you looked over at Bucky who was shaking his head, hands in his pockets “—told you it would get him! Dinners on you tonight, Congressman,” you winked at him.

Sam had a hand over his chest as he caught his breath, a disappointed look on his face as he spoke, “Don’t do that shit to me again! You had me worried that Bucky was here to kill Joaquin. Or even worse, you were in a weird throuple and I’d never hear the end of it! You know he never shuts the hell up!”

You were smiling, shaking your head at Sam, then you glanced over at Bucky before nodding. He walked towards Sam, handing him a smaller blue box with a velvet finish.

Sam raised a brow, taking the box, then walking towards his desk, taking a second to open it, seeing the silver custom watch sitting in it, followed by the small folded note. His eyes widening as he read it, gaze snapping to yours, then Bucky.

“Excuse me? Be your best man?! You two are engaged?!” he smiled as you flashed your left hand.

“So, what do ya say? Will you be my best man?” Bucky smiled as he asked Sam, who pulled him into a hug immediately.

“Of course I’ll be your best man, what the hell kind of question is that?!”

Telling Joaquin wasn’t easy, not when he’d found out from Sam first and had blown up your phone in the middle of the night, calling you six times before you finally answered him, a bit hazy from being asleep.

Your head was still resting against Bucky’s bare chest as you held the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell do you mean hello?! You’re engaged and I had to find out from Sam?! What kind of best friend are you! Have you no shame?! I get it that Sam’s clearly the best choice for his best man! But you didn’t think to tell me first?!”

He was moving a mile a minute, practically yelling into the phone. From your end, you could picture him pacing back and forth in his girlfriend’s apartment, phone in hand while you were on speaker.

“Joaquin, it’s like two in the morning—can we talk about this tomorrow?” 

He scoffed. “Talk about this tomorrow?! I was overseas in Cambodia on some mission with Sam, just for him to ask me if I was part of your wedding party on our flight back? Y’know he made a joke about me being your maid of honor! I was so confused! Then he lays it on me that you’re engaged!” 

You sighed, Bucky now stirring from his sleep at the sound of Joaquin’s voice. He wasn’t on speaker, and he was still the loudest in the room.

Then you sat up, now placing him on speaker after realizing Bucky was awake. “To be fair, I tried to tell you the day we told Sam, but you weren’t there. If I’m not mistaken, you were out living your life with your girlfriend. Who by the way, shouldn’t you be with right now? Instead of shouting at me at 2am?!”

Joaquin clearly let out a ‘tsk’ sound, and based on the silence following, you knew he was rolling his eyes. “I am with my girlfriend thank you very much, and she agrees that you were wrong as hell not to tell me!”

In the background you heard the muffled ‘No I didn’t say that! I said you were overreacting! He told his best friend first, she just happened to be there with her man!’. Followed by “Seriously baby?! Whose side are you on! Hers or mine! I’m the one who’s been wronged here!”

Bucky sat up next to you, rubbing one of his eyes as he processed the sound of Joaquin’s voice in the room. “Hang up on him.” 

Joaquin gasped again “Seriously Bucky?! Now you’re saying to hang up on me! I have every right to be offended right now! Besides, it’s not like I called at five in the morning!”

You sighed, pinching your nose bridge while taking a deep breath. You looked over at Bucky who was shaking his head, glancing from the illuminated phone screen to you. 

“What time is it, Sweetheart?” His sleep-laced voice made you smile, but he was clearly glaring at your phone, considering going to the base in D.C. next week and kicking Joaquin’s ass.

“It’s 2:33 in the morning. Also, Joaquin, just because you didn’t call at five doesn’t make it any better. You know damn well I’m asleep by one!” You yawned, rolling your shoulders back, scooting a bit closer to Bucky who was now sitting up and leaning against the headboard. He wrapped an arm around your waist while you rested your head against him.

“Okay but I couldn’t wait! What was I supposed to do?! Not sleep and be bothered all night by this betrayal!” 

You groaned again “Joaquin, can you go to bed, or go eat something, or go have sex?! Please, get off of my phone right now before Bucky kicks your ass the next time we see you.” 

Bucky laughed at that, the low rumble in his chest vibrating against you. His chin now resting on the top of your head slightly. 

“Wow! So this is it, huh? Now you’re hanging up on me?...Baby you’re being dramatic, let them go back to sleep. I don’t think you’d win a fight against Bucky Barnes…So now you’re doubting me too?!” Joaquin sounded hurt as he gasped, and you knew for a fact he had a hand over his chest right now, jaw dropped, and brows knit together while he looked at her.

“Goodnight Torres. I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that you hung up the phone, ignoring his protests before double checking that your phone was set to ‘do not disturb’.

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

You laughed at Bucky, shaking your head before moving to face him, planting a firm kiss to his lips, then straddling his lap. One hand on his jaw, the other on his shoulder as you smiled at him. “Since we’re awake, you wanna kill some time?”

He nodded his head, pulling you into another kiss as you rolled your hips against him.

It’d taken two days for anyone and everyone to find out that you were engaged. Joaquin sent an over dramatic text about how hurt and heartbroken he was in your shared group chat with Kate and Peter. Peter replied with a quick ‘That’s great! Congrats!’ 

Kate had also called, but she was squealing in excitement for you. Then Kate told Yelena, and she’d sworn to you that she had her girlfriend promise not to tell anyone else. That promise clearly didn’t apply to her father, who called you from Yelena’s phone to give you a long winded speech about how happy and proud he was that you were getting married.

He’d even thrown in a few bits and pieces about how strong your children with Bucky would be, and how ecstatic he was for the wedding. Which you hadn’t even started planning yet, and he volunteered to help plan it, stating that he was an excellent decorator and knew his way around a good celebration. 

After Alexei’s phone call, you received several texts from unknown numbers, which were also followed by everyone stating their names, and adding you into a group chat titled ‘The New Avengers’. It included Yelena, Bob, John, Ava, and Alexei. They’d mentioned that they had tried to add Bucky, but he left each and every time.

From there, it all spiraled. 

Eventually you’d gotten a call from Clint, who you hadn’t spoken with in years following his somewhat psychotic break during the Blip when he decided to be a hitman assassin to grieve his family. 

You’d even gotten a video call from Thor Odinson himself, who was squinting at the large screen, calling you through one of Bruce Banner’s intergalactic communication devices that you only had access to at the Avenger’s tower. 

He was all smiles and laughs, telling you how happy he was to know that Bucky would be marrying ‘such a beautiful human!’ You hardly knew the God of Thunder, so to say it was strange was an understatement. But you did find out that Thor was a lot friendlier than expected, and that he was really sweet, and had a daughter! 

Bruce and Thor had spent more time talking to Bucky and looping Sam into the call as if it was some kind of reunion. 

The weirdest call you’d gotten was from a talking raccoon, some guy named Peter Quill, an alien woman with antennae, a large blue man, a talking tree, and a blue cyborg woman. Bucky had to spend an hour explaining how he knew all of them, and he even mentioned something about giving his previous metal arm to the raccoon as a Christmas present.

The next few weeks passed by in a blur, with an ongoing impeachment trial, several rising intergalactic threats, and a constant debate on the sanctuary agreement regarding Celestial Island, the last thing you and Bucky had time to think about was a wedding.

So you focused on work, at least you tried to focus on work until Joaquin had practically broken your door down on a Tuesday afternoon, bursting into the penthouse with the box that you’d left on his desk two days prior.

He didn’t bother acknowledging you and Bucky’s closeness, the both of you sitting on the sofa together, your legs in his lap as you read off important bullet points in preparation for tomorrow’s major Foreign Affairs Committee meeting. He nodded his head as you spoke, answering and asking questions, ensuring he knew his stance, and knew it well.

“What the hell?! You guys didn’t even bother to call me about this—” He held the forest green box up. “I haven’t been in the office in a few days! I was busy running drills with Sam! He didn’t even tell me you dropped this off?! You mean to tell me you want me in your wedding party?!” 

You and Bucky both stared, shocked expressions on your faces as the two of you stared at Joaquin. How did he even get a key to the penthouse? You had no idea. Should you have expected him to barge in as if he owned the place? Absolutely.

“Oh shit—one second I forgot my girl’s coming up!” he rushed back towards the door, opening it again, looking down the hallways “—Baby speed it up! I didn’t mean to ditch you! I was excited!” 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Bucky leaned closer to you, whispering the question.

You laughed at him, shaking your head, “I told you, Quino’s special. There’s a reason he’s my best friend.”

Then Joaquin was back in front of you both, this time with a girl beside him. She had an awkward smile while she waved at the two of you.

“For the record, he dragged me here. We were supposed to be going to get dinner, he said this was a pit stop.” She said her name, glancing at Joaquin who was now pacing back and forth, holding the card that you’d left in the box, a long hand-written note on it with a major question on the bottom of it. 

You smiled, introducing yourself to her. “So you’re the doctor right? Tell me, what motivated you to choose Joaquin of all people to be in a relationship with? He’s uh—well. He’s who he is.” 

Joaquin gasped at that, now looking at you, then at his girlfriend, then back at you.

“Okay! Let’s not make this into the Joaquin hate club. I came to say that I’d be honored to be your Man of Honor! Kate and Peter are gonna be so jealous! Oh my god! I love you guys so much.” He smiled, nodding his head, eyes clearly tearing up at the sight of you and Bucky together.

You shared a look with his girlfriend, who now made herself comfortable on the other couch, shaking her head while she watched Joaquin’s emotional moment.

“Can I just say, I always knew you two were perfect for eachother. Even though you still intimidate the hell out of me Bucky—can I call you Bucky? Well, it’s too late, I already did so here we are. Wow. You two are a beautiful couple.” He sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “I always told her to just jump your bones man, she used to angry text me everytime Mel would breathe in your direction. Oh by the way, Kate told me to tell you that Mel said congratulations! She tried to text you, but I guess you blocked her.”

You shushed Joaquin, jaw clenched and eyes wide as you slowly looked over at Bucky, whose brows were both raised, and you knew he’d be making fun of you for that later.

He then moved around the coffee table, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, then he hesitated when he looked at Bucky. Against Joaquin’s better judgement he also pulled Bucky into a hug.

The shock on Bucky’s face had you bursting into a fit of laughter, then you nudged him slightly with your foot, laughing even harder as Bucky awkwardly hugged Joaquin back.

“I love you man. We’re family now.” 

You blinked a few times, looking at Joaquin. “We’re not even related?” 

He shushed you “We don’t need to be related! You’re like a sister to me! I love you! We’re family god damnit! And as your man of honor, we need to start planning your wedding. I’ll call you tomorrow. Lots of details to sort through, and don’t even think about wearing a black dress. This isn’t a goddamn funeral.” Then he looked back at his girlfriend, “Okay baby, thanks for stopping by with me, we can go now—also you guys know a good place for dinner around here?”

You and Bucky shared a look, and a smile, speaking at the same time “54.”

Once they were gone, you sighed, placing your laptop on the coffee table before stretching.

“We really do need to start planning our wedding,” Bucky spoke as you yawned, his hands massaging your feet. “I’m thinking we should get married in the late Winter, January sounds nice.”

You blinked a few times “Buck, January’s less than a year away…you really wanna get married that soon?” your brows knit together as you waited for his response. Eyes trailing along his features, watching as his brows knit together, then he rolled his lips inward, nodding a few times.

“If it was really up to me we’d go to the courthouse tomorrow. But I know you want a dramatic wedding.” He sounded so serious, and that had you moving across the couch, pulling him into a frantic kiss. 

“We can get married in January—hell December if we find a place.” Then your lips were back on his, hands in his hair as you kissed him until you were lightheaded.

Planning a wedding was a level of stress that you hadn’t fully anticipated. Sure Joaquin, Kate, Peter, and Yelena were helpful when you needed them to be, but you were quite the Bridezilla. It wasn’t even a purposeful development, you just wanted the day to be perfect, to the point that you’d argued over the kind of chairs at the wedding venue. 

Peter and Joaquin had gone with you to tour venues, and you settled on a renovated winery. It was a beautiful building in Upstate New York, each and every single detail had you in love. From the custom woodwork along the walls, to the stained glass windows, to the field of iceland poppies outside, all in full bloom during the peak winter months with a thin layer of snow around them.

Picking the venue was just the first hurdle, you also had to figure out a color scheme, find the right kinds of flowers, pick the song for your first dance, find someone to walk you down the aisle, and focus on not murdering Joaquin everytime he made a suggestion you didn’t agree with.

Then, there was the issue with finding a dress—something most brides-to-be did first—but you were dreading it. Mostly because you thought you’d never find the perfect dress, or maybe the dress would be perfect to you, but Bucky would hate it and think you looked like a sack of potatoes, and suddenly he’d be running away and leaving you at the altar. 

So what if you were being dramatic? Picking a wedding dress is difficult.

That didn’t stop everyone from ambushing you, letting you think that you were all going to lunch together, instead you ended up in a bridal boutique in Manhattan. They practically dragged you into the shop when you refused to go, more specifically, Peter and Yelena had dragged you inside while Joaquin and Kate cheered them on.

Three and a half hours later you’d tried on sixteen dresses, some too big, some too small, some too short, some too tall. 

You felt like a children’s book.

At least you did until the sales associate walked out with a dress you hadn’t noticed prior. You were currently sitting on the ground, brows knit together in frustration while you were practically swimming in a large poofy dress fit for a princess. There was too much fabric, too many sequins, and it was irritating you.

“I like that dress she is holding. It’s much better than the fabric disaster you’re sitting in.” Yelena spoke as she looked at the Ivory dress the associate held. It had a sweetheart neckline and thin off the shoulder straps that would sit perfectly against your arms. The dress was simple, the fabric smooth, bodice fitted, and the skirt flared out.

Honestly it reminded you of a longer pin-up dress without the halter straps.

“Try that one on.” Yelena motioned to the dress, Kate nodded in agreement.

So you huffed, reluctantly following the associate back to the changing rooms, letting the older woman help you out of the fluffy disaster you’d been in. Then she was helping you into the much simpler dress.

“It’s a timeless piece, simple yet elegant, I think your Fiance will love it.” 

You nodded at her as she zipped you up. It needed a bit of tailoring, but you liked it much better than any of the other dresses, and honestly you could imagine yourself walking down the aisle in it.

Kate gasped as she saw you, eyes watering a bit, Peter smiled and nodded his head, Joaquin whistled as he clapped, and Yelena let out a shocked ‘oh my god!’

Once the dress debacle was settled, you had time to focus on planning everything else out. Eventually, after months of stress, arguments, and threatening to kick Joaquin and Kate’s asses, the wedding was officially here.

You were set to get married in six hours.

There were six hours until you’d be walking down the aisle and marrying the love of your life. Even if he was over a century old and could be quite the grouch at times. 

Things were not going as smoothly as they should’ve, not when Joaquin was chasing down the florists, letting them know the arrangements weren’t perfect, Peter was busy with an electrician after he noticed half of the lights in the reception hall weren’t working properly, Kate was going back and forth with the makeup artist, and Yelena had to remind Alexei several times that he was not your wedding’s bouncer. 

There was a distinct list of guests that would be let in, and only some got a plus one. Everyone else who wasn’t supposed to be there, shouldn’t have shown up. Although, it was nice to know that Alexei had taken it upon himself to escort several people off of the property…and to argue with them until they finally left the vicinity.

Your head was pounding and you were fighting the urge to drink until you blacked out.

Getting black out drunk before your wedding is a terrible way to go into a lifelong commitment. 

“Can you leave her alone Kate! Jesus Christ she’s just doing her goddamn job!” Your shout left the room silent. You blinked a few times, processing that you were much louder and meaner than intended.

“Okay, sheesh, I just want today to be perfect for you.”

You sighed at her, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream at you. I’m just stressed out okay. I’m not feeling very bubbly and happy or however the hell a bride-to-be is supposed to feel. And I’m worried about Bucky, he was so distant last night when we were on the phone. He’s never like that with me. It was all ‘mhmms’ and ‘okay Sweethearts.’ Then I told him I loved him and he said ‘love you too’ but without the ‘I’ and maybe I’m overthinking it, but he never just says ‘love you’.” You took a deep breath, now glancing at yourself in the full-length mirror, running your hands along your robe.

Initially, you were just supposed to be looking at your hair, making sure you liked it. It was the vision that you initially had, large curls and waves, two braids pulled back, hair cascading down your shoulders. The extensions in your head were a bit uncomfortable, but you told yourself beauty is pain. 

You were supposed to have a few blue flowers in your hair, however, they weren’t here, which is also another reason you’d sent Joaquin to find the florist. You hated how the centerpieces turned out, not because the flowers were wrong, but because the arrangement was off, and that was also making you mad.

“I’m having a shitty morning, and has anyone heard from Sam?! Is he even here?” you spoke as you walked towards the seat that you were supposed to be getting your makeup done in. 

“Yeah, Peter said he’s here, you want me to call him?” you nodded at Kate, a silent thank you.

Then you were told to close your eyes and relax. So you sat stiffly with your eyes shut, mind focused on Bucky and why he was acting so off last night.

One floor below where you were, Bucky was. He wasn’t dressed, rather he was pacing back and forth in his dress pants and undershirt, hands on his hips while he tried to remind himself that today was a joyous occasion.

Sam shook his head, watching Bucky pace back and forth. He’d been doing it for about ten minutes now.

“I’m not understanding what the problem is, Buck? You love her, don’t you? Today’s supposed to be a good day for you two, the best day of your life actually.” Sam’s eyes followed Bucky’s movements, studying his figure. It was clear the wedding stress was getting to him. This was a stressful time overall, as he was coming up on the end of his Congress term, and the ongoing public debate about whether or not he would be running for re-election was prominent.

He was also dealing with the stress from being an Avenger, even if he wasn’t in practice on missions. Sam and Bucky had come to the agreement to continue helping one another, and anytime a large threat surfaced on either side, they’d make one another aware, and their teams would work vigilantly.

But this stress—this stress was a different look on Buck. Sam had known him long enough to understand how stress impacted Bucky. He didn’t look irritated, annoyed, or even bothered in the slightest. Instead he looked worried and anxious, the fact that he was pacing back and forth said enough.

“I love her, of course I love her. She’s everything to me, I just—I don’t know. What if this doesn’t work out? Y’know her parents are divorced? Actually, she doesn’t even speak to her parents. What if we both have shit relationship habits that’ll surface when we’re married?”

Sam blinked a few times, brows knit together as Bucky voiced his concerns.

“Or what if we get married, then she meets someone younger, someone smarter, someone better fit for her. Someone without decades of emotional trauma and baggage, someone that won’t wake her up in the middle of the night panicking over something that happened forty years ago?” 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, shaking his head a few times, trying to ground himself, but it was as if he was falling, deeper and deeper into a hole that he couldn’t get himself out of. 

Then Sam’s phone started ringing, his brows knitting together at the unknown number calling. He quickly answered, raising a single brow at the frantic voice on the other end. “Okay…slow down Kate. Jesus Christ? Her too? Okay I’m on the way.” 

Sam sighed. “Listen Buck, you love the girl, you want to spend the rest of your life with her, don’t let some insecurities or fears get in the way of that. She loves you for you, she wants to spend the rest of your life with her and vice versa. I’ve gotta go check in on her as well.” 

Then he was grabbing his things, tucking his phone into his pocket before leaving the room. He knew that there wasn’t a single thing that he could say to Bucky to get the man to relax. This was something that Buck would have to figure out, and unfortunately Sam couldn’t tell him what to think, or give him some best case scenario about today.

Weddings had a way of stressing people out.

When Sam rounded the large stairwell, he spotted Joaquin with a handful of blue flowers. Which gave him an idea.

“Joaquin, I need you to go talk to Buck. Give him one of your classic pep talks, and between me and you—he’s getting cold feet. Go remind him that he’s in love.” Joaquin nodded at Sam, handing him the flowers in hand.

“Give those to Bridezilla, and fair warning Sam, she’s not the sweetest right now.”

They both exchanged a knowing look, one descending the steps, the other ascending.

Joaquin got to the Groom’s suite. He hesitated before opening the door, swallowing, anticipating the possibility of Bucky literally throwing him out of the room. What shocked Joaquin was the sight of Bucky seated on the edge of an ottoman, hunched over slightly, running his hand through his hair while he stared at the handwritten note you’d given him two days ago, telling him he wasn’t allowed to open it up until the day of the wedding.

“Uh—are you alright Bucky?” He grimaced as he watched Bucky sit up a bit straighter, now looking over his shoulder at Joaquin.

“I’ve had better days. Thinking your best friend might regret marrying me one day.” He sounded so defeated as he spoke, now looking back at the sealed envelope, your messy writing reading ‘To my Bucky, Everything that I wanted to say in my vows, but can’t because I’d probably ugly cry’.

Joaquin scoffed, his genuine reaction ruining the pity party that Bucky was throwing for himself. The older man now stood up, letter still in his vibranium hand as he stared at Joaquin who was quick to let himself into the room fully, then shut the door behind him.

“Listen, I know I might be annoying as hell, and I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to about this right now, but Y/N loves you. Like, pathetically so, and I would know because I’m also pathetically in love with my girlfriend. There isn’t a single other person on this planet, or in this universe, or galaxy, hell even in the multiverse that she would rather marry than you.”

He paused for a second, now crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. “She used to text me about how angry it made her anytime you’d even smile at another person when you two were ‘strictly professional’ or whatever bullshit you both told yourselves. She would literally pause whatever she was doing to spam me with angry texts because of how jealous she was that you were giving other people your attention.” Joaquin sighed, shaking his head.

“She literally hates Mel. Like, hates her—like, even after you two are husband and wife she’s never going to like that woman. All because she was there when you answered the phone the first time she’d ever called you about the shady shit Valentina was doing. Y’know she ranted to me for half an hour about the fact that your voice supposedly got softer when talking to Mel? There’s a reason Valentina got an invite today and Mel didn’t.”

Bucky slowly nodded his head, processing Joaquin’s words, stifling a laugh at your undying jealousy. 

“Now, do me a favor and stop getting cold feet before she kills everyone here. She’s terrifying right now, Yelena told me that she yelled at Kate over Kate talking to the makeup artist. Then, she was apologizing profusely for yelling at Kate. It’s like she’s hot then she’s cold and she practically chewed me out this morning because I couldn’t find the florist to find the right flowers for her hair.”

“You really think we’ll last, Torres?” Bucky sounded so vulnerable, and in that moment, Joaquin shook his head, walking right over and pulling him into a bear hug—or rather what would’ve been a bear hug if Joaquin was the same size as Bucky.

When he pulled back, he nodded his head, “I don’t think I’ve ever met two people more perfect for one another. Read her letter. Trust me, it’ll give you every ounce of reassurance you need. I cried when I read it, and it’s not even about me!”

Joaquin sighed, running his hands over his light grey suit jacket. Then he was fiddling with the icy-blue tie. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go make sure she’s not actively murdering anyone.”

When Joaquin left the room, Bucky took a seat closer to the windows, looking outside at the thin layer of snow covering the valley, small pops of color from the winter blooms peaking through.

Then he opened the envelope, pulling out the note, smiling at the pastel pink paper.

James Buchanan Barnes, your name is a goddamn mouthful. 

But when I’m saying my actual vows, I’ll say it and hopefully I won’t start sobbing. Knowing myself though? I will. I know we’ve only been together for a year, and some people have said it’s stupid to get married this early. But you’re genuinely it for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way you make me feel. You’ve shown me bits and pieces of myself that I didn’t even know about. Sure, you piss me the hell off with your lack of punctuality, and terrible media training, but everything else about you makes up for it.

I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment you smiled at me on that truck in Germany, after I totally whooped your ass, with your bloody smile and terrible timing. You called me ‘Doll’ and I think that moment made me realize that maybe, just maybe, life could be more than just running and surviving. 

Every second of every day I think about you, which I know is a little creepy to say out loud, good thing I’m writing it, huh? You’ve taught me that loving someone doesn’t need to be difficult, and though we have our jagged edges, I love each and every piece and part of you. I love you on your best and worst days, I love you when you wake me up in the middle of the night and ask me to just hold you. I love the way you smile at me during someone else's long winded speech. I love the way you say my name and the way you call me Sweetheart. 

You always tell me I’m obnoxious, and I know I am, but I’m so thankful that I get to be obnoxious around you, that I get to be myself with you. I’m not afraid of your judgement because I know you’d never actually judge me. Thank you for that by the way. Shit I’m crying now. Okay, I have to focus. This is the edge of the page so make sure you flip it over! I’m not done!

Okay good, you flipped it. Back to what I was saying before. You’re the love of my life.

When I first started working for you, I wanted nothing more than to kick your ass. Some days, I still feel the same way, but it’s not the same. I’ve never wanted to be around someone so often, I’ve never felt the kind of emotions you make me feel. You honestly make me crazy.

Thank you for letting me in. Thank you for letting me past your walls, thank you for letting me love you and care for you, and thank you for loving me. Not to be a total sap, especially because I’m not even thirty yet, and technically you’re not even forty in terms of physical age, but I hope when we’re both old and wrinkly, everyday you make me feel the same happiness I feel now. God forbid I ever get something like dementia, but if it happens, I hope you’re the only person I consistently remember time and time again. Or at the very least, we can fall in love, each and every day, over and over again.

When our time comes, I hope I find you in the next lifetime, and the next one after that. 

I love you James Buchanan Barnes. I can’t wait to marry you.

He sniffled, shaking his head, a wide smile on his face as a few tears streamed along his cheeks. Bucky took a minute to wipe his tears away, licking his lips as he reread the last two lines of the letter. He carefully folded the paper again, slipping it right back into the envelope, then into his pocket. 

Then he started getting ready, and he let all of his doubts wash away at the thought of you smiling at him as you walked down the aisle.

You had finally finished getting your makeup and hair done, Sam helping the stylist slip the flowers into your hair, opening bobby pins with his teeth as he secured them. He had a sister, it only made sense that he’d know how to do things like this.

“Y’know Bucky loves you, right?” 

You nodded your head at Sam, gaze focused on your reflection, the woman staring back at you looked so ethereal, so beautiful. Like a genuine princess, straight out of a fairytale, waiting on her prince charming.“You think he’s gonna ditch me at the altar?”

Sam sighed, pinching his nose bridge as he took a deep breath. “What is with you two? I’ve never met two people more in love! Do you both have anxiety or something? Is it the super soldier serum running through your veins?”

You sighed, shrugging. “Last night, he didn’t tell me ‘I love you’ and since then I’ve been literally spiraling, Sam. I feel like an idiot. I’ve been mean and grouchy and rude all day, I can’t get comfortable, and I’m so overwhelmed. I don’t doubt that he loves me, I doubt that he wants to marry my psychotic ass.”

Sam now faced you, both hands on your shoulders. “I’m only saying this once, okay kid? That man is utterly in love with you, he wants to spend everyday with you, he wants to be the father of your kids. He has an entire domestic fantasy in his head about the both of you. James Barnes wants nothing more than for you to be his wife. Forever. Now, stop sulking in self doubt, get your happy ass up, and put on your wedding dress.”

It was the tough love you needed, it had you sniffling slightly, bottom lip quivering a bit as you nodded. 

By the time you were in your wedding dress, your nerves had settled, and you were now looking down at the folded piece of paper Joaquin had brought to you, he was out of breath as he said ‘it's from Bucky—shit.’

You recognized his handwriting anywhere, and you didn’t hesitate to unfold the note.

Beautiful, where do I even start. I wanna keep this short and simple because I already cried reading your note to me. Also, I’m gonna cry watching you walk down the aisle, just so we have it out there. We’re both gonna cry today. I just want you to know that I love you, I can’t wait to marry you today, I can’t wait for us to be Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I’ll see you on the other side.

With Love, Your Bucky.

You smiled, laughing at the letter, shaking your head a bit.

You really loved Bucky, and he really loved you.

After you’d spent an hour or so taking photos with your wedding party, it was time for the ceremony to begin, and you were nauseous, feeling as if you were about to keel over and vomit. The nerves came back tenfold. You didn’t have cold feet, but you weren’t exactly alright.

Then it was time for you to walk down the aisle, the opening chords to ‘Here comes the bride’ playing loudly, the large wooden doors opening, and your grip tightened around your bouquet. Taking a deep breath, glancing to your right, Alexei giving you a reassuring smile.

You weren’t really sure how he ended up being the one to walk you down the aisle, all you knew was that you’d grown pretty close over the past six months, and when Yelena suggested it, you didn’t even think twice.

“You look beautiful, are you ready?” 

You nodded at him. He linked his arm with yours, the both of you walking in tune to the song, everyone’s gaze on you as you smiled, eyes trailing your wedding party.

On your side, Joaquin stood with a wide smile, Peter beside him, and finally Kate. 

On Bucky’s side, Sam stood, wiping a single tear away, then Yelena, then Shuri who smiled at you, shooting you a wink. You were glad she was able to make it in, the Wakandans were family to Bucky.

Then there was your husband to be, in his black tux, white shirt below, with an icy blue tie and a singular blue cornflower pinned to his jacket. He smiled as he looked at you, a red flush to his skin as he bit his bottom lip, teary eyes focused on you. 

When you finally made it to the altar his gaze hadn’t left yours. You faced him, handing the bouquet to Joaquin. Then your hands were in Bucky’s and he rubbed his thumbs against your hands, offering silent reassurance.

Sam’s sister Sarah was officiating the wedding, you thought it was a nice touch. One of his nephews was even the ring bearer. 

You knew it was time for your vows, and you’d known you were up first. Joaquin handed you the slip of paper, while you looked up at Bucky, bottom lip quivering slightly as you tried not to cry.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are the love of my life. It took me a few weeks to write these vows, mostly because I didn’t know where to start. I promise to always be there for you, to always be present, to always show how much I truly care for you. I promise to keep you on your toes, to continue being my obnoxious self. You’ve taught me so much about myself, and I’ll forever be grateful for our love—” your voice cracked slightly. “You make me a better person, even on my worst days, and I promise to never stop trying. You’re my person, and I love you so much, even if you are technically my boss, and this is highly unprofessional.”

Your joke had the crowd laughing, smiles on their teary faces as they focused on you.

Bucky nodded his head, and as Sarah gave him the queue to start, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, swallowing as he looked down at it.

He said your full name. “I’ve been alive for a long time, longer than almost everyone in this room. Before meeting you, I was positive I’d never find ‘the one’. I remember Steve used to talk about finding ‘the one’ all the time, and I thought maybe it just wasn’t something I’d experience. Then I met you. You’re the biggest know-it-all I’ve ever met, but I love the sound of your voice. I promise to always be there with you and for you. You’re my everything and more, and I’ll forever be grateful that Sam dragged me halfway across the world to be a hero because it let me to you. You inspire me every single day to keep going, and I love you, Sweetheart.”

You were both crying now.

Then Sarah had Bucky start.

“Will you, James Buchanan Barnes, have this woman from this day forward, to be your wedded wife, to live and love together, in this sacred state of matrimony? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor, and cherish her. For rich or for poor, in sickness and health, in trying times and smooth, all the days of your life?” 

He didn’t hesitate, grasping your hands again. “I do.”

She smiled, looking at you.

“Will you, Y/n Y/l/n, have this man from this day forward, to be your wedded husband, to live and love together, in this sacred state of matrimony? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor, and cherish him. For rich or for poor, in sickness and health, in trying times and smooth, all the days of your life?” 

You nodded, “I do.”

“By the power vested in me, you may now kiss the bride.”

Bucky pulled you into him, lips against yours in an instant, the both of you smiling into the kiss as he dipped you, your lips moving in sync while the room filled with cheers, claps, and even a few whistles.

The day was full of emotion, you cried over and over again. During Sam and Joaquin’s speeches you found yourself laughing, crying, and leaning into Bucky, head against his shoulder while you both whispered amongst each other.

The two of you danced to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. You’d chosen the song, teasing Bucky about it over the span of three weeks prior to the wedding date, constantly making jokes that you’d chosen it because he was ‘like a thousand years old anyways’. But truthfully, you’d chosen the song because it managed to describe every single emotion that he made you feel.

That and one night four months ago you’d drunkenly waltzed to the song in your shared living room. 

He spun you around, the both of you laughing as you stumbled through the front door, wide smiles mirroring one another. Then you started dancing, he was humming, and you were giggling. Bucky’s hands on your waist, practically guiding you through before he intertwined his right hand with your left.

Then you got an idea, gasping as you shoved him slightly before grabbing your phone, a playlist on shuffle that Kate had sent titled ‘love songs that you might enjoy?’. 

The two of you spent two hours smiling, laughing, and dancing in the dimly lit living room, bumping into pieces of furniture every now and then, cycling through different songs from different eras, all of which shared the common thread of love. Then A Thousand Years started playing, and as you looked into his eyes, you knew at that moment, it would be your wedding song.

The rest of the night felt truly magical.

You felt like a princess getting to marry Prince Charming. 

All of the stress from before had finally faded away, you were finally happy, and you were finally Mrs. Barnes.

Bucky was practically insatiable throughout the entire night. The knowledge that you were his wife was chemistry altering for him, you were his in every sense of the word, and he was yours. His domestic fantasy about you with a ring on your finger was finally real, and you were finally his wife. 

He almost pulled an Irish goodbye at his own wedding. Of course you shushed him, forcing him to stay a bit longer, then you both made your dramatic exit as everyone threw flower petals above the two of you, the photographers perfectly capturing the moment, an image that you’d leave framed in your home for decades. 

Once you finally made it back to the large cabin, you smiled at the sight of it being fully decorated, trails of rose petals from the entrance, leading to the bedroom, different sized faux candles lit along the walkway, creating a welcoming ambiance. Then Bucky grasped your hand, a smile on his face as he looked at you.

“Finally don’t have to worry about that professionalism issue huh?”

You laughed at him, biting your bottom lip and nodding. “Guess your idea made sense after all huh? Now, Mr. Barnes, would you do me the honor of taking me to bed and getting me out of this dress?” 

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice, he was scooping you up bridal style and walking down the hallway, smiling as you laughed at him, shaking your head at the flowers all over the house, vases full of roses, rose petals all over the floor, Kate and Yelena had gone all out for you.

He gently put you down, taking a moment to truly admire you, the glow of the candlelight reflecting against your skin, you truly looked beautiful in every sense.

“Can you unzip me?” You turned away from him, moving the mixture of your hair and extensions out of the way, shivering at the feeling of his hands against your shoulders, then he was slowly tugging the long ivory zipper down, the dress cascading down your body onto the floor.

Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight of the matching white lacy lingerie, which also included a thigh garter that made his head fuzzy. Then you spun to face him, stepping out of your heels, looking up at him with a smirk.

You were silent as you unbuttoned his shirt, moving slowly, one by one, all the while he watched you with a lust-filled gaze. Once the shirt was fully open, you gently slid your hands along his torso, stopping at his belt before making eye contact with him.

“Go ahead Mrs. Barnes.” 

The name made you smile, rolling your eyes playfully as you undid his belt. You paused to push his shirt off of his shoulders, he shrugged it the rest of the way off. It was clear he was running out of patience as you toyed with the button of his pants.

Then suddenly he was picking you up and tossing you right onto the bed, a loud creak as your back hit the mattress, the noise had both of you laughing. He raised both brows as he looked at you in a pile of rose petals, biting his bottom lip while unbuttoning his pants and kicking off his own shoes. 

As you spread your legs for him, he easily slotted himself between them, vibranium hand on your throat, pulling you closer to him as he pressed his lips to yours. 

Bucky kissed you like a man starved, all teeth and tongue, moaning against your lips, holding you in place with a firm grip around your throat that had your head spinning. He poured every ounce of love and adoration into the kiss, with a smidge of frustration. 

You bit his bottom lip, giving yourself the chance to pull back slightly, catching your breath, already feeling light headed as you rested your forehead against his. 

His voice was strained as he spoke, as if he was holding back, “Am I wrong if I don’t wanna go slow with you tonight?”

You smiled, laughing a bit, “I never asked for you to go slow with me, James. I’m your wife, so fuck me like it.”Your seductive tone was all he needed to hear, lips back on yours for a brief moment before he was moving his hand away from your neck, trailing wet opened mouthed kissed down your jaw. 

Usually he wouldn’t leave marks, tonight was different though. He was nipping and sucking marks into your skin, listening to the way you whimpered at the feeling of his teeth against your soft skin. He took a moment to bite into your shoulder, lapping his tongue over the inflamed skin. Bucky was staking his claim onto you, he was practically feral.

You moaned as he cupped your tits, squeezing and massaging them before practically ripping the lingerie off of you—earning a loud gasp. He shushed you, his mouth back on your chest, kissing along the swell of your breasts, biting against them slightly before taking a nipple into his mouth.

Your hands were in his hair while his tongue lapped at your hardened peak, then he moved to the other one, using his free hand to lightly tug on your nipple before smacking your breast. 

He moaned against your skin, smacking your tits a few more times, listening to your loud whines and whimpers, smirking at the feeling of you arching into his touch, hips bucking against him slightly.

Eventually he let up, kissing down your stomach, looking up at you as he situated himself between your thighs. 

“Tonights all about you Mrs. Barnes,” he spoke as he ripped off your panties, literally grasping the material at your hip, then tearing it and pushing it out of his way. “I’ll buy you more—fuck keep you dressed up like this for me all the time.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip as he peppered kisses along your hips, both hands pushing your thighs even further apart. Bucky trailed wet open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, biting into the supple flesh a few times, coaxing moans out of you. He also tugged on the thigh garter with his teeth, moaning against your skin.

Then he placed a soft kiss to the mound above your cunt before licking a singular flat stripe from your sopping hole to your clit. The motion had you rocking your hips forward.

He used his vibranium arm to keep you still, pinning your lower half to the bed, hand practically bruising as he held onto one of your hips, his other hand steady on your thigh, offering a few smacks while he teased you with his tongue.

Bucky moaned against your cunt several times, letting himself get lost in the taste of you as he licked along your slit, back and forth, over and over again until you were whimpering.

“Baby please—I need more” 

He looked up at you, your hooded eyes staring right back at him. “Anything for you Sweetheart.”

He wrapped his lips around your swollen clit, sucking against it, your moans only motivated him to keep going. He swirled his tongue around your pearl, even lightly grinding his teeth against it. That had your eyes crossed as you tugged on his hair.

The sting against his scalp had him moaning, the vibrations made your toes curl. You were already so close.

Then he pulled back slightly, a ‘pop’ leaving his lips as Bucky let go of your clit, opting to swiftly flick his tongue against it—the way he knew you loved. Then he was tracing his name against it, taking his time with each and every letter, applying just enough pressure to make you scream his name, a rush of euphoria overtaking you.

He laughed at you, biting his bottom lip, “Already cumming for me baby? You didn’t even ask nicely.” 

You whimpered, shaking your head.“Don’t start with me, Bucky.” your voice was strained, words a bit frantic as you tried to catch your breath. However, he didn’t give you a break, his tongue was back on your clit and one of his fingers was sliding into your entrance, the feeling had you whining his name, not Bucky—James.

Then he slid a second finger into you, still lapping at your clit while your walls fluttered around the thick digits, moaning against you as he closed his eyes, getting lost in the taste of your cunt. Bucky slid his tongue to the edge of your sopping hole, gathering your juices, groaning, before moving back to your clit, fingers rapidly fucking into you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that nearly had you screaming.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bucking his hips into the mattress.

You were biting your bottom lip, brows knit together, back arched as you tried to rock your hips against him. Still he held you down.

“Take what I give you, baby.” 

You nodded at his words.

“Can I cum—fuck please—let me cum baby—” your moans were getting louder and louder as you tried not to cum.

“C’mon baby, wanna taste more of you—cum for me” 

His voice sent you over the edge, you were creaming along his fingers, cunt squeezing against them as he kept his motions up, prolonging your orgasm in the best way. Then he was slipping his fingers out of you, and usually he’d put them in his own mouth, but you watched as he moved up a bit, raising his arm, then he tugged on your bottom lip with them.

“Know you want a taste—” his voice was deeper than usual, a bit strained as he watched you take his fingers into your mouth, tongue swirling around them, moaning at the taste while holding eye contact with him.

It wasn’t long before his pants were off and he was between your thighs, lips back on yours, relishing in the taste of your cunt contrasting with your usual lip balm. 

Your hands were on either side of his face, kissing him with your all as he struggled to keep up with you. Then you pulled away for a brief moment, whispering, “Need you to fuck me,” against his lips. One of your hands now between your legs, grasping his cock, sliding along the thickness of it for a few seconds as you kissed him.

Then you were angling him towards your cunt, teasing him, running the head of his cock through your dripping slit, even tapping it against your clit a few times, whimpering against his lips. 

He smiled into the kiss, bucking his hips slightly before you angled him perfectly against your entrance. “You sure you don’t want it slow baby?” his voice was low as he spoke, pulling away from the kiss, looking down at you, then glancing between your bodies, groaning at the sight of your smaller hand wrapped around his cock.

“We have a lifetime to go slow James—” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, not when he was bottoming out inside of you, a deep moan leaving him as he filled you to the brim. Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands now on his back, nails digging into his skin while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Bucky rested his head in the crook of your neck, shallow breaths against your skin while he gave you a moment to adjust to his size. “You’re gonna kill me one day,” his voice was strained as he spoke, earning a laugh from you.

“You can move baby,” you were already breathless, then he slowly pulled out of you, taking his time as he thrusted back in. You knew he was trying to go easy on you, giving you the chance to fully adjust to him—but that’s not what you wanted right now. 

“Bucky I need you to fuck me like you mean it.”

He blinked a few times, and it was as if all of his restraint suddenly snapped. Hips pistoning in and out of you as he sat up a bit straighter, two hands making their way to your thighs, pushing them back, practically folding you in half as he fucked into you with no remorse.

Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, pleasure overtaking all of your senses. The world around you faded to dust, all you could focus on was Bucky.

“Take it so fuckin good-fuck look at you baby—so pretty—my pretty fuckin wife.” 

You nodded at him, biting your bottom lip, whimpering as you struggled to keep your eyes open. His hands dug into your thighs as he held you in place, fucking into you like a man possessed.

You started rocking your hips into him, trying your best to meet his thrusts, chasing your own high—moaning his name in a chant as he pounded into you.

His gaze moved from your perfect face down to your cunt, biting his bottom lip as he watched his cock disappear into you, “Cunt’s practically swallowing me whole—fuck always so tight for me—keep taking it baby—just like that.” Bucky smirked at the sight of his cock coated in your cream, your cunt soaking him over and over again.

“Love this little pussy—might even fill ‘er up—you’d like that wouldn’t you baby?” he looked back at you, watching as you stared at him through hooded lust-filled eyes. Lips spread as uncontrollable moans slipped through, brows knit together while you focused on him.

“Yeah, gonna fill this cunt, make it all mine—forever—just like you. Fuck might keep filling you up until it sticks—have you all round with my kid.” he paused, eyes trailing your figure again, biting his bottom lip for a few seconds “—gonna give you my kids baby, make you into my perfect little housewife.” He moved one hand, leaning forward, vibranium hand wrapped around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze-apply just enough pressure to make you forget anything and everything that wasn’t Bucky.

He also had your hips angled a bit more, the new angle giving him room to fuck you deeper, cock stretching you out and filling you sinfully.

“Gonna make you the mother to my kids—keep fuckin filling you all night.” 

You nodded at that.“Please—fuck—need it so bad-” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, part of you needed to cum again, the other part of you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to cum inside of you, fucking you full of himself.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll always take care of you.” He let go of your other thigh, hand now between your legs, thumb rubbing harsh half-moons against your clit. “C’mon Sweetheart, know you wanna cum—so cum for me,” 

A white heat flooded your body, your eyes squeezing just as you moaned “James—fuck—” orgasm flooding through your entire body, you felt like you were on fire and the only thing that could extinguish it was Bucky.

He moaned at the sight of you gushing around his cock, coating your inner thighs and his cock in your juices as he kept fucking into you. Then he was tensing up, jaw clenched as he shuddered, cumming deep inside of you, moving his hips to fuck it all into you.

It took a few seconds for the both of you to finally relax. You laughed as he practically plopped on top of you, his head against your chest while he groaned. Then your hands were in his hair, toying with the strands as you giggled.

“Consummating the marriage went well I think?” Your voice was a bit hoarse, and he nodded against you, mumbling an ‘mhmmm’, clearly tired from the day.

“I was serious by the way—want you to be the mother to my kids,” he spoke quietly, arms wrapped around your body, holding you even closer to him. 

You knew the topic of kids had always been touchy for Bucky, it wasn’t like he never wanted them, prior to Hydra, he constantly imagined settling down with the right woman, having his own family, two kids running around the house and raising hell. It was a domestic fantasy that he kept to himself, something that he was afraid of talking about because there were too many ‘what-ifs’ involved.

James Buchanan Barnes was a sergeant in the military during one of the largest historical wars, his life was constantly on the line at that point. Then he spent seventy years brainwashed, used as an assassin, and traumatized. He’d done the work, he’d faced his traumas and he was a better person in the end. But in the back of his mind he was always afraid of hurting his loved ones, always afraid that one day something might go wrong, that he might turn back into the monster they’d made him.

You were the one to finally convince him that it wouldn’t happen. That he’d never hurt you or anyone else he cared about, that he wasn’t a monster. You always told him, “Bucky, just because you’ve done bad things, doesn’t make you a bad person.”

You’d even promised to keep reiterating that to him for the rest of his life. 

Four months following the wedding you’d been feeling sick for two weeks straight. 

So sick in fact that you couldn’t keep anything down and would wake up at random hours throughout the night and early morning to vomit, mumbling that you were ‘praying to the porcelain gods’ anytime he asked if you were alright. 

Bucky was always up with you, kneeling beside you in the bathroom, holding your hair back, making sure you were alright as he rubbed reassuring circles into your back. Half the time he was still partially asleep, rubbing his eyes while asking you the same question multiple times between yawns.

It wasn’t until Kate and Joaquin showed up to your Brooklyn apartment with concerned expressions and a CVS bag in hand that you’d even considered the possibility of being pregnant.

“I need you to piss on these sticks.” 

You scoffed at Joaquin, throwing a pillow at him while you sat up in your bedroom. You’d been laying down in a pile of blankets and pillows that you’d sprayed with Bucky’s cologne. He had to be in D.C. for a few hearings and given your ongoing illness, you weren’t fit to travel.

So instead you hunkered down, with a basket full of saltines and ginger ale for four days, constantly reheating a pot of soup Yelena had made for you with the help of Alexei. She’d mumbled several words in Russian that you didn’t understand when she was cooking it, arguing with her father on the phone as he told her she was adding too much or too little of something.

Joaquin and Kate stood side-by-side in your bedroom, he held up two boxes of pregnancy tests, each a different brand, while Kate held the CVS bag and a new bottle of ginger ale. 

It had taken an hour of convincing before you were in the bathroom, taking multiple pregnancy tests while Kate leaned against the sink and Joaquin stood outside of the door, doing his best to be ‘encouraging’.

“If I strangle him, will you help me hide his body? Actually, Bucky’s coming back tonight, maybe he’ll help me.” 

Kate shook her head at you, glancing down at the four tests sitting on the countertop, then at her phone with a timer set. You were seated on top of the closed toilet, one leg rapidly bouncing up and down.

“Y’know how excited Joaquin is at the potential to be an uncle? Y’know I was sparring at the tower with Walker when he randomly stormed in and said we needed to go to CVS as soon as possible.” She then motioned to her clothes.

“I assumed you were just into the athleisure look. It’s fine Kate! It looks good on you. I think maybe we should let him in now, he’s probably pacing outside looking insane.” She nodded, then opened the door, the two of you watching Joaquin suddenly stop in his steps, eyes wide as he walked into the doorframe, leaning against it as he looked at you two.

“Well?! What do they say?” you shrugged, glancing at Kate.

“Timers not up yet, we don’t know.” Kate looked back at her phone as she spoke, then at the tests on the counter, her eyes widening before doing a double take. “Uh…well…we’ve got like two minutes left but I don’t think we’ll need them.”

You shot up from your seat, grabbing one of the tests, eyes wide as you stared at it, the positive sign staring right back. Then you looked at the other three—all positives.

“Oh shit!” 

Joaquin practically shoved you out of the way to see them, then he turned around and pulled you and Kate into a group hug “This is so exciting! I’m gonna be an uncle! Oh my god how are you gonna tell your husband?! Shit, I need to call my girlfriend!” 

You immediately shushed him, shoving him away while shaking your head, one test still in hand as you pointed it at him. “No—you’re not telling anyone! Not until I tell Bucky! We’re not having a repeat of my engagement!” Then you turned to Kate, pointing the test at her too “That goes for you too! Don’t tell a soul!”

Joaquin slowly nodded, “What about Peter?” You raised a single brow and he cracked, “Okay, I told Peter that Buck might’ve knocked you up! But to be fair! To be fair! It was because I wanted him to go to CVS with me and Kate—but he’s with his girlfriend.”

You smacked Joaquin with a bottle of hand soap. 

Then you heard the door open. Blinking a few times, the sound caught you off guard. Your shocked expression met Kate and Joaquin’s who ushered you out of the bathroom before slamming the ensuite door shut.

By the time that Bucky walked into your shared bedroom, you were already back in bed, tucked under your layers. He relaxed at the sight of you, a smile on his face while he shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Missed you baby, you feeling better?” He spoke as he approached you, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white dress shirt. Then he was leaning into your space, one hand on the bed to brace himself as he kissed you. 

You couldn’t hold it in, and you were shoving him off of you as you sat up. He blinked a few times, and you knew he was worried he’d done something wrong. But you immediately shushed him the second his mouth opened to say something.

“I’m pregnant and Joaquin and Kate are in the bathroom hiding and I didn’t think you’d be home until tonight and holy fucking shit I’m gonna have a baby—your baby.” You spoke so fast you hardly even registered what you were saying.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together as he tried to process what you’d just said, all he’d gotten was ‘Joaquin and Kate…bathroom…baby’. He then sat down beside you, grabbing your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Sweetheart, I need you to slow down and say it again.”

You sighed, nodding your head, eyes watering for some reason as you looked into his eyes. “James, I’m pregnant, and Joaquin and Kate are hiding in the bathroom because I thought you’d be home later tonight and they had me take the tests, and they’re all positive.”

Bucky nodded slowly, shock evident on his features while he stared at you.

“So we’re gonna have a baby?” 

You nodded “We’re gonna have a baby.” Then your tears started falling while he pulled you into a hug, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re gonna look so good pregnant.” 

You knew he was joking, trying to make you feel better, and truthfully it worked. You moved to kiss him, a soft, tender kiss. Then you leaned your forehead against his, “We’re gonna have a baby.”

Joaquin practically fell through the bathroom door with Kate on top of him, both of them had clearly been eavesdropping, and whoever used the doorknob for leverage was an idiot (newsflash, it was Joaquin). They both groaned in pain at the impact, blinking a few times while you and Bucky stared at them.

“Get the hell out, both of you.” Bucky’s voice had their eyes widening, both shooting up and mumbling awkward goodbyes. Once they were out, you started laughing, lightly swatting his arm.

“You’ve gotta stop intimidating everyone like that! They’re just excited for us. But just so you know, we’re gonna be getting a lot of calls soon about the whole baby situation.” 

He nodded. “Is now a bad time to say that Sam’s in the living room?”

-

As always thanks for reading sexies <3 feedback is appreciated!!!

[theunluckyrabbit]

I don't know why he didn't talk to me. All of it could have been cleared up with a conversation. I guess he wanted a reason to leave, so he found one. I hope whoever she is, that she loves him as hard as I did.

I had a very long talk with Adam tonight. (Who, coincidentally, lives right near Artreyu... They're practically neighbors. Hell, they've probably met. Military and everything.) I told him everything.

I cried. Hard. The ugly crying of a broken heart, puffy eyes, and rolling snot. The crying of balled up kleenex in piles on the desk, of food untouched, of craving a laugh you'll never hear again. I cried in heaving sobs, the sound of grief. I cried until my stomach hurt, like it used to when he made me laugh. I cried until I was dizzy. I hyperventilated. I threw up twice, what little water I'd had to swallow more pills than I should.

It isn't even just him. It is years of being used and thrown aside. I thought he was different. Josh cautioned me that military men break hearts. They lie, cheat, and leave, he said. I didn't want to listen to him. I never thought my Artreyu would do that. I was wrong. I am a bad judge of character.

Adam reinforced what Josh said. Heartbreakers. It isn't my fault, he said. It's how they work. Finding a good man in the military is like finding a clean needle in a pool filled with dirty needles, he said. Even if that needle starts clean, slowly... Everything around it changes it to match its surroundings, he said. Everything moves fast - including relationships and breakups, he said. It was never going to work, he said finally.

Just like last time, he left quickly. Abandoned me. No conversation, no resolution, no compromises, no talking. His interpretation of what happened is all that mattered, even though it was fucking wrong, and he used it as an excuse to bail. Why do I love men like this? Why do I let them into the most vulnerable parts of myself?

I loved him. I love him still. I haven't blocked him anywhere, and I never will, despite how much pain he's put me through. I want to hate him for what he did, but I can't. All I can do is mourn what I thought I had after realizing it was never real at all.

[achillesvslz]

fic with mark variant gangbang 👀 (just followed you and I already love your writings so much 🫶)

" TAKE IT " — M. Grayson

Info: Mark Grayson Variants x GN! Reader

SMUT

Variants: Mohawk Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark, Prisoner Mark, No Goggles Mark, Full Mask Mark, Sheisty Mark, Omni Mark, Long Hair Mark, Tracksuit Mark, Light Blue Suit Mark, Bald Cap Mark, Flaxan Mark, Mustache Mark, and Retro Mark.

There were too many hands on your body to count.

Fifteen versions of him, all variations of Mark Grayson—snarling, panting, teasing—and every single one of them was touching you, stroking you, splitting you open like you were something built to take it.

You weren’t sure who had started it anymore. Maybe it was Sinister Mark, whispering filth into your ear as he spread you open with fingers soaked in spit. Maybe Mohawk Mark, who'd bent you over the cold steel table in the middle of the room and spit into your hole with a grin before stuffing two fingers in knuckle-deep.

Now, your body shook with every bounce, every thrust, every obscene sound echoing off the walls.

Two of them were inside you right now—Full Mask Mark beneath you, hips grinding up hard into your stretched-out hole while Prisoner Mark shoved his cock in alongside him, thick and slow. You moaned—helpless, ruined, the stretch almost too much—and they loved it. Your walls fluttered around both cocks, stuffed full to the brim as they fucked in and out of you together, slick and raw.

"Still so fucking tight," Prisoner Mark growled, one hand fisted in your hair as you writhed between them.

"They're squeezing us,” Full Mask groaned. “Like they were made for this.”

You were drooling, leaking, gasping—desperate for air, for relief, for anything—but they gave you no space. Every time you tried to catch your breath, someone filled your mouth. A cock would slid past your lips, and you swallowed around them greedily.

Light Blue Suit Mark stroked your jaw while you sucked him off, murmuring, “There you go… that’s it. Don’t think. Just take.”

“Look how well they handle us,” Tracksuit Mark laughed, squeezing your ass as he watched you bounce on Full Mask and Prisoner both. “So fucked out and still begging with their eyes.”

And you were begging. Without words, just in the way your hips moved, the way your toes curled, the way your hole clung to every cock that used it.

Then came the third.

You didn’t realize Sheisty Mark had lined up behind you until he was pressing in, cockhead nudging against your overstretched rim. You sobbed out a sound, low and broken, and tried to say something—but it came out as a garbled moan around the cock in your throat.

“Oh, you can take three,” Sheisty murmured darkly, spitting down to help himself slide in. “I’ve seen it in your dreams.”

You were shaking now. Full, impossibly so. Three of them buried inside you at once, rutting like animals. The stretch made your vision go white.

You throbbed, untouched. You were so close—but no one would let you come.

Omni Mark stood at your side, a quiet observer with his arms folded. Cold, commanding. “Not until we’ve all had a turn. And not until we say so.”

You whimpered around Retro Mark's cock as he fucked your throat with a pace that matched the three below. Deep, unforgiving.

“Use their hole together,” Flaxan Mark snarled, watching your ass ripple as it struggled to take everything. “Don’t let up. Make them feel us for days.”

Your legs gave out.

But Long Hair Mark caught you—gentle, but hard beneath his touch. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered against your neck, kissing your throat while someone sucked bruises into your chest. “So brave, so beautiful… keep taking it.”

The ones inside you shifted—pulling out with wet schlicks just to see the mess leaking from your hole before shoving back in. Cum dripped down your thighs. The air stank of sweat, sex, need.

You were their toy.

And they were nowhere near done.

Bald Cap Mark took his turn next—slow, sensual, stretching you back open for double penetration with Mustache Mark, who whispered praises and filth with equal weight.

“I want our cum dripping out of every part of them,” Mustache muttered. “Want to watch them twitch when they come untouched.”

And when you finally did—without a single hand on you, body clenching and fluttering, screaming around Retro’s cock—they didn’t even stop.

They just kept going.

Every hole. Every inch.

All of him.

-----

@pianoprincessfemme

[pricegotmedickmatized]

I just got a new jumpsuit and didn't realize anytime I need to use the bathroom I need someone to untie me because of the way it lays on my back. (It's stupid and annoying but it was my first time wearing it so I didn't know)

Now I'm just picturing a pretty bird going up to the 141 and asking them to undress her (because she's tipsy, can't find her friends, and needs to use the bathroom but her own outfit is holding her hostage lol) what would the boys reactions be?

YELLING I HAVE TO YELL OMG I LOVE I LOVE I LOVE!!! (also bestie that sounds so annoying it would have to be the CUTEST jumpsuit for me to want to keep it once i had that realization)

ok here we go:

price: he's been aware of you, dancing and singing along to the songs over head across the club that he only agreed to come to because soap and gaz threatened mutiny if he and ghost didn't come along. (and to prevent possible crimes. it's happened before when they're unsupervised.) he's been enjoying watching you dance, but hasn't made a move to interrupt you. it's not his scene and he's got a great view. figured when you needed a breather he could swoop in and introduce himself. but then you glance around the club, frowning and swaying a little, and when your eyes find him you beam and beeline right for him. you're obviously a little tipsy, a little handsy, giggling with slightly glazed eyes and a flushed, pretty face (he wonders if you look like this when you've just been fucked, hopes he can compare from personal experience) and you ask him for some help in the bathroom. and he would say no, he's a gentleman and much as he'd like to you're in no state, but then some asshole sitting beside him tries to swoop in and he has to shut that shit down fast. he takes you in to the staff bathroom after speaking with the bartender (and exchanging a little money), and is a perfect gentleman about it. really. (there were like three mirrors in the bathroom and he got a good fucking view when he was leaving to guard the door from the outside while you peed, and he was definitely looking through his hand shielding his eyes when he came back in.) and if he lets his hands linger a little as he laces you back up, if he kisses your shoulder and lets his hands drop to squeeze your waist - well then who could blame him, really? he drops you back with your friends with your number in his phone and a kiss to the cheek. "See you 'round, pretty bird."

ghost: like price, he'd been dragged to the club against his will. soap has been begging him to be his wingman (why is anyone's guess, it's not like ghost's great at. like. talking to birds.) and he finally gave in and agreed just to shut him up. he's having a rough time, honestly, it's loud and crowded and not his scene at all, but what's making it bearable is the pretty bird in a jumpsuit having a ball out on the dance floor. he's trying not to be obvious about watching, but soap's caught him a couple times, enough to tease him (annoying little shit, he'll have the fucker run drills til he pukes), enough even for you to notice, flashing him smiles and even waving at him across the floor. (he froze for a full minute before his hand twitched, raising halfway before he realized you weren't even looking at him anymore and he put it down.) he watches you look around, craning your neck, trying to find something, and is arguing with himself about his instinct to walk over and ask what you need when suddenly you're walking over to him. his ears and face burn with heat as you brace yourself with a hand on his upper thigh to lean in and ask sweetly against his ear if he'll help you out of your jumpsuit, and he can't speak for a long moment, his brain just static. until soap (he knows how to get the LT back online) tries to offer to help and ghost surges to a standing position, bristling like an angry cat "sit the fuck down, sergeant. i can handle this" he walks you into the mens bathroom like it's nothing, and one barked order has all the drunks scattering like rats. he locks the door behind the last of them and ensures the bathroom is clear (and selects the cleanest stall) before his shaking hands get you out. he spends the time you're in the stall firmly telling himself not to get hard, that it's just being a good samaritan or whatever. it's no big deal. but then you come out, batting your eyes and asking for help, one hand holding the waist of the jumpsuit up and the other covering your tits, and he nearly falls to his knees. yeah, he decides as he fumbles to try to get you redressed, he's gotta get your number or something. "So love. Where do you live?"

gaz: this is one of his favorite bars. not too overpriced, not too 'hole in the wall', frequented by people his age rather than just the old locals who's grandparents went and sat in their same chairs however many years back, and yet it's not totally overwhelmed by tourists. it's really the perfect bar. it's his go-to when he wants to blow off steam or get a good old fashioned or, like tonight, dance. he saw you come in with your friends, huddled together like a pack of lionesses on the hunt, all dressed up and ready to swoop in for the kill. he took one look at you and groaned out loud, enough for the bloke next to him to look over at you and your friends and whistle softly. he swooped in before anyone else could get a chance to, glad to escort you over to the dance floor, supervise your trips to the bar, one eye on the bartender and any other man who dared try to get close, his other eye on you as you talked. you're a lightweight, that much is for sure, or maybe you just don't drink that often if all it takes for you to get all cute and tipsy is two vodka crans and a few sips of his beer from the bottle he keeps dangled between his fingers while his arms are around you. you smell and feel like heaven, and he'd originally been planning to take you back to his, but he's not sure that's on the table anymore when you stumble back, giggling against his chest. and then you lift that pretty face and ask him so sweet to help you find your friends because you 'need help' in the bathroom, and he swears he nearly goes blind as arousal hits him hard and fast. he plays the gentleman at first, offering gallantly to help you find your friends, but would you look at that, nowhere to be seen? oh well, he's happy to help if you'd like, baby. he takes you to the ladies' room, a charming smile and a short explanation preventing any alarm from rising as the bathroom empties. he keeps his eyes closed ('fumbling' or really just groping and feeling up your hot skin and the perfect give to your body under his hands), babbling apologies when his hands 'slip' as he unties and then reties you. by the time you're all laced up again your hands are running over his chest, your thighs pressing together and a needy look replacing the tipsy gaze in your eye. he cups your chin, smiling charmingly. "I think I'd like to do that again sometime. But maybe at my place, and not a bathroom. And you'd take it all the way off...and keep it off."

soap: he fucking loves going to clubs. gay clubs, strip clubs, german clubs, overpriced nightclubs, hole in the wall barely staying afloat clubs, underground punk clubs, whatever, he loves them all. and while he loves dragging his team out with him whenever he can, he doesn't drag them out every time he goes, think how much work that would be to make sure they have a good time while he's working his magic with a pretty hen. so he's alone when he sees you across the dance floor, and he's instantly in love with the way your hips move. he's never been shy about wanting a lass a day in his life, and you're not different in the least. you move against him like a goddamn dream and he's been half hard for the last few dances, his hands on your hips and his mouth on your neck, and he would press for more but he's admittedly had a few drinks and so have you, so he's trying to keep a clear head and at least pretend to be a gentleman (even if he's already put a hand on your tits and squeezed when they put Buttons on earlier, smirking when it made you shiver). but then you turn around, crowding close, and manage to convey to him that you have to find your friends for some 'help in the bathroom'. he grins like a wolf and says he can give you everything you need. admittedly his mind is in the gutter and he doesn't even care about the women gasping in shock when you tow him inside, just smiles and waves at them all. and of course he's disappointed when you reassure them that you're not having sex, he's just helping you with the back of your jumpsuit. (he thinks it's fascinating how all the women take one look at the back and immediately nod, empathetic noises coming from them) no one leaves and he's all smirks and wandering hands, praise pouring out of his mouth at your dancing skills, how good you smell, how pretty your skin is, hen, wow, look at that when the top slips and he gets a good peek over your shoulder at your tits before you cover them. the other girls giggle as you playfully smack him before ducking into a stall, and he just smiles and leans against the wall waiting for you. "you're a really good boyfriend" some girl sighs wistfully. "my Tom would never set foot in a ladies room" he doesn't correct her, just thanks her and tells her to ditch Tom, which is met with raucous applause. when you emerge from the stall he plasters himself to your back as he ties you back up, playfully saying "such a shame to cover all this back up, lassie. but i can take you back to mine and get a proper look later." your eyes meet his in the mirror, blushing hard, and you ask, "is that a threat?" "no, hen, s'a promise."

[pullhisteeth]

you find a magazine of a certain genre under your boyfriend's bed. eddie munson x reader, 1.1k, fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes

-

For a moment, it throws you.

The glossy pages are shiny. New. The magazine a recent purchase, thrown hastily under the bed, perhaps out of shame or embarrassment. Or because he thinks you'd be upset. Maybe he thinks you'd hate him.

You're apart more than you're together. This is, surely, entirely normal. After a few minutes and some reassuring hugs, you know that this is the rational conclusion you'd draw. But he's not here, and you haven't really seen him in weeks, and the cherry red spine caught your eye when you let yourself into his room.

Your curious fingers, too curious for your own good, flick through the pages while the black pit in your stomach deepens. They're all so beautiful. Soft skin wrapped in varying shades of lace and elastic, garters and frills. In some shots they're partially clothed in luxurious shirts or dresses. In others, they're adorned in intimidating black lingerie, holding things like whips or putting their fingers in their mouths.

The smell of this room, of him and his laundry detergent and his cologne, is normally the most comforting thing on earth. Right now it's making you a bit queasy.

Nausea caused by a dizzying combination of shame and hurt. Hurt, naturally, because your boyfriend, whom you love endlessly, has a dirty mag - a new dirty mag - under his bed. And shame, because you shouldn't feel so hurt at all.

Eddie joins you in that sick feeling when he sees you, relatively small, knees up, heels of your feet on the edge of the mattress, white-knuckled grip on that fucking magazine. It was so stupid - he bought it a week ago, a bit high and really, really horny, too ashamed to text you for a photo. What a loser he'd look like, sending some variation of a slimy you up? text at one in the morning, asking for nudes. He bought it at the 24/7 gas station on the other side of town. Brought it home, took one look at the centrefold, and tossed it under the bed, too ashamed to feel horny anymore and missing you too much to really care.

Your heart does an ugly flip when you realise he's standing in the doorway. You throw the mag on the ground like it's suddenly scorching hot. You hear him say sorry, I can explain, please, but none of it sticks. You start crying before you can think to be embarrassed.

With your clammy palms over your eyes you do not see him drop to the floor. Instead, you are surprised when you feel his own hands on your ankles.

"Please don't cry."

"I'm sorry," you hiccup.

"Please don't apologise either."

You wipe your face on the sleeves of your sweatshirt. Looking down, you find him with his eyes wide and concerned, looking back up at you.

"I'm sorry," you say again regardless, "for looking- looking through your stuff."

"It was under the bed," he reassures you. "I know you didn't have to go looking for it."

His touch on your ankle turns to a firm grip. You let him pull your feet down, backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. He lays his cheek on your knee and holds your calves, fingers moving up and down as he watches you from the floor.

"I'm sorry," he echoes. "You won't believe me but I promise you, swear on mom's grave, I wish I never bought it. I looked at it once, and I- I used to like them, I guess, but I didn't care, it was nothing, I-"

You hiccup again and hear him gasp softly.

"Please," he begs. His own eyes are getting watery and his hands have become nervous. "I'm sorry. I hate seeing you cry. Look at me."

You do, ever obedient to his word. You love him so much and you know it to be true because with any other boyfriend, you're sure you'd never have cared so much.

"It's okay," you tell him, words watery and thick. "I don't mind- really, I don't mind you having it, I just-"

"You don't have to be nice to me."

"No, really, I don't mind, I just don't look like them and I-"

At this he moves, sits upright between your spread knees, his now firm hands on your hips.

"Look at me," he says again.

Your eyes meet his.

"I don't care that you don't look like them. I'm serious."

"But-"

"No, really. I'm glad you don't look like them."

"But the lingerie, all of it- It's scary but is it something you want?"

The air in the room feels suffocatingly close. You're not catching full breaths and your skin itches, nose burning.

"No," he says firmly. "Unless you do."

You close your eyes and breathe slowly. Relief lifts like a heavy cloud.

You feel him move up, his face level with your own. His breath is warm and familiar. He kisses you softly at the left corner of your mouth.

"I promise you," he says, with another kiss to the space between your brows, "that there is nothing on earth sexier to me than you in your old pants."

A laugh bursts forth, uncontrollable but welcome. He smiles, you feel it in the kiss he gives your temple.

"I'm serious. I love your tennis socks when they're different shades of white. Or that bra that you turned green in the wash. Really."

You can't bear it anymore, too dizzy to keep your eyes closed. When you open them, he's out of view, his mouth at your jaw. You're giggling and squirming and his arms are around you.

"Hug me," you tell him quietly. He tightens his grip and you exhale.

"I'm sorry I made you cry," he says after a moment. He's still on his knees, and your back is aching after too long leaning into him, so you slip off the edge of the bed and onto his lap.

"I'm sorry for snooping."

"I told you to stop that," he says, smiling. "Stop apologising. I should've chucked it- Should never have bought it at all."

Words sit hesitant at the base of your throat. "Why did you?"

"I was horny," he whispers, "and missing you."

"Why didn't you just call me?"

"Felt like a player." He's smiling, only one half of his mouth curling, coy and shy. You smooth your hands over his arms. "Didn't wanna text you for dirty photos in the middle of the night."

"You can have as many as you want," you tell him in a whisper, kissing his jaw softly, like it's your secret to keep. "I can't take them as well as you can, though."

He chuckles. "I'm sure that's not true."

"Really," you say, stretching, back arching, legs pressing into his lap. "If you miss me that much, maybe you need to take some more before I go back home."

-

[catbountry]

I remember hearing about this story!

And you're right, this is fucked up, but there's also there's one detail I haven't seen brought up in this string of reblogs, just a little further down in that BBC article cited in the OP:

He will not be stopped. Hacking is his special interest. And he's fucking good at it.

Now, to me, it seems like he'd be a prime candidate to become a "white hat" hacker, or a hacker who works in cyber security, usually to get out of spending a lot of time in prison. But being a white hat hacker means you're working with governments or big corporations. If you're not willing to do that (because, let's face it, it's not that you're being "good" so much as you're being useful to people in power), then those governments or corporations are going to make sure you're punished for it. Kurtaj is not just refusing to not be useful, he's saying he's going to continue to be a nuisance. I am curious as to what his reasoning is, if this is about him taking a moral stand or he's just in it for the love of the game, the thrill of it. His defense has argued that the hack would not affect Rockstar's sales, and given the interest in the trailer for GTAVI, that seems to be true. The most valid counterargument is that he's also stolen from individual's crypto wallets. I'm not going to bother speculating if the people whose wallets were robbed are valid victims or not, because I have no way of knowing their individual circumstances and you don't either. The article also throws in that one of the other members of Lapsus$, a 17 year-old boy who is NOT Kurtaj, "was sentenced for what the judge described as 'unpleasant and frightening pattern of stalking and harassment' of two young women." Just to make sure that you have less sympathy for the kid who got 18 months, I guess.

So basically they're on dumb teenage boy hooligan shit and Kurtaj in particular is being disproportionately punished for it to send a message. Do not fuck with the big corporations and their bottom lines. Do not get in the way, or you will be put away forever, and whatever gifts you have that could be cultivated to possibly help people will be denied. No chance at rehabilitation because you're 18 years-old and you're acting in an antisocial manner. This is the rest of your life now, dictated by choices made when you were in high school. Because you're a nuisance.

why can rockstar games institutionalise you for life like nikita kruschev for being autistic

[gothghostiie]

small drabble about something @pricegotmedickmatized and I talked about that refused to leave my brain

cw: implied age gap, free use, voyeurism, mild humiliation, fingering, oral, objectification, talk about boot humping; spanking; anal, porn without plot, fem!afab!reader

Nikolai was always a fan of PDA. whether it's holding your hand, slinging an arm around you, kissing your cheek to get you all flustered or smacking your ass to show some asshole who was staring at you a bit too much who you belong to, slipping fingers up your skirt to tease you; anything he can get away with in public. he can't keep his hands off of you - and why would he? you're his sweetheart, his sunshine, his favourite toy. if it wasn't for social norms he'd constantly be inside you, some way or another. but he can't, obviously. can't just bend you over in public and have his way with you, even if that's his absolute dream: having you anywhere, any way he wants.

this is how this whole thing started.

the idea of free use was always appealing - considering you were always horny (and if you weren't already, you always would be within a second of him touching you), he was always all over you, whether it be his hands, lips or more. so he suggested something: free use. you pretty much beamed when he suggested it. he was surprised by how quickly and eagerly you agreed to it, but who was he to say no? so you got together and had a long talk, set up boundaries, rules, do's and don'ts and it quickly became your new normal.

bending you over the dresser first thing in the morning to get rid of his morning wood.

having you bounce on his dick at the breakfast table while he had his coffee and read the news.

groping you all over the second you get out of the shower.

shoving fingers inside you while you were trying to do chores.

having you suck his dick while he did some paperwork in his office.

cockwarming him while eating dinner together.

having him get down on his knees behind you and sticking his head under your skirt while you did the dishes.

all down to a sleepy cuddlefuck when you go to bed together.

its heaven, really. but its not enough. not for nikolai anyway.

he kept going with rules like 'always wear skirt or dresses around me' or 'no more panties around the house'. you happily oblige, because god, why wouldn't you? this hunk of a man was fucking you seven ways to Sunday, who in their right mind would complain about this?

but it's still not enough. he's let the primal, stupid animal inside him wake up and now its growling for more. whenever the two of you go out for groceries, hang out with friends, go out on dates, he had to restrain himself from just taking what he wants. sure, he fucked you out in the car afterwards every time without fail, but its not enough. pining you down under his weight in the backseat of his SUV and hearing you yelp and gasp for breath between hoarse, pathetic begging was never enough.

it starts with him feeling you up while hes on the phone to Laswell. waving you over and copping a feel of your ass while talking about an upcoming OP. it takes you by surprise, but you don't mind it - Kate didn't see and surely didn't hear the way you gasp at the fingers digging into your fat.

it got a little further when he decided to call you into his office while on a face time call - some other high ranks or whatever, you tend to not listen when you overhear whatever they're talking about - and gestures for you to stand behind the cam and pull your shirt up for him.

it goes even even further when John is visiting the two of you. sitting on the couch across from Nikolai, not even batting an eye when he calls you over and makes you bend over his lap. your face heats up and you quietly ask what he's doing, but you don't get an answer. what you do get is 2 of Nik's fingers plunged deep into your cunt without warning, making you see starts as he starts to curl them. your mouth falls open and your eyes widen, a fleeting, embarrassed gaze at John, but he just raises an eyebrow and smirks. Nikolai grunts, something about your underwear, something about manners, something that will get you spanked later, but you can barely listen as you try to process.. this. but you can't. you simply can't. you're bent over your boyfriend's lap, having your hole fingered open while his best friend watches - and you swear you've never been this wet. a bit of shame mixes in with the pleasure and shock, but the feeling is so overwhelming that you just let it happen - you can talk later, after you've came your brains out in front of Price.

but you don't talk about it. you don't mention it and neither does he - and it makes him bold. makes him think he can do whatever he wants with you.

and he can. unfortunately. bastard.

you realise this pretty quick after the little incident. he doesn't bother to keep quiet when you jerk him off on call. he doesn't bother to make sure your bobbing head is out of the shot while facetiming business partners. doesn't bother to make sure no one hears your slutty moans when he bends you over in your friend's bathroom. and no one bats an eye.

not even when he told you to to cockwarm him in front of the whole 141.

"Get in my lap, malyshka. c'mon, no need to be shy now. they're our friends, they can see how good of a toy you are." and you do, for some God forsaken reason. you pull your pants down as you stare at him, just enough so he has space to pick a hole and make you sink down on his soft cock. that's how casual it is to him, he's not even hard. and the others just watch, continuing their conversation. of course he told them about beforehand, they're not surprised - but he's determined to take it even further.

he keeps it up, slowly establishing you as his cocksleeve, his fleshlight, his toy; around his friends. has you walking around topless when at home, no matter if the blinds are open, no matter who's around. doesnt care to be subtle about slipping his fingers under your skirt during game night with your friends, pulls you onto his cock during movie night. its so casual within just weeks of him doing this, his friends dont mind the loud moans, the high pitched squeals, the wet squelching sounds your loose holes make.

but its not enough. it's never enough, why stop when no one stops him? he wants - has to see how far you will let him go. how far others will let him go. so he does.

he starts bringing you to base - just keeping you around at first, the occasional slap on your ass in front of people, but nothing wild. that's the first few days at least, before he brings the no underwear rule to work. along with the skirt and dresses only rule. has you standing by his office chair, hand under your skirt, pumping into your asshole slowly while some Sergeant delivers files to him. watches you tremble and shake, opening his mouth to speak, but Nikolai speaks first.

"just my toy. don't mind her."

its what he tells everyone. its what he tells the private who walks in on you kneeling under Nikolais desk.

it's what he tells the medical that walks in on nikolai playing with your tits and torturing your poor little nipples.

its what he tells the Lieutenant that catches you pathetically rubbing your pussy against Nikolais boot.

it's what he tells the group of privates that he's spanking you in front of as you beg for his forgiveness, showcasing what happens if someone misbehaves.

its even what he tells the General, that walks in on you bent over the desk, tits squished flat against it, mouth wide open with fat crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks while Nikolai bullies your cervix with his fat tip.

just my toy. don't mind her.

[cloveang3l]

im so obsessed with them :(((

everyone's just being happy and silly but tim is giving the biggest stink eye (mask??) because someone nearby is talking crap about his besties for life (the others can hear and don't care but tim cares)

tim would never be annoyed at his besties, never in a /srs way unless they're. y'know. doing something harmful/stupid/deadly (that's his job!)

what designs am i using? ...look them up on google images and use whatever design looks the coolest. my refs are under the cut

I gave Kon his spikes because I literally love them I will draw them one way or another sorry not sorry

I kept Tim's signature hair because again I love that hair and idc how much DC erases/changes it it will always be this hairstyle for me <3

I think Cassie's is exactly the same because tbh this design may look simple but its SO FUN (fun fact I mainly draw females. Like outside of batfam you cannot catch me DEAD drawing a man ever.)

For Bart I gave him a yellow lightning border because I saw it in SOME official art a while ago and liked it a lot (I also saw it on the live action?? poster but he looked so wrong there eugh I swear that wasn't the ref for that)

Yeah so basically I put way too much fucking care into my chibis for no reason thank you for listening to my TedTalk 👍

[resident-idiot-simp]

Origins A/B/O

Logan was an Omega and everyone on the team are weird about it.

Wade however desides this is going to be his Omega. Everyone else is low key trying to do the same but Wade is determined and possessive

Wade is trying to prove he'd be a great alpha but not in an incredibly pushy way just being there and helping when he can.

Logan appreciates it because he's so used to everyone all but forcing themselves into his space.

Wade however Is the constant reliable presence and fuck off Logan doesn't start getting attached.

He also runs interference when when the others start getting too pushy. He's told Logan before that he knows he can take care of himself. He however shouldn't have to do it all the time.

Logan didn't think he'd find that as comforting as he did.

Logan doesn't realize as they get closer and closer and definitely doesn't realize himself starting to accept Wade as his alpha.

Logan doesn't realize he starts to gravitate to Wade either. He's drawn to him like a moth to flame. Wade realizes however he sees it and can't help but smile so glad this perfect Omega has chosen him.

Only when Logan ticks over into preheat does does he actually accept more physical touch. Half the reason is because he doesn't want anyone else doing it.

They want to he knows they dothey look at him like they're starving. Wade however is enough to ward them off if Wade is at least touching him.

He knows it's kinda pathetic but he's started for this kind of physical attention and being an omega only makes it worse. The need for touch is so prevalent so necessary that being without it is near painful.

Wade Is all too happy to give him whatever he wants though.

Logan is soaking in the physical contact and as his heat grows closer do does his need for physical contact. It doesn't take long for Logan to be attacked to Wade at all times.

Sitting at camp? Logan is making himself conferrable in the others lap.

Sleeping? Logan has already made himself a place for them to curl together.

Wade is just as happy as can be about it. Praising him and saying what a good and perfect Omega he is. Logan soaks in the praise like a sponge.

He's never been treated this well by an alpha before and he's loving every minute of it.

Finally one night Logan wakes up in a sweat heat seeping from him in waves his body burning. Wade wakes up to his whining and writhing.

Logan doesn't remember much of his heat besides mind numbing pleasure and Wadewadewade.

He comes out of the heat with a mating bite and an excitable Alpha. Over all a good deal.

[avocado-writing]

the second most employee of the month awards

notes: this is so fucking silly. petty office bitches scenario. thank you to @grumsens who helped me plan this and came up with 80% of the funny stuff they're doing to each other. the story where reader has the first most employee of the month awards and copia hates it.

rating: m (suggestive)

words: 1.8k

pairing: copia x reader

Copia is glaring across the table at you, and if he cared more about your opinion, he would probably try and get himself to stop.

It’s your mugs, he thinks. Your mugs are the most irritating thing about you. Not the air of superiority you bring to every meeting, not the way siblings scuttle after you at your every beck and call, but the receptacle you use for your coffee whenever you’re in the same room as him.

It’s way too big for you to reasonably finish all of your drink from, but it’s that size on purpose to show off the image you have printed on it: the photo of you and Papa Nihil shaking hands at the latest employee of the month awards. You had won. Again. And now Copia has cottoned on to how you angle it towards him, always making sure to sit across the table from him, you and that fucking mug in his eyeline every single time.

He thinks about all the little digs you’ve made at each other over the years. Him making your americano so strong one day that you did a spit-take over Terzo. You emptying the stapler before you knew he had to sit down and organise some paperwork. Him unspooling all of your paper clips one day. Tiny acts of warfare across the battlefield which is upper management.

You’ve realised he’s staring. You give him a smug little smile, lifting your mug to your lips and drinking. The printed photo stares out at him and Copia worries he is going to shatter his teeth from how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

Again. 

Sister Imperator hadn’t much liked shelling out the money for him to get that crown; he probably shouldn’t allow a repeat of the situation. He also thinks that if you knew you were the cause of his recent dental distress you’d probably have a fucking field day over it.

“...and that about brings us to the end of today’s itinerary. Anything else anyone needs to raise?” Sister Imperator asks, looking around the table. It’s the usual lot: her and Nihil - though he’s barely present - the three former Papas, himself, and you. You stare at him hard as you clear your throat, quickly plastering on a sweet little smile before turning to Sister.

“I just wanted to say thank you for awarding me with the employee of the month award again, Sister. I’ve been working very hard on the plans for the monastery’s extension, and it means the world to me that it’s been noticed.”

Sister beams at you and Copia is almost sick in his mouth. Nobody else around the table actually cares about this, the Papas’ attention already wandering. No, this is aimed at him and only him.

“Of course. And we thank you for all the work you’re doing for us. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I know,” you say, softly, and wink at Copia. He tightens his fist and snaps the pen he’s holding clean in half. Luckily the meeting is being called to an end and everyone is anxious to leave the room, none of them really having the stamina for bureaucratic meetings like this. Sister turns to him.

“Copia, hang back with me a second. We need to discuss some things about the upcoming tour.”

He nods, painfully aware that you haven’t left the room yet. You’re packing up deliberately slowly, watching Copia try and mop up the ink stain he has just created. As Sister turns to grab some paperwork from the filing cupboard behind her, you speak up.

“I’m sorry you lost out on Employee of the Month again, Copia,” you say, cocking your head to the side, acting the innocent. He glares, seething.

“No, you’re not.” 

“No, I’m not! Better luck next time,” you say, flourishing that grin at him like you’re wielding a sword. 

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under. 

He’s lucky that, day-to-day, he doesn’t have to interact with you much. His time is usually eaten up with his taking over of the Ghost project. He remembers that one stung for you, especially because of what a big deal was made over him not being part of the Bloodline - how your mouth had puckered like you were sucking a lemon, glowering as Sister had congratulated him. He’d kept that picture of you in his head, returned to his room and pleasured himself to it in the shower that evening. The bitterness plastered all over your face, the intensity with which you’d stared, how your lips would feel around his cock rather than his own hand…

Admittedly the scenario had run away with him a little.

He blocks it out, instead focussing back on Sister and the things she needs to run over in anticipation of his tour. There’s a lot to discuss but he’s excited about it, nervous perhaps, but excited nonetheless. For a little while he is able to put you out of his head, until Sister brings you screeching back into it again, like some horrible yet inevitable car crash.

“Oh, and, as we’re finishing up, looks like our dear sibling left some of their papers here. Can you bring it to their office? You go that way anyway, yes?”

Copia doesn’t know how he missed that you left them. It had to have been on purpose, knowing that he would be the one asked to return them to you. He wants to be petulant, but he likes Sister - most of the time, anyway - and telling her no isn’t going to get him any closer to this month’s award.

“Eh, yes, okie dokie. I can do that, Sister.”

She smiles, passing him the papers as she sees him out. He tries not to crumple them in his fist as he makes the walk, feeling like his doom is impeding as he closes the gap to your office. It takes him a full minute to gather the effort to knock on the door with one of his leather gloves.

“Come in!”

He opens the door to find you hunched over at your computer. Your posture is bad, you shouldn’t really be arching your back like that. You’re also entirely too close to your monitor, though he tries to push any semblance of concern towards the fact you’re a human being to the back of his mind, because he has to remember you are his enemy first and a person second.

When you realise it’s him you straighten up, affecting a more formal posture, cupping your face in your hand as a predatory smile crosses your face.

“Ah, Copia, it’s you. Can’t get me out of your mind, huh?”

He gives you a withering look.

“You know you forgot your stuff. Sister asked me to bring it over… after we were done talking about the tour, hm?”

He sees your eyelid flicker in annoyance just a little and he’s pettily proud. You turn back to your computer.

“Just go and put them over there. In front of my trophy shelf.”

You nod towards the corner, and for the first time Copia’s eyes are drawn there. A towering cabinet takes up a whole section of your office, and inside it, every single certificate for Employee of the Month you’ve ever been awarded in their little frames, as well as the tchotchkes they gave you along with them. Commemorative pens, tacky plastic trophies, a fucking used Applebees gift card. It’s a completely pointless decorative display… but it’s a completely pointless decorative display designed to piss him off.

He wonders, briefly, just how much of your respective days are used up thinking about each other.

When Copia turns back from depositing your papers messily on a side table, you’re grinning. Then you take a sip out of that fucking mug again, putting it down on the edge of your desk, on top of a copy of Impera you’re using as a coaster.

Copia crosses the room, standing near enough to you that he can see the glossiness of your lips as they part. He sticks out a hand and, like a cat, knocks your mug off the side of the desk and onto the stone floor where it shatters in a mix of ceramic and coffee. You stare at him, agog.

You recover too quickly.

“I had, like, nine more of those printed,” you shrug.

That’s it.

He will do anything in that moment to silence you, stop you running your fucking mouth for five seconds. A hand falls on either arm of your chair, caging you in, and he crushes his lips against yours.

You squeak for just a second, palms coming to rest on his shoulders - he’s worried you’re going to slap him - but then you’re kissing him back. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he wraps his arms around you properly, tugging you to your feet so he can swing you round and perch you on the edge of your desk. You open your legs, allowing him to pull himself between them, changing his hold so he can grab you by the thighs and drag you in closer. You groan at the feeling of how tight your bodies are and he swallows the sound down like honey.

“Fuck, Copia…” you mutter into the kiss and he goes a little bit dizzy. Your hands are exploring, raking across his cassock, desperate to feel every inch of him as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip. You open your mouth so he can taste you properly. You’re minty. He wonders if you’ve been chewing gum prior to this.

He wonders how many times you’ve tried to lure him to your office so he’d finally break.

“There were easier ways to get my attention, eh?” he growls, biting at your lip. You gasp. When you open your eyes, they’re blown black.

“None of the others were quite as fun,” you reply, and then your tongue is on his again and he doesn’t really care to argue.

Eventually he has to drag himself back to his work, but he can still taste your kiss on his mouth as he sits down at his computer, the shape of your body he was able to map out with his hands. He wonders if anything will change, and then considers if he wants it to. The truth of the matter is that he likes this nonsense you both perform. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it if you kept being mean to each other. It’s fun. It’s a ritual. It’s flirting.

He has an email. It’s from you.

From: employee-of-the-month@theministry.com

To: CardinalC@theministry.com

Subject: follow-up

Cardinal,

Thank you for bringing me my paperwork. It was most appreciated. I’d like to follow up about matters tomorrow, if you’re available at around 3pm. I’ve set up a calendar invite for you.

Regards,

The footer at the bottom signs off your email. Copia tries to decipher if you’ve just scheduled in another make-out session on the ministry’s internal system… and how the hell you were able to get your hands on that fucking email address.

[lsunstreakerl]

hello everyone I have tiny platonic max and george brainworms so here you go! 3k of the most unorganized universe ever LOL. gen, max POV, george POV, alex POV, christian POV, and an extremely brief nico POV. this is kind of in chronological order? it's little snapshots, don't think too hard about it.

"George."

Max shoves at his shoulder, hissing his name through his teeth. They both hate running, which means it's a team effort. It's also a terrible start to their day, considering waking each other up feels like more of a high pressure sport than the actual driving.

"Wake up."

He shoves again, and George throws an arm out, halfheartedly smacking him in the face.

"I'm up, I'm up. Christ, you're as graceful as a fucking tractor."

"At least I'm consistent."

"Consistently dickish."

George slides off his futon, fumbling for his water next to the bed while Max waits impatiently. He takes his time, and Max is sure that he's only doing it to be an annoyance.

"Your shoe is untied."

"No it's not."

George lowers the bottle, scowling.

"It literally is, I'm looking right at it."

Max is pointedly not looking at it.

"I don't see it."

"Because you're not looking—"

------

George has never hated anyone as much as he hates Max. Mostly because Max eats four eggs in a single sitting, has the most dorkish reading glasses he's ever seen, snores like a freight train, and is one of the greatest drivers he knows.

There are very few good qualities about him, limited to his relentless dedication to both of their training, his willingness to carry inside all the grocery bags in one trip, and his sharp eye for contracts. George is better with sponsors, so whenever they have new terms and conditions it usually eats up all of their limited spare time, taking highlighters to paper packets they'd printed out at the library that stack higher than their arms.

It's what they're currently doing now as they eat their way through an entire bag of grapes. Max is squinting down at a reworked section of George's contract, brows furrowed, and George has been attacking a predatory sponsor offer for Max with as much red ink as he can.

It seems like the perfect moment to bring it up.

"Alex is coming to London."

Max blinks, eyes still glued to the contract.

"Okay."

George crosses out another line, adding four question marks above it.

"He needs somewhere to stay."

"Is he bringing his own futon or are you both sharing? I'm not giving up mine."

That... was easier than he thought. He's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth— if Max has any issues, he's not voicing them. And Max always voices his issues.

Max looks up, properly confused as George's words actually register.

"Wait, he's not emancipated? Is he?"

George makes a face, rolling his pen across the table.

"No, his family is fine. He just needs to be closer to karting."

Max narrows his eyes, looking at George suspiciously. The effect is somewhat ruined by his giant glasses.

"And you're not going to fuck on the futon?"

George's eyes go so wide he worries briefly they'll pop out of his skull, right before he lunges out of his chair and tackles Max to the floor.

"No, you stupid git, we're not going to— what is wrong with you?"

He tries to whack at Max's head, but Max gets his knees up between them, bracing himself in a familiar way that George has learned means he's either going to get a foot in the gut or a headbutt so hard he see stars. Max chooses the foot.

"Oof—!"

George rolls off of him, scrambling a few feet to get a pillow off of the couch before wheeling back around, holding it over his head threateningly.

"Don't do it."

Max is still sitting on the floor, but George knows better than to think it's surrender— he has no issues trying to take him out at the knees, and he has a disturbingly good success rate.

He's frowning, hair rumpled.

"You better not do shitty handjobs either, unless he is bringing in enough rent to move us into two bedrooms instead of one. I don't want to listen to it."

"Max!"

George doesn't shriek, but it's close enough, swinging the pillow down as Max rockets to his feet, darting around to put the kitchen table between them.

"It is fair!"

"We aren't fucking!"

"Not yet."

He sighs, lowering the pillow. Max is doing the dumb thing where he doesn't say what he actually means, despite generally being about as blunt as a sledgehammer.

"Will it bother you? If Alex is here?"

Max glares.

"I do not care who comes in and out as long as they are helping with rent and don't snitch."

There it is.

"Alex isn't going to tell anyone. That would screw me just as much as it would screw you, so obviously I'm not bringing him here as some kind of sabotage."

There's a slightly wounded noise from the other end of the table, and Max is making eyes at him, the sad ones that make George not hate him.

"I would not ever think you are trying to sabotage me."

"I didn't mean it like that, Max. I just meant that he's not going to tell anyone."

"Because then they would know you are in love with him?"

George is back to hating him.

------

Max had known George for longer than he'd like to admit when he moved to London. It was less of a "move" and more of "frantic scramble", and he occasionally feels that it's a miracle he wasn't murdered by any of the people who decided to help a teenager and his trailer hitchhike to the UK. The same trailer is now parked up in the driveway, but it's been gutted on the inside in order to fit both of their karts and gear.

Well. Some of their gear.

The suits and gloves and helmets are frequently tossed around the flat, and Max has accidentally found himself trying to put on the wrong pair of shoes or rib protectors more than once. George never labels his things, sleeps like the dead, and has a personal vendetta against eating anything with protein.

Max has no idea how they're going to manage Formula 4, and thinking about Formula 3 gives him hives. It's a horrifying amount of driving, there's countless plane flights they'll have to figure out tickets for, and keeping track of the sponsor agreements has been a nightmare.

He's pretty sure one of his sponsors is a paper towel manufacturer.

Not to mention neither he or George are licensed to drive actual road cars, so they're playing with fire every time they drive the trailer.

It's a bit of a nightmare, and it's a lot for two fifteen year olds. George is behind him slightly, as far as their careers, which means they have to bulldoze their way through Max's obstacles before they're able to take things slightly smoother with George.

Max has only had to sleep overnight at tracks a few times— and it helps them know which hotels are best when it's George's turn, and which ones won't look too hard at unsupervised teenagers.

He drops his head onto the table with a groan. He's halfway through a sponsor agreement, George and Alex are passed out in the bedroom, and he's only mildly panicked about the utilities bill coming up. He can probably put off getting a new pair of boots if he patches duct tape on the hole that's started to wear on the inside of his right, and they'll need to take care of George's boots first, who's hit an uncontrollable growth spurt.

He's not going to be able to wear Max's things much longer, and Alex barely brings in enough support for himself. He and Max trade off each month who's going to panic about their finances, and it's a fairly good system. His phone buzzes and he winces, because it's probably the landlord, and Max isn't sure what he's going to tell her.

"This is Max Emilian."

"Hello Max, my name is Christian Horner."

------

Christian carefully sets the phone down, staring blankly at Helmut and their talent manager.

"He's managing his own contract."

Helmut breaks into a grin, eyes sparkling.

"No Christian, weren't you listening? His manager has no legs or arms to take phone calls with, and he doesn't travel."

"Yes, and I'm sure he can only be summoned on the full moon and has to be watered with the blood of virgins as well— how the hell has he gotten this far without a manager?"

Their talent manager presses a palm to her face, sighing.

"You're going to want to sign him, aren't you."

Christian can feel a weird pang in his heart thinking about the phone call— the scratchy, pitchy voice on the other end, the clear disbelief in his voice— but Max hadn't hesitated to agree to meet with them, not even for a second. He doesn't have much of a hand in the junior teams, but it would be impossible to miss the junior rocketing through the scene, especially considering nobody's seen much of his team. There's no big name backing him, just raw speed and a pair of racing boots Christian thinks might be entirely duct tape.

"Yes, I think we will."

------

"I like the looks of the tall one— from the UK."

Nico rolls his eyes, feet kicked up on the table.

"You're just biased."

Toto takes a slow sip from his coffee, gazing at the pages of stats in front of him.

"I have to agree with Lewis, I quite like him as well. He's got good speed."

"He's a tad young, Toto."

Nico is understating it.

"I do not mind pulling a few strings. The other fast boy is being watched by Horner, and Ferrari of course have their own."

Toto sighs.

"We simply have to scout younger than we have before."

------

"Uh. I did not know there were pre-racing contracts?"

Max is looking at them slightly suspiciously, which Christian thinks is probably fair, because they're not actually a thing.

"We don't hand them out often, but we really want you on the team later, Max. The pre-racing contract just means you'll go to our junior team when you're eligible, and in the meantime you'll get a stipend for gear upkeep and flights. We might ask you to do some development driving if need be."

The trick is making it sound real, like something that makes sense for a team to be doing, instead of a glorified allowance for the kid to buy new gear. And probably groceries. Christian doesn't even want to think about whatever his living situation is, because he's been doing some digging— Max doesn't have a team. It's him and his made-up quadriplegic manager, and a scraped together group of sponsors with the kind of variety he's never seen before.

There are local mechanics and grocer's shops on the list, for Christ's sake— there's a paper towel company on his helmet.

He's close with two of the other junior drivers as well, constantly around at the junior formula races that George William is at, and he's fairly sure Toto is eyeing the younger driver.

George is in slightly better shape than Max in terms of gear, but the difference is minimal. It makes Christian want to poke his eye out.

Their little trio is rounded out with one Alex Albon, oldest of the three but not quite as fast as Max. Christian wants Helmut keeping an eye on him anyway.

"So it's a stipend?"

"Exactly."

He politely ignores the relieved slump to Max's shoulders, because it makes him want to do unprofessional things like hug him. And take him to a restaurant.

The sport is making him soft— this is why he doesn't work with junior drivers.

------

Max tells Alex about his contract stipend first, so relieved he thinks he might cry. He's already thinking about where to put the first chunk of money— they'll be able to pay off their late bills, and get George pants that actually fit, and finally have a full fridge.

Alex nudges his shoulder gently.

"And maybe some new boots for you, yeah?"

Max blinks.

"That too."

------

The bull child does not immediately buy new boots. Christian's eye twitches. Max is the youngest person running around the factory by far, not counting any of the employees that have to bring their actual children on occasion.

Christian has made sure Max's badge that he scans for meals is secretly connected to a team account, and he's informed their dev team to make sure they're taking lunch breaks.

It was more like "For the love of God please make sure he's eating", but it had gotten his point across.

Daniel is bouncing a stress ball off the wall of his office.

"Boss, I wasn't aware we were running an orphanage."

Christian ducks under the ball on his way to the desk.

"We're not. He's a talented driver, and I'm going to want him in that seat."

"I hope you've got engineering working on booster seats."

He rolls his eyes, sitting heavily in the chair.

"And don't call this an orphanage, I'm sure that's not the case. We just can't figure out who his parents are."

Daniel looks so surprised that he doesn't catch the ball, and it bounces dejectedly across the floor.

"Wait, seriously? You don't know? Mate, he's a Verstappen. Like an evil nepo baby."

Christian blinks, running through his catalogue of notable names—

Oh.

Jos Verstappen had made motorsports news with his eventual arrest and charges, and it would've been early in Max's karting career. It's not surprising Max doesn't race with the name, considering the connotations that come with it.

But if he's not managed under Jos, who the hell...

"Who the fuck's raising him then?"

Daniel's eyebrow twitches. It's one of his tells, the one that means he's about to lie to Christian's face.

"Must be a relative or something."

Right. It's quite possibly the least reassuring thing he could've said— and he's taking a clear side here, trying to somehow protect the younger driver.

Which means Max probably does not have anybody raising him. Which also means—

------

"Toto."

"Christian."

"You're taking on the William's boy, right? George?"

Toto leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together.

"Don't you have your own junior drivers? Why are you trying to poach mine?"

"I'm not trying to poach him, I'm trying to make sure they're not living out of their damn karts on the street."

At Toto's raised eyebrow, Christian elaborates.

"Max Emilian is actually Max Verstappen, and I've spent the last few weeks becoming increasingly confident that between him, George, and the older boy Alex that there is not an adult around. At all."

"Is that why you've given him an allowance?"

Christian winces.

"I was thinking that you should also do that. I can't up Max's again without him getting suspicious, and there's only so much reasonable intervention for a team to make. But he keeps spending it on the other two."

"Don't tell me he's still in the boots."

"He's still in the boots."

"My God."

------

"Max! I have another contract!"

Alex shoves his head under the pillow. He's trying to sleep, and George had been in a meeting with Williams all day before he'd caught the train back to their flat. He and Max are probably going to spend the next few hours— and following days— going over the paperwork line by line. Alex pays a manager to handle his work.

He's not sure what it says that Max and George are doing so well without one.

Max's hair is still damp, long at the edges. Alex needs to cut it soon, even if wrangling Max to stand over the sink and let Alex take a pair of scissors to his head goes well approximately never. It helps if George sits on the edge of the tub and becomes the victim to Max's thoughts on track layouts while Alex tries to focus.

His own hair is a mess, because Max and George are completely hopeless with the scissors, and he's learned it's better for him to give it his best shot with a hand mirror and a dream. They spend most of their time under balaclavas anyways.

He shoves aside his thoughts on his own career as he sits up, because he's genuinely proud of George, and he wants him to know that. His hair is grown out and starting to develop a curl pattern, and Alex often finds himself twirling strands of it absentmindedly around his fingers when they're on the couch together.

Max peers at the papers. His reading glasses are shoved up into his hair.

"Oh! You have a pre-racing stipend also!"

Alex takes a slow breath. He's not sure what the hell is going on with Max and George and their fucking racing allowances, but it's ridiculous. It's not a real thing, he knows it's not a real thing, but it's been their saving grace lately, the only thing keeping them both in racing, and Alex is petrified that if he breaths on their delicate house of cards wrong, the entire thing will come crashing down.

He couldn't do that to George. If he did do it to George, Max would probably take a hammer to his skull.

"Oh, I make more than you do."

"What?"

Alex bites his lip to avoid laughing.

"With Williams?"

Max rolls his eyes, glasses dropping to his nose as he takes the packet from George.

"George William in a Williams, that is fucked up mate. It's like if I was Max Bull in a Red Bull."

"Max Bullshit, maybe."

Alex winces at the ensuing scuffle. He should probably get in the middle of it— he's the oldest, and Max fights mean— but he'd caught a bony elbow to the face once and has no interest in it happening again.

They'll get it sorted out eventually.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

Hi! New to your page but very much enjoying your writing!

I seen requests were open and had a thought about a prompt and while my immediate thought was Johnny for this prompt, any and all of the 141 are welcome, but them having a big crush on the girl that works in their favorite sex shop? (Johnny was the first thought because well toys...)

Anyways thanks for reading the idea even if it doesn't spark anything, I appreciate your time ☺️

nonny you are the SWEETEST omg and HELLO??!?! johnny with a SEX SHOP WORKER??? that's so good oh my god i love it lets dive in

johnny is admittedly a horn dog. he likes to fuck! what's wrong with that? it's him and doechii on a soapbox together declaring how much they like sex and he's chill with that reality. part of liking sex is liking sex with himself. just because he's masturbating doesn't mean it can't be fulfilling, or fun, or toe curlingly good. he goes to efforts to make it good, unlike some others he could name who half ass watching porn or who jerk the chicken in the showers like they're on a time limit. no. johnny likes to indulge himself.

and indulgence means toys. lots of them. enter his favorite sex shop. it's a small business sort of place, which he prefers over the massive corporate controlled spaces crowding out the sex industry with their clinical and minimalistic feel. nah, no thanks. he prefers places like this. its his favorite shop not just because of the wide selection, clean space (without being medical or clinical in The Wrong Way), and wide range of operating hours. nah, his favorite shop is his favorite almost entirely because of the staff, or really just the one.

he likes being able to go in and actually have a chat with the girl behind the counter and her perky tits bouncing free behind her shirt, how he can see the tiniest nubs on either side of her nipples that hint at piercings there. how she laughs and playfully smacks him every time he asks her (seriously, fuck, he's so serious about this) if he can have her demonstrate a toy for him. preferably naked. he likes how her eyes linger on him when he's handling the display models, testing how the sexdolls 'realistic' flesh bounces when he smacks it, how the clear fleshlights look taking his fingers, how she squirms and chews on her mouth and blushes a storm when he asks her to tell him her favorites, and then immediately purchases them.

but it's gotten to the point now that his self care time doesn't just include audio porn from his usual favorite creators. it's recommendations from his girl at the shop, and imagining that it's her pussy wrapped tight around his cock as he fucks the fleshlight she suggested with the lube he tasted off her finger has him coming fast and hard every time. but it never quells the ache in his gut, even when he's gone four rounds with himself in a single night and even the thought of touching his dick again makes him want to cry. no. he needs something deeper. something more. needs his girl from the shop to finally take him up on his offers and let him use his collection on her to have her cum harder than she ever has in her life.

maybe after that they could even do something really crazy like date and eventually get married. who knows?

[radnewspaperroom]

I never said the art was AI, so back the fuck up and get your words outta my mouth

I said it reads like an AI assistant program with what the picture describes. Literally on the official wording under "life tools"

"your favorite demon will help you through your day! Wake you up in the morning (like an alarm), help keep track of your health (period/weight/heartbeat etc), keep you updated on your schedule (a calendar/ alarm reminder) And even check the weather for you!"

It reads like they're making the boys into a Siri / Cortana / Gemini / Google AI assistant thing mixing all the types of lifestyle apps into one and using the boys as the voice/face of it.

To be clear I'm not saying they're using AI to recreate art or voice lines, just that in its functions it what it seems like.

Its reading like they'll be a little doll for you to dress up and read off things to you with sometimes some story stuff dropping once a month like events and through unlockable outfits that I'm guessing are connected to cards you can gain through the gacha system that'll come with it

It's not giving "game" as much as it's giving "Alexa but you can dress him up!"

Maybe get a rabies shot, yeah?

What people think happened (for some reason):

OM Team makes the original OM game

OM Team abandons it for no reason

OM Team makes Nightbringer

OM Team abandons Nightbringer for no reason

OM Team makes third OM game

Will definitely abandon it for no reason

And all of this is done out of greed, apparently (despite the fact that constantly releasing and "abandoning" games is a terrible business move that won't actually make you any money)

What ACTUALLY happened:

OM Team makes the original OM game

Game absolutely blows up, the servers become overloaded and are unable to keep up with the volume of players

Servers become too outdated to continue using long term

OM Team makes Nightbringer, giving the OM franchise room to grow again, and using servers that aren't nearly as obsolete and overtaxed

Meanwhile, the parent company (NTT Corp) spends multiple years making atrocious business decisions and mismanaging their subsidiaries, including Solmare

NTT Corp makes extremely bullshit decision to wrap up the OM games because they no longer want to fund the development of otome games AT ALL

OM Team is forced to make a hasty and unplanned conclusion to NB's main story, leaving the OM franchise in an uncertain position going forward

OM Team doesn't want to let the OM franchise die, promises to still release new content and projects

OM Team finds other game dev studios to collaborate with, and are now making a new OM game so that the franchise can keep living

OM Team takes fan demand into serious account, and heavily priorities romance in the new game, with deeper and more intimate relationships (something the fans have been begging for)

And this is all factual. This info has been confirmed by the old mods/staff of the official OM Discord, as well as multiple data miners who were able to see firsthand how outdated and overburdened the servers actually are. NTT Corp's business moves are very public and can easily be viewed online. None of this is a secret.

I'm not saying that the games are above criticism, or that nobody is allowed to have opinions about the new game coming out. All of that is fine. But there's a huge difference between an opinion, and outright misinformation. And the OM fandom has a huge problem with uncritically believing misinformation at face value and repeating it/spreading it around - which is at both the games AND the fans' detriment overall.

[kerink]

Could you draw Mabel and Dipper meeting in the Bill Wins Au? I wonder how they're coping, how Dipper worries and copes and likely seethes

If you're no longer taking requests, no worries at all. I love your art and I hope you're having a great weekend

this req was much appreciated because i really wanna work more on stan and dipper's story lines, and how they connect with ford and mabel's.

like ford is so focused on coming up with an escape plan and keeping mabel safe, that he doesn't think as much about stan and dipper. stan was always his protector growing up, and ford knows first hand how capable dipper is. he probably underestimates how much risk they're in or how worried he should be, at least consciously. ford made a deal with bill to keep them safe, and ford knows the deal is too good for bill for bill to risk it by fucking around. at least when his anxiety hasn't taken root, ford believes stan and dipper are safe. uncomfortable and unhappy, but safe. they can wait until ford's ready to strike.

and i can see mabel really suffering from being torn with both worry for dipper, but also getting caught up in ford's dismissiveness and escape planning. even though mabel knows she can't really do anything to help, she's always looking for things she can do, trying to gather information, studying the fearamid whenever she's let out of the penthouse. bill underestimates her, and her connection with gideon gives her an edge that ford doesn't have. while gideon can't rat on bill, he can certainly "talk to his wife about his day at work." after all, bill wants ford in on the action so it would make sense that gideon would want mabel (a natural chaos agent!) in on it too.

dipper would be proud of mabel for gathering intel and recon, and maybe a little jealous that she's been getting to work so closely with ford, and then ashamed and disgusted that he's jealous his sister is being used as a marriage pawn in bill's sick game. so he focuses on praising her efforts, while also fussing about her risk taking when she's by herself and unarmed. but mabel would be ashamed that she didn't worry as much about dipper as dipper worried about her. stan and dipper spent so much time trying to come up with a plan not to defeat bill but to save her and ford. meanwhile thinking about dipper suffering was too painful, so she let ford's perspective take over: dipper is capable and he's with stan and bill's hands are tied, there's nothing to worry about! them first reuniting and dipper is mother henning and checking her for injuries and asking her questions to make sure bill didn't mess with her mind, and mabel laughing awkwardly because she didn't even consider what loopholes bill may have been able to exploit to hurt dipper. mabel hesitant to tell dipper what she's been up to because everything has this undercurrent of not worrying about you.

i think stan would be in a very similar mental state as he was in not what he seems and weirdmageddon part 3: one part angry and repressed and ready to let ford lay in the bed he made, but another part worried and desperate because he knows the reality of ford's situation and circumstance. he thinks ford, arrogant and thick-skulled and overly trustworthy, should be forced for once to live with the consequences of his actions without stan coming in to be his knight in shining armor. but he's also sick to his stomach thinking about ford alone with that monster, the possibilities too horrific it makes him dizzy to try to imagine. and of course once they do escape, ford wants to immediately form a plan to go right back so he can kill bill, and that's going to drive stan up the fucking wall because they escaped bill, they're off earth, they have the kids, yeah sucks about shermie and the kids' parents, but they'd understanding, they'd be okay with stan and ford running away and never looking back if it meant keeping dipper and mabel safe. stan can't wrap his mind around ford's hero complex and doesn't understand why he can never point it at the thing that matters: his family

anyway, peace and love on planet pines twins

[keen-li]

What you need | 07

Chapter title: You need...a hobby

Synopsis: Everybody needs, but how do you define need? do you even know what you need. The simple answer is no. But Jungkook knows what you need. he just wants to help you realize it.

Genre: best friends au, angst, fluff, smut, slow burn. Friends to FWB to Lovers

Jungkook x reader.

Wc: 10.3k+

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Index

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Jungkook sighs, making a mental note to go grocery shopping after opening the fridge to disappointment. He's quick to pull out the only egg he has and shuts the fridge, the bottles inside hitting eachother.

How did he forget?

He's definitely been cooking more than he's used to, but unfortunately, he hasn't been keeping track of his groceries. With you around, he feels like he has a reason to cook more. He always cooks more when people are around. He'd hate for a visitor to starve in his home (his mother would kill him).

When he thinks about it you should starve, he could let you starve. You're more than a visitor now, so you should be up here making your own food. He doubts a visitor would go into his closet, pick one of his graphic tees, and make an outfit for the day just because it looks better than anything she has.(what was the point of going to pick up clothes from yours?)

But it's all in good humor; he'd never let you starve. He likes to cook anyway.

"You need to tell me where you buy your shirts. They're so cool," you enthuse as you walk into the open kitchen, your eyes still on the details of the shirt, not bothering to look where you're going. You're too familiar with Jungkook's floor plan to need your eyes to navigate.

His lips fall into a smirk when he catches your words. But with his back to you, you don't see much of the way he shows his teeth. What you do get is a good view of his back.

The days are getting hotter, so it's not surprising for him to be shirtless. You'd be in your bikini top if you could, especially if you had the female equivalent of Jungkook's body.

You've never minded Jungkook's Baywatch cosplays. I mean, you're not in medical school, but it's never not been beneficial to study the male anatomy and differentiate each muscle group. Right?

He's got a great body, to say the least, but a back should not make you this flustered.(Its the last part of a man you look at when you you get the chance.)

It's just a back—Jungkook's back. Your best friend.

It's your best friend's back.

A very nice back that tenses every time he moves to perform another action. It's like a wall, those you find in gyms or play places. It stares back at you like a challenge: "Climb me, Y/N, climb me." Honestly, it's more like a mountain; its large form blocks everything in sight and takes your eyes captive. The clouds at the top of a mountain would be his hair. They may contrast in color, but they'd probably feel the same.

You avert your eyes from the landscape.

You've never touched a cloud, but you've touched Jungkook's hair, and all you can say is that's what the clouds wish they could feel like. They envy him.

Shit, fuck. Get yourself together.

You've never paid this much attention to his figure, so there's some kind of shame that blossoms.

Why the heck are you thinking like this?

He's being sarcastic. He doesn't mind it, as long as you return them. And you always do, but this one, you might not. And the way you caress it tells him that.

Pan in hand, Jungkook turns to the counter, and you're quick to shift your eyes elsewhere again.

"Why? Then I wouldn't have anyone to steal from me," he lets out humorously as he scrapes the egg onto the china he set out.

You round the counter to try to hover over his shoulder to see how he makes coffee, as though you have no clue how to do it by yourself.

Even though you aren't super short, you just can't seem to look over his shoulder fully. Being reminded of that moment in the kitchen, you decide maybe you should walk away from any form of heat in the kitchen.

One of your childhood flaws is coming to haunt you. If it wasn't for your mother's quick instincts that day, the hot soup would have fallen on your head. You were too jumpy in the wrong places. You could never sit still. Your mother understood that maybe you were just trying to help and got excited, but since then, she's never let you in the kitchen. The only time you got to see the food was at the table. It made you sad because you never understood, but you got used to it.

"It's not stealing if I'm going to return it."

If. Big IF.

You choose to sit on one of the kitchen stools and lean on the counter.

When silence settles, your mind continues to bug you, not wanting you to forget a single thing.

You thought Jungkook was going to say something about it; you were hoping he would. Then maybe you'd get some type of reason that it was just some silly action. But from the looks of things, it's only affecting you. Little do you know, Jungkook feels like he can still sense the sensation of his hand on your skin.

You shake your head. It doesn't mean anything anyway; you're just grateful it didn't bruise. Though a bruise would have been much better than the mark it's left on your mind.

Jungkook continues to walk around making breakfast. Every action he makes is necessary to reach the end goal.

You find unnecessary the touches on your waist as he passes by you. With all the space in the kitchen, he wants to act like you're taking up so much of it that he can't pass by without brushing past you.

He started it when he chose to kiss you. Well... maybe that was your fault. But he definitely made it worse with the smack. You know what? This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Jungkook is just being the playful friend you know him to be, and here you are, leeching on every drip of contact from him.

You wonder if he can feel you stiffen when he does so.

You blame your reaction on this stage of being single—feeling touch-starved. And Jungkook is only making it worse.

In this stage, even the smallest, most meaningless gestures can feel big. They can feel like something they're not. In the past, when you felt that way, you'd hook up with somebody (not that it ever was enough or what you truly needed; it just got you momentarily satisfied), but you want to stay away from that. You can't let yourself do or be that. And you won't let Jungkook be a victim of it too. He's your best friend; you'd never want to cross that boundary with him. You like being friends with him. But that can't stop you from seeing him as the attractive man he is. Why the hell is he so attractive?

You shouldn’t be so caught up in physicality, but you’ve been so used to being in a relationship or jumping from one to the other that being alone and "on a break" feels uncomfortable. And you just want to say "fuck it" and jump onto the next, but you know Jungkook keeps records of your words, and he'd bring it up if he caught you.

So he just doesn't have to catch you?

Anyways...

You like compliments. It feels good when someone compliments you, especially in your stage of questioning yourself or your faults. It feels good to have someone bandage your insecurities wiht sweet words. It just happens to be Jungkook right now on that job. So it doesn't change anything.

"It looks good on you, though. I'll give you the guy's number." You blush when you finally meet his warm, dark eyes.

You can blush; you're allowed to. It doesn't mean anything. You blush when Jimin or Willow compliment you. For fuck's sake, you even blushed when Hoseok told you you were doing a good job. It doesn't mean anything—just an expression of gratitude.

"You good?" Jungkook pauses, walking from the counter to the cabinet when he sees your face fall. You do look gloomy when you wake up, but it's more when you're still stuffed under the sheets, not when you're fully freshened up. You're usually all smiles, so to see your face fall means you're thinking of something. You're overthinking something.

Jungkook has never considered himself a therapist or able to heal somebody, but he's always tried by doing what he can: cooking, offering words of affirmation, going out to do some activities—just anything to make the person feel better. He always tries to learn what makes the person feel better and then do it, and that's what he's always done for you. And it's what he'll do. He knows little touches make you happy, so he tries to get in every chance he gets. He makes sure to do things that make you comfortable.

He knows you don't like to talk about what's bothering you, so he won't ask. When you're ready, you always tell him.

You stare a little too intensely at his marble counter before you lift your head and speak. "Yeah, I'm good." You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, and he sees that.

He nods, waving away any more questions he has. He'll take your word for it.

"I'm sorry I only had one egg." He slides the plate to you. You're taken aback when the plate reaches you. You stare at it. You hadn't realized he was making it for you. You stay here so often that you thought Jungkook was over and done with making you food. But maybe he feels an obligation to make you feel happy. Here you go, feeling like a burden again. "Remind me to get some more groceries." His voice pushes your thoughts away.

He knows that he's more likely to remember than you are, so maybe he just wants to give you something to do. Do you need something to do? Maybe. You nod anyway, accepting the request. It's the least you can do while you're here.

You watch him as he grabs his shirt from the couch and swiftly runs it over his head, covering his torso. This is sad—really sad and pitiful of you. "Enjoy." You've barely touched the plate, having been distracted and confused by how fast he's moving.

You don't think you will, not after you freeze up when he walks up to you and suddenly places a goodbye sort of kiss on your temple. He used to do it before you started dating Yunho. You guess the habit is back.

"And you?" You furrow your brows and turn your head in confusion when you watch him grab his training shoes.

But again, meaningless touches drawing harmful thoughts.

Is he going to have breakfast too, with whatever he has in the fridge? You don't think working out on an empty stomach is good, but knowing a fair share of gym guys, you know they only get off on their protein shakes.

He's going to stop by a café and get himself something afterward. But it's cute that you're worried.

His fingers play with the string of his water bottle. He forgot to tell you beforehand, but he hopes you don't mind and that you don't feel like he's running away from you. Because he knows that's what you're thinking. "Uh... I'm going to hit the gym a little. I'll have something on my way back."

You nod. You're aware of his routine: gym every morning. He usually goes earlier than this, so seeing him still here made you think he ditched the idea. But just staying longer meant you could be awake when he makes you breakfast. You would hate to eat cold food, even though his microwave works fine (you've told him that a hundred times).

It's childish, but why does your heart sink at the thought of him leaving? He's not going to be gone forever. It's so childish and needy, and you hate feeling this way. It's just that you fear being alone with your thoughts; Jungkook's always there to distract you. So even a split second away feels like you're about to slip into a dark place of wonder, questioning, and self-doubt.

"You're gonna be okay alone?" He knows.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" But you try to pretend. You grab a toast and bite into it, just to keep your mouth busy and not beg for him to skip the gym today. That would be selfish and embarrassing.

You brush him off with a wave of your hand and pretend like you aren't a little sad you're not coming along. Even though you dislike the gym, you only like the gym when he’s there, though you wouldn’t utter those words yourself.

He squints his brows playfully. "Well... maybe because you look like I just told you I don't want to be your friend." He laughs.

Jungkook notices even the tiniest muscle changes you make; it's like he's got x-ray goggles that can see every part of you, even your emotions. He's the only one you'd let own such a device if it existed. But a feature it lacks, which you're glad about, is the ability to read thoughts. Jungkook wishes he could, but for the sake of everything, you're glad he can't.

"I'll be fine, Kook. Go sweat at 9 a.m." You sound kind of bitter as you playfully roll your eyes, but whatever.

He chuckles, walking over to grab a toast from your plate. He is kind of hungry. You deadpan him and he shrugs.

"I'll be back in no time. Okay?" His hand glides past your hip in a temporary goodbye. You wish he could've just waved. "Do me a favor and write a grocery list for me."

You let out a short, sharp laugh. "Dumb of you to trust me with such a task."

"Then i'm the dumbest...I trust you tho." He winks at you before walking out, leaving you staring at the door.

You roll your eyes playfully and chuckle. He shouldn’t trust you.

A few minutes after, just out the door and probably in his car, your phone dings.

kook: You can add whatever you want to get for yourself too.

You: Already ahead of you. 😌

kook: My bad.

kook: Guess I don't know you as well as I think. 💀

You smile at his text. Jungkook might be the only one who knows you best, or on a different level. And he knows that.

While Jimin and Willoe know you well too, since they started dating, you spent more time with Jungkook (not that he was a rebound). Because of that, there are just some things that he knows more and better, like the way you're probably looking around his apartment for what to do.

That's why he's given himself an hour at the gym—an hour less than he usually does.

You don't respond; instead, you return to your breakfast. Why the hell does Jungkook do these things? You blush... hard. Or maybe it's because you're easily impressed. That’s why you always seem to choose the most unsuitable guys. Jungkook's just being hospitable, and it has you squeezing your thighs.

kook: Be back in an hour, nothing more. ❤

You need to raise your standards... and find something to do.

---

As much as he enjoys your presence, it was a good idea to go to the gym alone. He needs time to think, to not be distracted, to reflect on everything he's doing. A temple kiss?

What the hell was that? He usually likes to think things through, but lately, he’s been getting sloppy.

He rubs his face in frustration.

He wants to be there for you, and he wants you to feel that he's there for you. So the touches and breakfast—even though he'd still do it on a normal day—are his way of reassuring you of his presence, making sure you don't detach.

He shouldn’t have done that. It was too much. It makes him wonder if he knows what he's doing. His intentions may not be coming across as clearly as he thinks.

So why does he feel like he's crossing a boundary? Like it's illegal for him to be that close to you when you're nothing more than friends?

Fuck... he shouldn’t have kissed you. What a dumb move.

He could have gone on pretending. He was doing so well before, but that was before he had the luxury of tasting you, of feeling your warmth. It's killing him. He never thought it would affect him this much.

Every time he shuts his eyes, even just a blink, every lick of his lips, all he can think about is that moment—your lips on his.

He feels guilty; he feels like a liar. His intentions were genuine. He just wanted to make you feel better. He's a fool for thinking it wouldn’t trigger something he’s been hiding—something that could scare you and push you away.

He's a fucking dumbass, really. He doesn't want to push you away. He would lose his mind if he lost you as a friend.

But maybe if he wasn't around, you would have been better off. He can't even begin to imagine life if he hadn't met you.

Jimin was right, and he hates to admit it. But if he had listened to Jimin, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to experience what it's like to be your friend—your warmth, your comfort, your understanding. He wouldn't have had that. And honestly, who knows who would have been there for you if he had listened to Jimin? Who would have been there to take your mind off things? Of course, Jimin and Willoe would be there—and it’s arrogant for him to think this—but he believes he's better at being there for you.

It's not a competition, but he prides himself on being there for others. And lately? Especially for you, for the past three years.

Unfortunately, there's no exercise he can do to sweat off every feeling, especially the feeling of knowing he’s going to go back home, find you spread across his couch like you share a lease, filling his Netflix with dating shows, and have to keep pretending. Jungkook will smile and ask what you're doing like he doesn't know. You'd tell him, and he'd walk away or talk about something else. That’s what he should do—not tease you in any way. Even teasing you feels like he's pushing you away.

Jimin is going to kill him. He'll kill whatever Jungkook hasn't already killed of himself.

Jungkook knew one hour was enough to do everything he needed, but it still felt insufficient. He usually does more than just train his body or distract himself. He trains his boxing too, with Yoongi. The older is very particular about Jungkook’s training.

As well as you know Jungkook, there are just some things you might not know.

Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook train on game day; that’s why he wasn’t there to bug him about only spending an hour. He is there to bug him about coming into the arena, though.

He parks his car in the parking lot of the apartment. As he's about to get out, he finally decides to address the text he's been ignoring. It’s better if he answers now rather than when he’s with you. He hopes it will work, but one thing about Yoongi is... he’s persistent.

He should, but he can't right now. It's a hard decision for him to make. But you're alone, and you'd get worried if he was gone for any longer.

Yoongi: There's a game today; you should come in.

Plus, he promised you one hour—nothing more. And he plans on delivering just that.

Yoongi: I can get you a spot.

Jungkook glides his tongue over his teeth in thought. He can wait until next week. This week is about spending time with you; his other endeavors can wait.

There's really nothing to think about, but Yoongi doesn't like to hear the word "no." So he’ll just stick with ambiguity.

Jungkook: I'll think about it.

"Whatcha watching?" is the first thing Jungkook says when he walks in and spots you folded up on his couch, looking comfortable as hell. You look so good and blend so well into his home (and life) that it makes him feel a little unwell. But he has to shake it off.

---

You're going to have to chip in for his Netflix now.

Your eyes shift to watch him instead. His muscles look a little more defined; it’s probably just your brain messing with you. You took biology and have common sense—he can’t grow muscles from just one session. You fold your legs to yourself.

“Just some dating show.” Not the best thing to watch, but it’s comforting to see others pick shitty love partners as well. "How was the gym?" You choose not to look at him as he stands over you, chugging down a bottle of water. You can’t see, but you assume his Adam’s apple is doing that thing—bobbing.

"Draining. Like always." But he still goes. At this point, the gym is less about health or his body; it’s a distraction. An addiction. He wipes the drop of water that runs down his chin.

"Don't sit down; you'll make the couch smell. Take a shower first," you scold, stretching your arms out to block him. Even after the gym, you can still catch a whiff of his cologne but its mixed with sweat so it's no good.

"Just joking. Did the gym drain your funny bone too?" You look at him, frowning, and he chuckles.

Jungkook furrows his brows, his lips pulling into a smile. “Why are you so worried about my couch?" He emphasizes the word a little too hard for your liking.

He should go take a shower. That's what he should do—not linger around you and fight with himself.

He loses. He always loses when it comes to you.

"Fine, I'll take a shower... right after I..."

Now, all he'll think about when he tastes cherries is you. Or whenever the sun dances warmly on his skin or the wind whirls by his ear, all he'll think about is you.

Jungkook swiftly takes you into his arms and rubs his 'sweaty' body against you. In the act, he inhales your scent—he knew he should've just gone to take a shower. Now you've fully invaded his senses.

He's felt you, tasted you, smelled you, and heard your soft snores and he can't stop seeing you in everything.

"Jungkook!..."

He pulls away with a proud smile, and you're stuck rolling your eyes. "Now I can take a shower."

"You're so messed up." You whine.

"See? I still have my funny bone."

"That was not funny. I was clean," you whine harder. "Now I'm going to keep this shirt." You say it like it's a threat.

Jungkook laughs, his voice lowering as he speaks. "It was yours the minute you wore it, baby." He confesses softly. "But that's not an invitation into my closet. I just like that one on you."

You roll your eyes.

“You did what?” After he forced you to switch what you were watching to Law and Order, just because he can't stand dating shows, you happened to land on an episode about a guy who physically assaulted another guy. At that, Jungkook thought it fit to share his own experience with you.

He's so ridiculous. But he's the only one you'd let get away with this. At least you've got the shirt now.

Win-win

---

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, did you really?” You turn sharply to face him. When he nods, you smack his thigh.

He winces. “You’re upset?” He rubs the spot you hit, since you're too distracted to show him the same care he showed you.

“No, but… he could've pressed charges against you.” Jungkook didn't think that far; he never does in those moments, which is not a good trait. He’s not proud of that. “I just didn’t expect that from you. Willoe suggested the idea, but I never thought—” you ramble thoughtlessly, forgetting you have your own secrets.

“Willoe…?” It looks like you're both spilling the tea, so you might as well.

“Oh yeah. Uhm... I have a secret of my own.” Jungkook turns to you, intrigued by what you could be hiding. He thought you told him everything.

“Before Yunho and I broke up, he told me to choose between you and him.” Jungkook raises his brows in shock. You can't tell what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t look upset. Why would he be? You’re here, aren’t you?

“Seriously?” Jungkook processes this. Why didn’t you tell him? He wishes you had. Why? No clue. But he can only assume how hard it was for you. Would he have made you choose Yunho if he knew? “So, he’s more of an asshole than I thought. Now I don't feel bad." Not that he ever did. Maybe if he knew, then he’d have another reason to go harder. You didn’t deserve a guy who would put you in such a difficult position.

“So, you picked me?” Jungkook leans his head back and gives you the most childish smile. You roll your eyes and turn away.

“Close your mouth, Jeon.” You say when he doesn’t stop smiling and keeps looking at you.

“He could've pressed charges, stupid.” He seems to be forgetting that fact.

He smiles softer, pulling your legs into his lap. The action rake you by suprise but you compose yourself.

“I’m so glad to get to hang out with you now.” His voice is softer, his eyes larger, and his pupils dilated. He tries his best to keep his eyes on yours. You have on the same cherry lip gloss.

He shifts you closer.

You’ve changed out of his shirt, and he frowns, noticing you’re now in a light purple dress with darker polka dots. You’re sitting down, but he can tell it’s one of those that hugs your figure. Some men just don’t know how to keep good things huh?.

“All to myself,” he whispers before you clear your throat and pull back slowly. He pouts at the loss of contact, but he soon realizes it’s for the best. He’s getting carried away. He shouldn’t be doing this. You’re still not over the guy yet. Probably.

Jungkook clears his throat rearranging himself in his seat. "But he didn't. The bozo can't think that far."

You roll your eyes at how arrogant he is about it. You’d be in a different situation right now if Yunho had decided otherwise. You’re not sure if he still could, but the thought of it makes you anxious. You appreciate how caring Jungkook is towards you, but threatening his freedom for you is too much. "You should be thanking him." You’re not sure why Yunho didn’t press charges, but you’re glad he didn’t.

"That was stupid." The fear sinks deeper into you. Jungkook sits up when he sees you sink into the couch, more affected than he thought you’d be.

"For what? Breaking your heart? Cheating? I'm good." He scoffs, and you lower your eyes at him. When he catches your concern, which he’s been ignoring, he softens his features. He really didn’t think about it, which was stupid, but it felt good.

On a more serious note, he doesn’t know what he would do if Yunho had pressed charges; there was a witness. He wonders why he didn’t. So maybe he is a little grateful, but only because it would break your heart to see him in cuffs more than it would to see Yunho cheating on you. And he’d never want to do that to you. He’d never forgive himself if he was the reason for your heartbreak.

"Look. It's over now." He takes your hand into his, interlocking your fingers, and places kisses everywhere he can. You can't deny the way each smack of his lips against your skin has you crossing your ankles. This is what you meant; you're just touch-starved.

"It is. But I don't want you doing it again—to or for anyone." You rub your hands, and Jungkook pretends like you’re not rubbing away his kisses. "I don't like seeing or hearing about you in a fight."

It doesn’t soften the look on your face, but it warms your heart.

Realizing you’re getting carried away in his hold, you pull your hand away, though Jungkook is slow to let it go.

There’s a mutual silence as you both stare at the screen but aren’t really paying attention. An underlying tension holds you captive. Has Jungkook always been this touchy even before you started dating Yunho? You both aren’t sure. But it’s something you don’t want to address.

After many beats of silence, you feel it’s your responsibility to fill the air. "On that note, don't ever bring me to watch you practice with that friend of yours." You’d stopped thinking about it, but now that he brought it up, you can’t help but get flashbacks.

Jungkook holds himself, his voice soft and careful as he speaks. "Why? don’t you like it?" You don’t have to answer, but he’s just curious why you detest it so much.

"Why?" He doesn’t want to bug you because it looks like it’s affecting you. But he needs to know why. Did something happen to you? Maybe you both don’t know each other well enough to call each other best friends. He wants to reach out, but you hold yourself far from him.

"I don't like fighting in general, real or fake." Your hands caress your forearms, and Jungkook checks if he turned the cool air too high.

It’s just alright.

"I don't want to talk about it, Kook." Jungkook may know you well, but there are just some things he doesn't know at all, and you're not sure if he'll ever know them. You don't want him to see you differently or pity you, like others did. Or even worse, tell you, It’s not that bad.

"Okay then. We won't talk about it." He says. "Come here."

Yout shake your head and stand.

Surprising yourself, you actually wrote the grocery list, and Jungkook liked it. No offense to you, but he had a backup prepared just in case you forgot. However, looking at yours, it’s better than his.

"I need to use the bathroom. "

---

Later that day, you both decided to head to the store. The air wasn’t tense anymore; the good thing about you two is that you bounce back from things easily.

"While you were at the gym, I was thinking..." you say, making sure the vegetables you’re picking up are the same ones on your list. One by one, you drop them into the trolley that Jungkook pushes. He leans on the handles, hunching his back when you stop by a section for a little too long.

He doesn’t rush you, though, even when the thing you’re looking for is right in front of you. It’s amusing to watch you so focused on something. Or maybe it’s amusing to watch you in that dress.

You called it a bodycon when he asked, but he can't be sure because he wasn't paying attention. He also lied that the reason he was asking was curiosity and not for a Christmas list. Is it odd?

"Oh oh," he chimes, as if your thinking is a threat to national security. When you deadpan his way, he retreats with his hands in the air. "What were you thinking about?" he finally asks, and you turn to drop the last vegetable in, confirming it’s the last one you need from that category.

He likes how you arranged the list in categories; it makes shopping more linear. He's going to have to start doing that too.

"I was thinking about getting a hobby." Jungkook raises his brows and halts playing with the bracelet on his wrist. He's silent, so when you turn to see his facial expression, he nods for you to go on. He’s curious. "You're into boxing and mechanics or whatever... Jimin's good at art and crafting. And Willow has a garden..." You could go on to list other hobbies they have, but Jungkook gets the point.

You, on the other hand, are stuck working out of obligation.

Another thing you envy is how they all managed to turn their hobbies into something that earns them money. Jungkook works in mechanics, Jimin's a goddamn architect, and Willoe, though she works in real estate, has a plant (side)business (that’s where you get any plant you gift someone). You assume it makes going to work much more fun.

"You guys have stuff, and I don't." You move to the fruit section, and Jungkook rolls with you, not even paying attention to where you're going, so he has to remind you.

"I'm sure you have something..." He reaches out to pick up the citrus you dropped and apologizes to the worker who'd been eyeing you, frustrated.

"What?" You question him when he’s back in position, holding your hands at your waist in an interrogative stance.

"You have that thing..." Jungkook stutters. You must have a hobby... you have one. At least that’s what he thinks. He should shut up. He needs to do better. "That thing..." He tries to keep thinking, but you’ve already clocked it.

"See? I have no hobby. I've been so focused on the job and Yunho, and now that I don't have them, I've realized I'm nothing." You confess, just low enough for Jungkook to hear your frustration but not loud enough for others to hear how insecure you are. Should you even be talking about this here? "Yunho was my hobby." Probably not a compliment to the guy or any of your exes, but it’s something. It’s a realization for you.

"You're not nothing, Y/N." Jungkook comforts you. "You'll get your job back." That’s the only thing he finds himself able to say, and honestly, he’s not proud. He's better at this.

"Okay, if I get it back, fine. But... what will I do in my free time?" You continue to talk, and Jungkook doesn’t mind listening. He likes when you tell him what you’re thinking. He thinks you look cute when you get lost in your ramblings, the way you bite your lip unconsciously or how you touch the necklace that hangs low on your chest...

"Everything I used to do was with... that guy." He snaps back to you picking stuff. You grip the box of grapes too tightly for his liking.

"Well, you’ve got me." He takes the box from you, bringing you back to reality.

"I know. But you're my best friend, and we do best friend stuff." You don't want to add that he might not always be there.

Jungkook wants to be offended, but he doesn’t have the standing ground. "Okay. So, what did you and that guy used to do that you and I can't?" He straightens his back. He probably shouldn't have asked that.

And you’re about to remind him why he shouldn’t have asked. “Well, we kissed, we cuddled." It's like his ears are being roasted, but you don’t notice and go on. "We had sex..."

"Okay," he jumps in a little too quickly.

Jungkook gets it; he understands you. And getting a hobby is a good thing. Seeing that he’ll be going to work soon and you won’t be glued at the hip forever, you'll need something to keep you company. "Okay. If you want a hobby, you can get one." He hates how he sounds like you need his permission. "What did you have in mind?"

You laugh at his reaction. "See? That's why I need a hobby. I can't depend on other people forever. I did that enough in high school..."

You spent too long with girls who never really liked you but stayed because they were the only ones you had. “...and college. Did me no good."

In college, when you got into dating guys, you should’ve learned then, but by the looks of things, you did not. You have no clue what your problem is. Maybe if you focus on yourself and time alone, it’ll do you some good.

He sees the smile grow on your face. You're now by the fridges picking out drinks, and Jungkook is quick to pull some beer cans into the cart. "I was thinking about gardening too. Get a little plant pot and whatever." Jungkook is silent, and when you turn to look at him, he has this unsure look on his face. "What?" you question him with knitted brows. What? Does it not suit you?

"I was just thinking... are you committed enough for that? It takes time, you know?" What, like you didn’t know? Willoe tells you about it. But unlike you, she isn’t impatient and grew up with parents who liked to garden. But you don’t need to have a childhood attachment to it, right?

"Woooow, you think I have commitment issues?" You hold your hand to your chest.

Jungkook lets out a breath. Even though you’re just playing, he wants to tread lightly. "All I'm trying to say is... you can be really impatient."

So that's how people see you?

"Wow, way to be supportive, Kook." You tease him, knowing he’s going to panic.

And he does. "Me telling you your faults is me being supportive. I don't want you to start something, and when it doesn't work out, you get frustrated."

"I won't be frustrated," you say in a barely audible tone, avoiding his eyes.

"Jungkook, my plant won't grow, and it's only day two." You pause and hold back a laugh when he mocks you. He knows you, doesn’t he?

"I don't sound like that." You chuckle lightly, still wanting to stand your ground.

Jungkook watches you laugh, and he knows you know how right he is. "Sure." He rolls his eyes playfully.

"Okay, what about something else?" You give in. Maybe he is right; you would get impatient. So you put your thinking cap back on. "I've always been interested in sewing and fashion."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

You have been, and you thought about it. "But I've seen some prices on sewing machines, and I felt like gauging my eyes out, so maybe not that." You don’t have the funds for the machines that require you to spend. You can wait, and when you do get your job, then you can save for it.

"What about crocheting? You can still do fashion with that?" He states bluntly.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder. You’re now standing in line to finally pay for these things and get out. You raise a brow at Jungkook, who looks away awkwardly, knowing what words are about to come out of your mouth. "How do you know about that?"

He’s reluctant to open his mouth, but he eventually does. "My ex..." You raise your brow higher than it should be going, paired with a wide smirk. “...she was into that."

You get it now. You think you know who he’s talking about, but you can’t be sure. You’ve never paid attention to Jungkook’s girlfriends. “Is it that sweater?" He’s not slow with the answer. "I knew it was too unique to be bought in a store. You liar."

"Is that why you won’t let me wear it? Because she made it for you?" Your voice has a little mocking tone to it, and Jungkook continues to avoid your eyes but you continue to bug him. "Oh gosh, are you even over her?"

"Yeah..." He clenches his jaw and holds the cart a little tighter. Weren’t you talking about wanting a hobby?

Thankfully, you don’t press into it; otherwise, he’d hate to see the face you make when he ignores you. “Anyway..." You move to bag the groceries, and Jungkook pulls out his wallet.

"So I'll do crocheting," you decide, and he nods in agreement, though he regrets bringing it up. For a second, he thinks of suggesting something else, but you’re already dead set on this. "And then I can make my own sweater."

"You can make me one too." He pockets his wallet.

"I'm not making you anything." This time, you’re the one taking the cart and walking into the other part of the mall. "Let's hurry before the yarn store closes." You’re glad there’s a yarn store just across the mall. It only makes things easier.

"We still have time."

"I know, but I'm just so excited."

"Who was that?" You ask, wondering when Jungkook's phone keeps ringing and why he won't just pick it up. And even though his ringtone isn't the worst, it's irritating. Why can't he just answer it? He rarely ignores calls unless he's busy, but he's not busy right now.

---

"Yoongi," he says, turning it to silent mode. You watch how he fumbles with stuffing it into his pockets. "It's nothing important, I'll answer it later." He continues when he sees the suspicious look you have on your face. This is exactly what he didn’t want. But he expected Yoongi to call, so he should’ve just turned it off earlier.

You relax your brows and turn back to find which yarn to pick. "Okay... but if it is, you can take it, I don't mind." Maybe he thinks it will bother you, even though it won’t.

"It can wait. It's cute you care, though." He pokes at your side with a smile.

"I don't care; you just don't have the best ringtone in the world." You poke back.

He scoffs. His ringtone is nice.

You ignore the moment and switch back to what you were doing. There are so many colors and textures to pick from; you have no clue where to start. You feel like a kid in a candy store.

"So, what colors do you think I should get?"

Jungkook really wasn’t much of a help, unless when it came to holding the basket. But it's a good thing you could go on the Internet. And after a quick search, you budget for all the essentials you'll need.

"I don't know what the first thing I'll make is." You squeal, walking into the line and running your fingers through the things you’ve picked. Fingers tingling with excitement.

Since the time his phone started ringing, Jungkook seemed distant and off. He wasn’t responding as quickly as he does when you said something. He responded in short hums and yes. You have no clue what could’ve changed in the short moment. Even right now, as you reach the counter, he doesn't look your way or even respond at all.

“Jungkook, are you listening to me?"

You walk to the front and lay your basket on the counter. Jungkook’s eyes look beyond the horizon. You're about to question what's wrong with him before he speaks.

"Leah..." You look up at him, and when you see him look elsewhere, you follow his vision to the cashier.

Her light pink wavy hair is the first thing you catch. It's long and dances past her chest. Not to be prejudicial, but she definitely fits the aesthetic of someone who'd work in a yarn store or any art-related store, honestly.

As you analyze, you squint your eyes. You know her from somewhere, but you can’t put a finger on it. Wait... did he say Leah?

You thought she moved out of the city to start a business elsewhere. That’s why she and Jungkook broke up, right? You couldn’t be too sure; you were caught up with Yunho during their relationship.

They only dated for what? 8 months. But those months definitely affected Jungkook. You were happy to see him with someone who made him happy; she did that, and when they broke up, it broke him. Even though he was tough around you, you could still tell how affected the man was.

He barely wanted to leave the house or hang out, and honestly, that’s when he got a little bitter towards Yunho, but you let him have it; he was sad. And now, as he stares at her, it’s like all that time of hard work learning to live with it is unraveling.

During that same time, you tried to spend as much time as you could with him, but it's not as good as he does for you now. But to be fair, you were in a relationship by then. And Yunho honestly hated you going over to visit Jungkook; you assume that’s when the insecurities began.

You weren’t too familiar with her, and honestly, you got a vibe that maybe she didn’t like you then. You're not sure.

"Jungkook..." Leah says, equally as shocked to see him here. She knew he still lived in the city, but she thought he’d never step foot into a yarn store, at least that's what he told her when she asked him to go along with her. He was so fussy about it, but it’s shocking to see him here... with you. So easily, she assumes.

She scoffs internally. It still bothers her because he couldn’t admit it.

She moves her eyes away from you to look at the objects you have spread out on the counter. One by one, in a slow, almost deliberate action, she scans each of your objects.

"H-hi. What are you doing here?" Jungkook continues, still in awe of the sight before him. It was a stupid question, but between them, it's deeper than that. She swore that she’d never come back to the city, and if she did, she would tell him. But here she is, back, and he never knew a single thing.

"Working," of course, she's working; that's not what's surprising him...

"I mean in town." You stand there awkwardly, purse in hand, waiting for her to finish scanning the items. There's nothing more awkward than being the one in between the tension.

She doesn’t look up at him, but Jungkook is all she stares at. "Oh, uh... I came back." She continues to scan, and you watch as Jungkook’s jaw clenches. If you thought he was tense before, he’s going to be worse after this.

"And you didn't bother telling me?"

She rolls her eyes when his tone gets tighter. It’s expected; she expects this from him.

"Wasn't necessary, honestly." He can't believe she's still the same. She can’t bother to see how he may be feeling. "You two are..." she points with her eyes at you and Jungkook, and immediately you scoot away from him as not to give the impression she may be having.

"Still friends." You laugh out awkwardly. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

"You're the one getting into crochet, I assume?" Leah's attention is now on you, and you've never swallowed harder. She always had a side-eye for you when she was dating Jungkook, but at that time, she never knew you were in a relationship.

"Yeah." Out of pure nervousness, you begin to bag them on your own. The line isn’t super long, but you assume their conversation and tension are holding up the only counter. "Do you have any suggestions on some beginner stuff to make?" Why do you keep talking... Jungkook watches you pack in a slight awkward panic. He hates when people insinuate you're dating, even though it makes his heart flutter; it makes you pull away from him.

He hates that. Makes him realize he has to keep pretending.

"Sounds great, thanks." Finally, you snatch the plastic bag and turn to Jungkook. "I'll just see myself out. Meet you in the car?" It’s your way of telling him to talk more with her and not worry about you, because you know he is.

"Uhm, headbands are the best, but you could also make some plushies. Granny squares maybe." You nod at each suggestion she gives. You will probably do that; she's the pro.

How weird you bumped into her.

You lean closer to him. "Ask her out." You whisper to him, even though you should’ve just shut your mouth. Jungkook isn’t at odds with the idea; he thought of it. He just wants to talk things out, know why she came back and didn’t tell him.

"Anything else you want to get?" She asks when Jungkook stands awkwardly after you leave.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back?" He continues, even though a queue stands behind him. They don’t fuss, though.

"Somethings are better left alone." She’s the one getting frustrated with this now. "I have customers, Jungkook.” Like he didn’t fucking know.

He breathes out and decides maybe he should end this quicker. When he reaches into his pockets, he finds his keys; he forgot to give them to you. So, you must be standing outside awkwardly. So, he should definitely hurry. “We should grab a coffee or something. To catch up."

"Kook..."

"Just one."

She looks behind him, thinking. "Fine." Just to shut him up, because he won't stop. And she wants to end it; her shop isn’t a place she wants Jungkook to frequent now that he knows about it.

"Nice seeing you..."

"You too."

When Jungkook walks to the car, you’re leaning against it, like he thought you would be. You don’t look as upset as he thought you would, seeing it's hot, and he forgot to give you the keys. You don’t blame him, though; he was too caught up.

"So, did you ask her out?" He nods. As he opens the car, "Good. That's good." You say more to yourself. It’s good for Jungkook to go out with someone or rekindling something. It’s what you’ve been wanting.

When you’re finally settled, you speak first, seeing his lost expression. "Why do you not look good?"

He holds onto the steering wheel but doesn’t drive. "It's just weird seeing her, after so long." He picks at his lip ring, still trying to put his thoughts together. He’s angry that she didn’t tell him, but there’s much more he’s thinking of. "Maybe I missed her."

It's not certain, but it could be. This all interaction was random and not expected; heaven knows what he should be feeling right now.

"Wow, uh, that's good. I'm happy for you." You are. "It's like we're switching. I'm single, and now you're about to get a girlfriend." You lean back into your seat and look forward with a weak smile. Gosh, are you going to be the only single one in the group now?

Jungkook scoffs, bouncing back to his normal self a bit. He turns to look at you. "Who said anything about getting a girlfriend?" He points to the seatbelt, and you’re quick to pulling it over yourself as he does the same. "I just want to talk things out." Just get some questions out of his mind.

"That's how it starts."

"Come on, I'll still be here for you." He reaches to cup your hand in his, an action you're getting more acquainted with and unknowingly wanting more of.

Still, you pull away from him, trying to be playful, but Jungkook takes it as the opposite. He can’t help himself but do so when you won't even look at him.

"Yeah, sure... Let's just go home; I wanna unpack my stuff." You say not sounding as excited as before.

Jungkook groans and moans internally as you wrap yarn around his wrist. The tutorial said you should unwind your yarn and you thought jungkooks wrists would be the best for that. They are, the colour of the yarn looks great in his skin and even though he’s not strict about colours he wears, cause its rare, he makes not to get more of this one.

---

You don’t wrap it tightly but he feels like a prisoner the way you have his arms stretched out. Everytime he tries to relax, your hand is quick to pulling him back in place. He listens. It’s nice to see you passionate at something even though its at the cost of the movement of his arms. He’s happy To see see interest Ed jn something other than a relationship,  he hopes it stays like this, so you can focus 8n yourself.

He smirks watching you items down on yiur tongue too focused on perfectly wrapping the string around his wrists. You switch from biting down on your tongue to on your lips, your lips....

"i'm gonna be your bitch now huh?" He speaks so that he’s thoughts have no room to flourish

You chuckle at the terminology. “Yea. Very much my bitch." You say the last part a little too passionately. As much as he’s down to helping you he doesn’t know how much of this he could endure, the gym has taught him endurance, but this is a new kind of patience. But if it’s helping you he’ll learn to endure. "but if you're lucky you'll get a sweater."

He nods accepting the deal.

"You still want that sewing machine?" Hes voice grows lower, like he’s contemplating on promising what he’s about to promise.

You pause and look up at him wiht a raised brow. "Yeah, but it can wait." You return.

"You know what? "

"What?"

He smiles kissing his teeth not believing he’s about to say what’s he’s about to. "If you stay consistent with crocheting for 3 months, I'll get you one."

You freeze and slowly lift yourself to eat his gaze already on yours. Would he actually? No...jungkook a more well off than you from his stable job but would he actually? Gosh you’d really appreciate that. He’s gotten you gist before but this would be big.

"What a sewing machine?" You repeat in disbelief. "eally?"

"Yeah, if you stay consistent. A birthday gift."

"Now I will." You cheer wiht a determined scoff. You were always planning on staying consistent. Maybe to prove to you jungkook, you can but mainly to yourself. That you didn’t need to depend on anybody but yourself to get you through this.

The familiar tune of his phone pulls you out of your thoughts.

"That should be Jimin. Answer it." You’re about to question why he can’t do it but when you realise...

"Hey Jimin. Gosh I've missed you."

"Missed you too." Jimin replies voice calm but excited to be hearing from you. "I assume you're with jungkook." Seeing that you’re on his phone, yes you are wiht jungkook. Its not unusual for you two to be together right now.

"Hiii." You exclaim when you add willoe to to call trying to match her ecstatic energy when ou add her to the face time call.

"Hi- oh are we interrupting something?" Shes quick to analysing you and jungkook. She has a curiouslook on her dade but it all play. "never took jungkook to be the one getting tied up."

You cringe at the idea and jungkook smile at your reaction.  "Oh no. god no." Jungkook almost takes you defending yourself a little too hard to heart.

"I'm fucking with you." Willoe adds a laugh,

"He's just helping me with crocheting." You explain  like it wasn’t obvious,  wjat else would you be doing wiht yarn,

Jungkook continues to hold his hands out like a sub p, not making the situation anymore explainable. Bur he relishes in the reaction cause you. This time when you smack his arm its for him to put his arms down.

Finally his muscles can relax.

"Ohhh, your crocheting? make me a sweater. "

"Me too. " Willoe follows after. You can’t help but scoff off their requests, how long dot hey think you’ve been doing this. It makes you blush how much they have hope in you.

"Guys, she's not making sweaters for anyone." Jungkook shines in bitterly.

"No. I'm only not making you a sweater."

He scoffs.

"Anyways, guys I can barely make a knot, I won't be able to make a sweater anytime soon. " You return to wrapping  the yarn around his wrist. You’re almost done. "But maybe if I stay consistent, I'll have your Christmas gifts sorted." You never thought about it but crocheting  would make getting your friends gifts easier.

"just don't make it Christmas themed." Jimin jokes and you all laugh.

"noted." You’d want them to actually  want to wear what you make them.

"you can make mine Christmas themed." Yiu side eye jungkook when he speaks trying to warm you up in the idea of making him a sweater. You probably will, if he keeps up wiht those doe eyes.

"shh"

Your focus is now on the screen, jimin and willoe were probably of talking as you bickered wiht jungkook. Tlking and making of yiu two. "It's good you're keeping yourself busy." They try their best to avoid the larger topic. Of course ythwy knew through the group chat and honestly you’re glad they aren’t  bringing it up. You still want to desire desire consistent in crocheting.

"Yeah." You mumble looking down and the shrink ball of yarn.

Jungkook sensing cuts in. "How's the project going jimin."

"My jobs done in a week. The bar restaurant is coming out nice."

"Ooo so will it be open soon?"

"Yeah I think so, the owner's gonna come and check the place out,  then we'll know." You’re  happy that something good is happening  in our friends life."Still has to get furnished though."

"Send some pictures babe."

The call ends and you and Jungkook are back to YouTube. Now you're practicing how to single crochet.

"Will do."

---

You stare at what you've gotten done and its okay. it's only day one, so you can't be too hard on yourself.

Jungkook watches you closely. Watches how you lift the porous cloth to his ceiling lights. The light seeps through and glitters your irises. He watches the way you pout when you look back at the tutorial and yours doesn't look the same. He wants to tell you it looks good, but he'd be lying.

He watches the way you start over and closely and slowly you work.

You're concerned that he's getting bored but he assures you he's not. how can he.

You don't see the way he looks at you and he doesn't realise the way he enjoys it.

“I’m serious about the machine, you know,” he says quietly, voice not teasing this time.

You nod, distracted. “Yeah, I know.”

He watches you play with the yarn, twirling it around your finger, to hook. “I just think... you need something that’s yours.”

“Crochet?” You ask, half-joking, but he's serious.

“No,” he says, eyes not leaving yours. “Something that makes you feel like you again.”

You freeze.

“You haven't been yourself lately.”

You look down at your lap, not trusting your voice. Of course he noticed, but how far has he noticed.

“But,” he adds, softer now, “you’ll figure it out.”

“How do you know?”

You turn to look at him and your eyes meet his.

if Jungkook's back is the mountain, then his eyes are the sun that sets behind it at dusk. The orange, pink and blue in the sky and eventually the deep darkness. How can one person contain so much of nature's beauty and not be a god. It's clear to say you have the most attractive bestfriend. what makes it better is that his attraction goes deeper than his body.

But any girl is blessed to have him as a lover.

He's caring, great listener, he's supportive...you could list it all. The world doesn't own enough stones for you to write down all his good qualities. As much as you admire them, they've never been for you. The type of guys you go for and jungkook are two different people. His qualities make him a good friend and maybe a good boyfriend for somebody. You were never into that. Not that you'd ever think of you and jungkook as more.

You don't think you'd get along as lovers. You like them a little more distant. You don't like knowing much about your lovers. Makes it easier to leave

You're losing your mind.

You love your best friend...truly. As a bestfriend.

“Because you always do.” He encourages.

you always do but it's always with his help.

who helped you find your job? Jungkook. who's helped you through your breakup? Jungkook. who's going to make you cry right now? Jungkook but who's going to the one to hold you and tell you its gonna be okay?...jungkook.

You look at your yarn trying to go back to your project but the conversation's pulling both of you in. You blink any tears away.

Yes you can always do it... but with him. And you hate that. You know its only cause jungkook is the closest friend you have. If you had another friend maybe he wouldn't be so prevalent in your life.

For a second, he looks at you like—Like maybe he’s the one who needs you to figure it out for him. Tell him whatever and that's what it's going to be.

The ball is in your court. It will never be in his.

He checks it, stands. The day is over, night has fallen and he knows the games are over. So, there's no yelling Yoongi could do to irritate Jungkook. “Let me take this.” he stands his hand already set free.

Before you can say anything, his phone buzzes again.

incoming call from Yoongi

You saw the youtuber using a yarn unwinder to hold the yarn, so maybe you can go back to the store and check for that and not bother Jungkook. even though he says otherwise you know this boring for him.

“Okay.”

He heads towards the front door, why does he have to take the call outside?- you ignore it.

He hesitates at the door with his hand on the knob.

“Three months,” he says over his shoulder. With a smile trying to lighten the mood and leave you smiling and not question why he's going downstairs to pick up the phone. “I’m holding you to it.” he points at the yarn.

“Yeah?” you smirk. You will make it to three months.

He turns his head just enough to showyou his teeth. “And if you’re lucky—maybe I’ll get you something else.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

🥊

taglist: @jksusawife @mother2monsters @gimeow @nikkinikj @jxeonlux @7thsthings @erisuna @kookietkk @revolutionbreez @kookiesncreamri @notsevenwithyou

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So what you think? Let's discuss in the replies.📩

Also what are you guy's hobbies? I'd love to know❤. (Of course mine is writing, reading and art.)

A/n: I'm becoming in love with these two only, if you knew what I have planned. I hope I keep writing and you keep reading and supporting. I appreciate all of you.

All positive reblogs and replies are appreciated. Thanks 😊

If you want to join the taglist just ask.☺

[madabapf]

Hell, I know what I sign up when I vote "yes" and I freaking LOVE it!!! Love the pain💕

Part of me want to slap Macaque and make him sit and actually LISTEN to Wukong's explainition for ONCE. Okay I understand him okay. Spending night with someone you still love and STILL hopping to be love by them is hurt. I get it. It's heart breaking to think it's a mistake. To have a hope and to feel it being crush in front you. The wish to run away from problem and never face it again and just forget. Forget the pain.

But fuck having six ears mean nothing if you dont listen 😭. No one listening to my boy, Wukong 🥲 always being told wrong and shutted down.

I dont blame Wukong for saying that is mistake. Because it is. They both drunk and not actually in right mind. They both dont actually have consent. Wukong being scare is understand. He scare that he the one create the damage even more of the relationship he have. They didnt suppose to do that. They not even together. What even are they? Friend? Maybe.. even that it's not clear. It's wrong for them to do it. Wukong the same tho he want to run, he's panic. To leave and pretend everything just a hunting dream and that he didnt do mistake and ruin staff they have now.

Both monkey have communication problem with one not knowing how to explain staff through word and one is scare to listen.

Anyway love the comic and the story!! Your art is amazing 💕

"having six ears means nothing if you don't listen" 😭 lmao i love that-

the thing with macaque is, he is an extremely insecure person.(at least how i like to write him) he won't admit it of course, but if he feels something bad is gonna happen to him, even the slightest confirmation will make him spiral, and then there's nothing that can stop it. because for him everything said after that will either drive his point further, or is only to "deescalate the situation" and not sincere.

wukong is semi aware of that which is why he wanted to find an excuse to buy time so he could carefully think about the words he was gonna use.. but putting on full glamour while obviously lying to get out of a situation was not exactly the best way to start this-

sorry for rambling i just love writing for these idiots, they're so perfectly imperfect

you pretty much hit the nail on the head with your observation

at the end of the day, they're both not ready to confront all these feelings, they're still scared to hurt the other and get hurt themselves and they need a loooooot of practice when it comes to communication-

i'm really glad you enjoyed it! :D thank you so much!!