#seeing him live was a life long dream come true!!

[pankowblues]

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: rafe suspiring you with tickets to germany but you're not sure if you can accept it but he reassures you

warning: nothing I think

word count: —

a/n: 2nd story about germany also sorry for not being so active my life is kinda in a really bad stage

You wake up with the same gnawing feeling that's been your unwelcome companion for months now. The room is dim, the shadows playing hide and seek with the early morning light that filters through the dusty blinds. Your alarm clock blinks the time - 6:30 AM - and you groan, rolling out of bed. You, a young woman with dreams as vast as the oceans but a wallet as thin as a single sheet of paper.

"Another day," you murmur to yourself, trying to shake off the heaviness. Your thoughts drift to Germany, a place you've always longed to visit. The vibrant culture, the rich history, the mouthwatering food - a world away from the dull routine of your small town. You've talked to Rafe Cameron about it often, your eyes lighting up with every detail you share. He's a good listener, always nodding along, his eyes reflecting the same enthusiasm you feel. But it's just talk, right? A poor girl like you going to Germany is as likely as winning the lottery.

You drag yourself to the kitchen, the scent of yesterday's dinner lingering in the air. As you boil water for instant coffee, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness. Rafe's life is so different from yours. His pockets are lined with opportunities and wealth, while you're scraping by, working two jobs just to make ends meet. You sigh, pouring the hot water into a mug. "It's not fair," you murmur to the empty room. But life rarely is.

The doorbell rings, jolting you out of your thoughts. You wipe your hands on a dishtowel and head to the door. Standing there, with the sun casting a halo around his head, is Rafe. He holds out a small envelope with your name scribbled on it. "What's this?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed. He smiles, a twinkle in his eye. "Open it," he says, stepping inside.

You do, and your heart skips a beat. Two airline tickets to Berlin stare back at you. "Rafe," you protest, "I can't let you do this." But he cuts you off, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "You've talked about this for so long. It's time for you to stop dreaming and start living." His voice is firm, but the concern etched on his face tells you he knows your fears. You look at the tickets again, feeling the weight of his gesture. It's tempting to give in, to let him make your dreams come true.

But you don't want to be that girl. The one who needs a knight in shining armor to pay her way. You've worked hard for every penny you have, and you've always prided yourself on your independence. You hand the envelope back to him. "I appreciate it, really. But I can't." His smile fades, and you see the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "You don't get it," you continue, "I need to do this on my own."

Rafe sighs, taking the envelope back. He sits down at your small kitchen table, gesturing for you to join him. "Look," he says, his tone softer now, "I know you're independent, and that's one of the things I admire most about you. But let's be real, if you keep working two jobs, saving every penny, you might not get there for another five years. I'm not trying to be your savior. I just want to give you a hand."

You nod, his words resonating deep within you. The allure of Germany is too strong, the promise of adventure too tantalizing. But the practicalities of your life are screaming at you. "What about my job?" you ask, worry creasing your brow. "I can't just leave. I need the money."

Rafe's expression turns understanding. He knew this would be your next concern. "Don't worry about that," he says, his voice a gentle assurance. "I've got it covered. You can take the time off without stressing." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a second envelope, placing it on the table between you. "This should cover your expenses while you're gone. I don't want you to miss out because of a job."

You stare at the envelopes, feeling torn. The thought of being in Rafe's debt is uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes that are just a size too small. You've always been the one to stand on your own two feet, and the idea of someone else carrying the financial burden of your dreams is foreign. "But how can I pay you back?" you ask, your voice small.

Rafe leans back in the chair, his gaze never leaving yours. "You don't have to pay me back," he says, his voice firm but kind. "Consider it an early birthday gift, or an investment in our relationship. Whatever makes you feel better."

You chew on your bottom lip, weighing his words. An investment in your relationship? That's a new angle. You look into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you find is earnestness. He really does want you to go. The idea of letting someone else take care of you, especially someone like Rafe, is both terrifying and exhilarating. You've always been so used to being the one in control, the one who makes things happen.

He must see the indecision on your face because he reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know it's hard to accept help," he says, his thumb tracing circles on your knuckles. "But sometimes, you just have to let people in. Let them be there for you." His grip tightens slightly, as if willing you to understand.

You sit in silence for a moment, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound in the room. The envelopes seem to pulse with the rhythm of your racing heart, the promise of escape and adventure just within your grasp. Finally, you take a deep breath. "Okay," you murmur, feeling a knot in your stomach loosen slightly. "I'll go."

Rafe's smile is immediate and genuine, lighting up his whole face. "That's the spirit," he says, standing up and pulling you into a warm embrace. You can feel his excitement, his enthusiasm for you, for this trip, for what it could mean for the two of you. And for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can do this.

taglist: @rafecameroncoke, @0xstarzx0 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @v4mqvs , @aariahnaa, @congratsloserr

[cartoonradfem]

no like... fr.

[hanasnx]

“ I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN’ YOU ” — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ suggestive content ノ sexual content: naughty daydreams about pussy eating, nipple play, and groping; masturbation; voyeurism.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” Those six words—six—have defined your relationship with your husband, LOGAN HOWLETT. There’s a great protector in him, this compulsion to mentor and house within him that stretches far beyond his own needs. You fall within that range, and as soon as you met him you latched onto him. It didn’t take long at all before your imprint was reciprocated. Now he thinks of you first in everything he does.

He may not always look it, but you’re a factor in all his decisions. Settling down, nabbing a good job—one that didn’t ask for his background—was all to put you up in a house in the mountains. Far away from civilization, an ivory tower made up of wood he cut himself, surrounded by acres of nature. He’s always thought of himself a hair on the wild side, somehow you tame that down. It’s good, he tells himself, you and him.

It’s a partnership, and all he wants out of you is your safety. He likes you where he can keep an eye on you, make sure you stay out of trouble, make sure you’re comfortable.

You wish you could explain just why he thinks he has to protect you, why he married you, why he pays all the bills and expects nothing in return. You wish you could explain just why this relationship comprises all facets of a real marriage except for intimacy.

Logan won’t touch you. You’ll eat off each other’s utensils, fall asleep on his chest on the couch watching a movie—hell, he’ll reluctantly incline in your direction with a roll of his eyes to let you peck his cheek good-bye when he leaves for work. Yet, he won’t even kiss you. Even before he married you, there wasn’t so much as a grope or a stray look.

There’s home in Logan. You live to please him. You’ll cook him whatever he wants, keep the house he built for you clean as a whistle, you’ll spend all your free time with him, grab him his nightly beer and light his cigar so he stays content—but you’ve never even seen him naked. You doubt you ever will. Regardless, you stay, you can’t imagine leaving this life, leaving him.

It’s defied your expectations the fairy-tales of your childhood gave you. Your knight in shining armor rescued you, yet refuses to plant even true love’s kiss. When you’d matured, you’d fantasized about an insatiable husband that found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Logan’s never looked at you that way, even though he calls you his wife without hesitation, married you without a second thought.

“Is it because I’m younger than you? I’m only in my early twenties. That’s not a big deal!” you’ve reasoned with him, but he still treats you like you’re naive. He must want passion, you’re sure of that. Why else are you young and beautiful if not to take advantage of it while you still can? Just once you’d like to see him yearn for you, to show lack of restraint, to come home one day so hungry for you that you don’t make it out of the kitchen.

Those claws… those deadly metal claws… you wish he’d use them in fantastical and deviant ways. Just one would glide through your nighty like sheet paper, bareing you to your husband—a sight for him only. You lie awake next to him at night, envisioning raunchy dreams of him proudly boasting the size difference between you two, demonstrating his sheer raw strength by overpowering you and taking what he wants from you. You’ve run your fingers delicately over his lips and the rough pad of his shaved chin, but you can’t imagine just how good it’d feel against your tit, swirling his hot tongue around your perked nipple while his callused digits pinch the other. You can pretend his head is ducking between your thighs, the sensation of his soft hair tickling your skin and tangling in your fingers as his masculine jaw scratches the fragile tissue of your pussy. As starved as you are, even discomfort like that is enough to make you moan into your palm, only to check over your shoulder to make sure you still hear your husband’s snoring.

You steel yourself at the noise, the low rumbling of his sleep cautions you to stay quiet but to proceed nonetheless. Your hand creeps down your neck, your chest, your stomach… You really should leave the room, but you’d risk waking him up for real at the sound of the door. Instead, you fuck yourself yet again, the soft rocking of the mattress as you hump your own hand filling the ears of your kindhearted husband—who’s been awake this whole time.

[ckret2]

I've seen some folks saying that the reference to The Great Gatsby in TBOB was just a joke Alex didn't put deeper meaning into—which might be true, IDK the man's motives for choosing Gatsby specifically—and that there's no way the book has any deeper relevance to Bill's character beyond the eye doctor thing—which is totally wrong. Whether or not Alex intended parallels, there ARE parallels. So, for those of you who didn't read or didn't pay attention to The Great Gatsby:

the book's about a guy who started out as an unimportant loser with starry-eyed dreams, who very quickly gained a lot of power/gold and now presents himself as this dapper fancy well-dressed super important guy.

He constantly throws huge parties, he's got a reputation for being THE party host. But it's a sham, he's pouring all these resources into this party to make himself look so cool but he's living at the very edge of his means.

He lies about his history, lies about how he got his money (spoilers: he's a criminal), lies even in how he presents his personality—he's a con artist, he's always wearing a mask.

The reason he's doing all this—putting on the mask, making himself look so great—is because he's trying to reach across this very thin boundary to a better life he can see, JUST out of reach, so close but something he's never quite clever enough and rich enough and persuasive enough to reach. Every night at his parties he stares at his goal, he can LITERALLY SEE it, he just can't reach it himself.

The best he can do is briefly charm and dazzle someone on the other side of this social boundary, but he can never quite persuade that person to help him cross over; in fact no one on the other side of the boundary thinks he has a right to cross it.

He finds somebody—the guy narrating the book about him—who's very lonely, socially awkward, and disillusioned, whom he can easily awe with his stories and persuade to help him reach his goal, come on please, it'll be harmless! (It is not harmless.)

He loses control over the act he's putting on and over the people who only follow him around as long as he's still got the resources to keep them entertained and loyal.

It ends with him getting murdered by a guy he has LITERALLY never met before—by which point everyone has realized that he's a nobody making it all up as he goes along who was just desperately chasing the illusion of a good life and the admiration of everyone around him.

The narrator ends up disillusioned with him and the whole culture around him of grasping and clawing for a glitzy glamorous life at the expense of the regular people who are manipulated, trampled, and discarded in the process.

Now tell me that Gatsby doesn't have any parallels to Bill's character. And this is just based off reading the book a decade ago—there's probably tons of little details I don't even remember. The book may well have been chosen as a coincidence, it did recently hit the public domain. But if so, it's a VERY GOOD coincidence.

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

Hi can we please have fluff w Aventurine where reader and him reunite after 2. 1 and just fucking elope start a new life etc? Please I need it.

God yes. This is what we all need after 2.1. I'm aware he is in a coma-like state technically now but for the sake of fluff and this headcanon he is awake from that coma and is now reuniting with you. CW: Spoilers for 2.1 and Aventurines actual name, starts angsty but then turns fluffy, Gn reader, pre established relationship hurt/comfort

I am still accepting requests (especially for aven) btw so if you wanna see something send it in!

Back in your arms

You had lost track of how long it was since Aventurine left for his mission in Penacony. Has it been 2 months? No, probably more. It had been months since you last had been able to make contact with him. Your messages no longer went through, unable to be sent.

Looking at your textlog and scrolling up, you came across the last message he had sent you. It had come in while you were asleep, and it simply read “I love you”.

Waking up to that message would have been a sweet message for most people, but for you it had made you immensely worried.

 Aventurine was never someone who professed his love openly, so such messages were quite rare. Receiving such a message, especially unprompted, made you send him a barricade of texts, none of which went through and even now months later none were able to be sent.

If you were honest you were starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again, who knows what happened in Penacony after all? He could be…dead for all you knew, you had no way to verify whether that was true or not after all. 

You tried continuing your life on as you would normally, what else could you do? It was hard though, everyday you missed him more and more. Sometimes you imagined his face in a crowd somewhere but whenever you would take a closer look he would vanish.

Sighing you closed your phone and looked around your apartment, it felt so liveless ever since Aventurine was gone. Tears were falling down your eyes as you wondered how much longer you had to live with the uncertainty of where he was and if he was even alive.

Exhaustion was taking over as you began falling asleep. A common occurrence nowadays, since at night you were restless, unable to fall asleep as you worried. Just as you were beginning to fully doze off, you heard the door to your apartment open, immediately waking up.

No one but you and Aventurine had the key, and with him being absent panic coursed through you thinking someone was breaking and entering. You grabbed the nearest heavy thing to defend yourself with.

“For fucks sake…” You muttered as you made your way to where the noises were coming from. Cursing every entity out there for piling even more shit onto you as if your significant other being possibly dead wasn’t enough.

Readying your weapon (probably a heavy book) you stepped foot into the room where the noise was coming from ready to attack and hit the intruder. But once you saw who it was that was in your appartment, you dropped your makeshift weapon, a sob escaping your mouth.

Before you stood Aventurine, alive and breathing. You rubbed your eyes, making sure that this wasn’t your mind playing a cruel trick on you again. Aventurine watched you with a smirk on his, albeit very exhausted looking, face and his eyes held a new found softness you had never seen before.

You fell into his arms immediately, holding him tightly against your body, feeling his warmth. Desperately you grabbed at his clothes as you held on to him, scared this was all just a dream and you would wake up all alone once again. Tears were falling from your eyes, unable to hold them back, the relief washing over you making you let out all of your emotions.

“Wow you missed me that much?” He asked, in his usual teasing tone. Though there was something in his voice that usually wasn’t there. Desperation and a bit of fear. Was he afraid you wouldn’t have missed him? Or was there a deeper reason for it?

Moving away from the hug you grabbed his face in your hands, the tears still falling from your eyes as you took a good look at him. His face had fallen in, and he seemed exhausted. But there was also something in his eyes, his beautiful eyes you were so sure you would never see again, that you couldn’t recognize, having never seen it on him before.

Before you spoke your first words to him, you pulled his face closer and gently kissed him. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like you were floating in heaven. They may have been more chapped than usual, but fuck was it nice to feel him again.  Breaking the kiss you finally were able to muster up your first words to him.

“Fuck…I was so worried about you…I…When my messages stopped being able to sent I was…so sure you…Please…never worry me like that again Aventurine…”

You leaned your forehead against his, your words jumbled together from the adrenaline coursing through you.

He took in a deep breath, and held it for a moment before letting it out. A gesture you saw in many people before they needed to say something important and heavy, but one you never saw in your lover.

“...Kakavasha…” His voice seemed unsure and meek as he spoke. 

You, of course, had no idea what he was saying, so you looked into his eyes confused.

“Wha-”

“Kakavasha…it is…my given name. The one my mother gave me” He inhaled deeply before he continued.

“It is a long story but the short version is…I am no longer affiliated with the IPC, they probably think I died or something. So I no longer go by Aventurine, and…with how close we are and how much you mean to me. I felt like it was appropriate for you to know my true name...”

His eyes refused to look at you, flickering about unsurely as he spoke. Though he tried to sound confident, his voice wavered, scared that you would not accept him for who he truly was and reject his true self.

You looked at him gently and with all the love you had for him, gently pulling him close again and kissing his nose.

“Well then…It is nice to meet you Kakavasha…” You smiled brightly at him, showing him you accepted him as he was.

He felt relief course through his body and could not help himself but pull you into a passionate kiss. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive. As if he would die without you.

Breaking the kiss he whispered “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question but a request. One that you were too stunned to answer to, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I mean it. Let’s get married, run away from everything and start a new life just you and me.”

His eyes were pleading with you to agree. He knew that he wanted to start over, but he knew he needed you with him.

“...yes!!” You once again fell into his arms and kissed him. The two of you holding each other so closely it was as if you were one.

Kakavasha knew that he would need to tell you everything that happened in Penacony at one point, even the part where he tried to end his life. But he knew that if he explained everything to you, you would still stay by his side and be with him. 

You were his family after all.

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Blind Gojo adjusting to his new life…

The fight against Sukuna took a lot from everybody. With everyone making sacrifices, it was only right Satoru did too. He wanted to win, he was the strongest right? He had to win, no matter what. Losing the six eyes was just the mere cost of winning the battle. It was worth it right?

Satoru believed he didn’t deserve to live, but he had too now for everyone who died. Ultimately, deciding to now live his life as Satoru Gojo and not "the strongest” anymore. Losing the six eyes initially lead to frustration and anger, as he tried to adjust to being blind. He felt useless for a while, not being as efficient as he was. But over time, this loss lead to his personal growth. Gojo developed a deeper sense of humility and empathy for others, finally understanding the struggles of those who are not as gifted as he once was.

It wasn’t until he met you that he started to feel a sense of normalcy. And here he was at almost 30 learning how to live as a human for the first time. You taught him what true genuine love was and you patiently taught him how to reciprocate it back to you. He learned how to express his feelings to you instead of bottling them up inside. You created a safe space for him where he could unveil the true side of himself. Trust and intimacy forming between you two. Both of you navigating the complexities of loving each other.

He also didn’t know exactly what you looked like, not that he cared. His other senses were still in top shape and keen allies to him. That’s why his hands are always on you, he could feel you. Feeling the warmth of your body against his fingertips, large cold hands always coming to your face. He liked tracing your bone structure with the pads of his fingers, caressing your cheeks, and especially savoring your lips against his own. With each caress, he discovered new assets of your beauty, not defined by your visual appearance but by the sensations that awakened within him.

He could also smell your scent. He knows when you walk into a room when the sweetness of your perfume fills his nostrils, causing it to twitch like a bunny. He buries his nose into your hair because he loves the fresh fragrance of your shampoo. He loves when you bake him all his favorite sweets, the aroma of brown sugar lingering on you makes you smell even sweeter.

The sound of your voice. Satoru could never get tired of it. For once in his life, Satoru found himself not being the talkative one in a relationship. He cherished all the words that would leave your lips, each word a symphony to his ears. In the mornings Satoru would always lay in bed until you woke up waiting for the sound of your voice to be the first thing he heard each day.

All these aspects combined Satoru knew he was finally living the life he finally dreamed of. Every touch, every word, every moment was filling his deepest desires. In your presence, he found the reason why he deserved to live. He found peace and joy, a sense of completeness that he had long yearned for all in one person.

Even though he couldn't see anymore he felt things he didn’t before. He made up his mind that he didn't want to waste any more time. Satoru was now certain that his blindness didn’t stop his ability to love or to commit fully to you and he was more than grateful that you showed him that. It wasn’t long before you both decided to marry.

“She’s perfect…” you utter softly, handing the baby gently into an anxious Satoru’s arms. He cradles the baby just like you taught him, careful to not get too excited and accidentally hurt her. The baby babbles as she feels the comforting warmth of her father.

“The little sounds she makes are my favorite thing to hear,” he says, poking the baby’s cheek. “Describe her again to me, will you?” Satoru looks up from the baby, trying to decipher where you were.

You walk over to join him on the couch. “Of course, she has your beautiful blue eyes…” You noticed Satoru smiling, still holding his daughter close to him. “And your white hair…” you continue, Satoru’s finger coming up to her head, feeling the softness in her hair.

You describe every detail you could about the little baby to Satoru. You tell him about how her eyes seem to gaze into his soul full of love, and the way her tiny nose wrinkles when she sleeps just like his. A lone tear falls down Satoru's face, filled with heartache knowing that he will never be able to see her with his own eyes.

In that vulnerable moment, you hold Satoru close, letting him know that you were there. He smiles at you as he feels your touch, sniffling. There was determination in Satoru’s eyes. He was going to cherish every moment with his family.

"I'll be there for both of you," Satoru whispers, his voice filled with quiet resolve. His words carry a promise.

Thank you @suguwife for this lovely idea and the discord server as well!

[simpforsolas]

Do you ever think about how In Hushed Whispers, we wake up in this dystopian future and our immediate goal is to use magic to find a way back to the world as we knew it? We came across companions who had lived and suffered in this timeline for a year; indeed, it was their reality. Yet while we could relate to them and have compassion for them, and seek to help and comfort them as best we could, when they died it wasn't heartbreaking because to us, they weren't real. To us, it was nothing more than a nightmare of a world that had manifested in the blink of an eye.

Do you ever think about how modern Thedas is no more real to Solas than the alternate, dystopian future was to us? He woke up after thousands of years to find an unrecognizable world filled with oppression and magical imbalance, where the elves he sought to liberate now inhabit the lowest position in society as either slaves, servants, or in poverty. It isn't simply that the world isn't valuable as it is. It's that the world does not feel real. The people in it are disconnected from the fade and so to him, they feel like tranquil. And yet despite this world seeming no more real than a bad dream, Solas still cares about the people in it. He always approves of taking time to help out strangers, and enjoys discussing with the other companions to learn their perspectives and even encourages them during particularly difficult times (such as Cassandra's loyalty crisis with the seekers or Iron Bull abandoning the Qun). He dislikes violence and decisions that take away peoples' freedom. Even though this world isn't fully real to him, he still feels compassion for the people living in it.

And if the inquisitor comes to see him as a true friend or, Maker forbid, falls in love with him, the illusion snaps. The present is no longer a nightmarish dream world. It is real, and the people in it are real. But... so is the world he came from. The memories of that time are still fresh, no more than a couple years in the past to him. They are closer to him than memories of the COVID pandemic are to us. He can surely still remember vividly the taste of foods long gone, the beauty of magic-imbued cities, and the vibrant life of a civilization that was never separated from the fade--which is the way the world was natural designed to be.

This beautiful world that has become lost to time, that exists only his memory, fell because of him. Only he has the power to fix what he broke. But how can he make that choice, when the once dystopian dreamworld becomes just as real as the world he feels duty-bound to restore?

[dawnwriterimagines]

September Morning

LOGAN HOWLETT X FEM!READER LAURA KINNEY X PLATONIC!READER

Summary: Recalling the last day he'd held you.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

September.

A September morning it had been.

He remembers the sudden change of pace in the mansion, the school year was starting, students would be lining up in the halls for the start of the semester.

You had been so looking forward to returning to teaching, to your students.

Planning and setting up a curriculum, a classroom, that they'd never get to see.

It was a September morning...

Logan had kissed you that morning.

But, not in the way he should've. Not in the way he wished he had.

It was swift, a tight-lipped peck on the forehead per your bitter request. You had to practically beg him to show you a hint of romance these days, he'd been pulling himself away from you at the time. Feigning uninterest in your relationship, in you.

But, it hadn't been true.

His feelings for you could never be explained in words, 'Love' felt too simple, too modest, so he never said it. But, that had been it. He was in love, devastatingly so. Night and Day. Dreams and daydreams. Even his nightmares, spiraling images of mayhem that would silence with your presence. Every thought, every moment, every breath seemed to be dedicated just to you.

And it made the future a terror in his mind.

He's lived decades, over a century, through wars, torture, plagues and lovers. Nothing in his life ever lasted, especially nothing good.

Though this was his longest relationship, and you shared a healing factor that contributed to you living since the 1890s while appearing as a woman in her late 20s. Naturally, he looked forward to many more years with you, decades and decades of breathless love, a hundred lifetimes.

But, Logan was a disease. A plague on anything good that came his way. One day, he'd always come to destroy the beautiful things he loved so much.

And he didn't want that to be you.

So, thinking it was the best thing for you, for the both of them in the long run, he slowly, agonizingly stretched the bonds of your relationship. He stopped kissing you unless you asked, stopped touching you unless you begged, stopped eating with you at breakfast, stopped embracing you, indulging you, loving you in the way you needed. He stopped everything, but slowly, so slowly.

Logan couldn't help himself, he wanted it all to last. But, it couldn't.

When he caught himself slipping, staring at you a little too long, kissing you a bit too fiercely, he'd curse himself. Dig his claws into his skin, piercing the flesh and tearing a scream from his lungs.

It was to protect you.

His feelings couldn't get in the way of you being safe from him. From the bad luck that followed him up from hell, that clung to his form and wrapped around anything to close.

It was a September morning when he was confronted by you.

"Logan," you took his wrist as he tried to part from you. "What's wrong?" you wondered, sadly.

He doesn't turn to face you, keeping his eye on the bedroom door, leaving you, he had to leave. If he stayed any longer... "Don't do this again, nothing's wrong."

"Of course, there is," you pulled at his hand, trying to pull him back. Back to you. "There's been something wrong for a long while, just tell me. Tell me and we can figure it out."

"Tell you what?" Logan coldly glanced back at you. "Haven't I told you enough?"

"You haven't told me anything," you frowned, staring right back. "This, whatever you're doing, isn't saying anything. I don't want you to walk away. I need you to talk to me."

He rips his wrist from your grip, forcefully, turning fully to face you, nostrils flaring but it doesn't faze you. You've handled the wolverine's temper before, hell your relationship used to be malicious before it became romantic. "Then you must be deaf," he says. "I think I've been more than clear. Any person with sense would've gotten it by now. Or maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

"Don't do that," Jaw tensing, your eyes narrow at your lover. "Don't be a child. Just say it. Tell me how you feel instead of pushing me away to make it easier on yourself."

"If you don't know by now," he spoke, he took a breath as he struggled to say much else. "I haven't been showing you clearly."

At that, you quiet a bit. Eyes flickering around his face for the truth, face falling, hurt evident in your expression, his heart hurts at the look, but he masks his agony as best as he knows.

Logan was physically stiffening up, fists clenched up, jaw clicking, he wasn't ready to confront this with you. He never even wanted it to end, he thought it'd be easier. So, he doesn't say anything, fighting with himself, expression twisting with his rampant thoughts.

"Logan," your painful expression nearly breaks him. You open your mouth, but your words come out in a stuttered whisper before falling quiet again. You're lost, confused.

"I don't understand. I...I thought we'd...found each other. Didn't we? Find each other," you murmured. "In all this pain, and grief, I found you, Logan..." the crack in your voice makes him turn away, a grimace along his face, a wince at your words.

Though you hadn't lived as long as him, you'd faced a century of hardship, decades of loneliness, death and vulnerability, you'd known no concept of safety until the X-Men. Until him.

Found through the rubble, you'd pulled each other out of, it was easy to fall in love. Promises of forever and beyond even that. Promises of together through the end of time, through the end of the world. Logan Howlett had confessed his love a thousand times over without saying a word, and you'd believed him like he held every precious ounce of trust in his hands.

You take his hand now, your eyes filling with tears as he stayed silent, your thumb running along his knuckles, he lets you. "Tell me you found me," as you cried, he takes your face in his hands, bridging the gap between you. Your first tear runs down his fingers, he wipes them away. "Tell me you love me..."

Logan Howlett speaks a truth he's regretted throughout his life afterwards, a moment that would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. "Have I ever before?" he wondered simply.

Instantly you're out of his arms, stumbling back away as if he'd burned you. Your eyes are wide, they dart away from him, your shoulders dropping as you come to the terrible conclusion, he was right. Logan had never said he'd loved you.

Logan's eyes burn, his fingers curling in on themselves and his chest hurts too much to take a breath. He wants to take it all back. Beg on his knees for forgiveness. He'd do anything. Jump through fire, fall in a pit of snakes, fight an army, snatch as many souls from hell that he needed to get back into your arms.

But, this was the plan. This was how it had to be.

Every word meant to sting, to burn and brandish you in a way that destroys your love for Logan Howlett.

Pulling himself away from this room before he can face your tears for another moment, he turns the knob to the door, opening and closing it behind him.

Stomping down the hallway, fighting every step as he could smell, hear, practically taste the sobs that tore from your throat as he leaves.

He nearly collapses as he takes the corner, his hand pressing into the side wall to steady himself. His heart in his ears, breathing harshly as his eyes redden and sting with unshed tears.

"Logan?" Scott sounds from behind him, questioning. "Everything alright?"

His rival, his friend, puts his hand on his shoulder, but it's shrugged off immediately. "Fine," Logan says without turning. Continuing down the hallway and away from him.

Scott makes a face, confused, before turning to Jean, who follows him out of their room. She notices Logan turning the next corner down to the stairs, "What's going on?"

"No idea," Scott sighs. "Just Logan being his usual self."

At the sound of a motorcycle driving away from the driveway, he glances out of the side window of the manor, frowning deeply as he watches Logan speed away.

Jean hums, amused. "Surprised?"

"Never," Scott says, before perking up as he hears your crying down the hallway. "Or maybe I am. Is that (y/n)?"

Jean's face falls, she steps out into the hall, walking slowly over to your room. Your crying louder this time, she rushes over to the room. "(Y/n)!" she knocks hurriedly, before bursting inside. Holding you instantly as you collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face, you hiccup, allowing Jean to hold you tight. "Hey, hey, what happened, what's going on?"

Scott comes up to the open doorway, confused, worried. But, he opts for giving the women their privacy, closing the door a crack, before reaching for his phone and texting Logan.

This was unlike Logan. Well, upsetting you was unlike him, not being an asshole, that was completely like him.

But, he knew how much Logan loved you, never saying so much as a tease that would indirectly upset you. Logan was smitten for years, unable to even put his feelings into words without going flustered. Something was wrong.

Angrily typing, Scott sends the text to his teammate, before perking up in surprise as a subtle beep rings out in the hall. He walks around the corner, down the hallway, and notices a phone laying on the edge of the steps, Logan's phone. He frowns. "Shit."

He sighs then, walking back around the hall. Running into Ororo, the weather goddess's brows are furrowed in worry. "What's going on with Logan? He looked upset, what happened?"

"You should see (Y/n)," Scott breathes, disappointed. Ororo's eyes widen at the news. "I've never seen them like this."

"Oh my," she frowns, before a streak of light passes by the window, nearly blinding them both.

"Jeez, what the hell," Scott turns, putting his hand up as the light gets brighter. Is that the afternoon sun?

But, it's not the sun. It's humming...like metal vibrating against the glass.

The light eases and the two mutants stare in horror. A sentinel, giant in size, it's eye peaking into the X-Manor, it's glowing red eye catching sight of the two of them immediately.

"SCOTT!" Jean screams.

He and Ororo spin around as a beam of light tears through the hallway, through the walls, through the glass. Tearing apart the building as a rush of power obliterates everything, a green blast of fiery energy coursing through the bricks.

"JEAN!" Scott bellows. "(Y/N)!"

You, with Jean in tow in your arms, flying through the chaos, dirt and scorching heat searing through your skin, having narrowly avoided the beam. Jean casting a telepathic shield as you both ram through the side wall and away from the sentinel shooting from the northside of the building. "Go, go, go!"

Ororo takes Scott's hand, the two of them lifted by the winds and hurtling out of the window as the radiating beam tears through where they were last standing.

Jean and you following, a sentinel chasing after the two of you, you glance backwards as you force gravity to propel you forwards and towards the tree line. Your swollen eyes widen in horror as the chest of a sentinel pops open, falling down to meet you and Jean. The metal tendrils bursting through and wrapping around your ankle, quickly you let go of a surprised Jean.

She screams as she falls before hurriedly catching herself, as she carefully lands on the grass below, rolling down to safety. A dirty smear of soot along her face, she looks up, watching to her terror as you're swallowed inside of a sentinel, it's tendrils wrapping around your body and pulling you inside of it's trap.

You scream as the doors slam shut, hand extending outwards. Out towards the road, out towards Logan.

Jean's hands immediately rise upwards, desperately, "No, no!" she cries, but then the inside becomes engulfed in flames, you scream in agony in the air as your prison of metal suffocates you in a sudden rush of fire. "NOOO!" Jean screams, the violent light of a burning flame fills her eyes as she sobs out in horror.

The sentinel crashes downwards toward the far tree line with you buried in its casket, Jean's telepathic pull interrupted at the sheer weight of it's fall. She rushes down, running desperately, but the northside sentinel crashes down in front of her, it's beam of light rushing down on her.

Ororo with tears in her angry eyes pulls the winds down and towards Jean, pushing her out of the way of the lethal attack. She then pulls lightning from the sky, storm clouds rolling in, rain falling from them, a sudden strike of electricity collides with the large sentinel. It jerks, it's metal shuddering and loosening, but it then turns to her, it's beam whistling through the air.

She flies up, avoiding it. Then past the sentinel, pulling lightning from the clouds, she desperately strikes at the sentinel balled up by the tree line that burns with fire with you inside. With a cry, she brings it down, splintering its shell. But then, before her eyes, the metal changes in texture, from a dented metal, to a rocky surface of stone.

Fire spills out, and she can hear your weakened vocals crying for help.

Ororo wails like a vengeful spirit, bringing down the wrath of the storm down on the shield of the sentinel. But, without warning, a large hand of a sentinel swings toward her, knocking the weather goddess out of the sky. "Ah!"

Scott rips his glasses off his face, beams of concussive force springing from them and knocking the giant robot back a few feet, it's hand coming up to block the attach. The beam wearing down on it's metal, but it comes closer and closer.

With a rageful cry, his beams become larger, nearly covering the giant being, it stumbles back, the ground rumbling with each forced step back.

Jean lifts herself up, a telepathic push shoving the sentinel over before it can restart its beam to attack Scott. "Rah!" the sentinel lands on its back, nearly blowing them all back with the force of it.

As the sentinel falls, the rest of the X-Men emerge from the manor, Hank and Charles guiding the students out of the building and towards the field, away from the chaos.

Without wasting a second, the X-Men rush down the tree line, to the sentinel that's captured you, no noise escapes the trap. Jean telepathically tears into the metal, the sentinel's regenerative body fighting against her wishes. Forcing the metal to open, a terrible heat pouring out of the cracks, no one can get close enough, your crumbling hand falling out limply.

Jean screams.

Ororo cries. "No!"

Scott curses, hands coming up and over his head, horrified. "Oh God!"

Another streak of light tears through the field, rushing up towards them all this time, a violent beam of energy destroying everything. They turn, but it's too late.

---

Logan turns his glass, watching as the liquid swishes and shifts with every move.

Sitting in a local pub in the city, he sighed heavily to himself. He can't stop thinking of your face, how you looked when he said all those things, when he gave you lives that he'd forced you to believe.

He beats his forehead with his fist, grimacing miserably, as he sat there, taking another swig of his beer. "Fucking idiot," he curses himself.

Why did he have to ruin that? Every good thing. Ruined.

Why did he have to do this to himself?

What kind of joke was his life? This one thing. He couldn't just have this one thing...

No. He remembered. He couldn't.

He took another drink, waiting for the kick. He sighs at the burn in his throat that he waits to numb his thoughts to silence.

Against his better judgement, Logan takes out his wallet, realizing he'd forgotten his phone. He opens it, eyes softening at the picture of you he kept there, pulling it out, it was folded to block him out of the picture.

He held a little smile, letting you pull him to your face so you both were smushed together for a happy little photo. He recalled the day as it being the moment he knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with you, it was also the day he realized his selfish faults for dragging you into the mess of his life. But, dammit he wanted you so bad, he wanted to keep you, to love you as you loved him, eternally.

He couldn't have that.

Logan Howlett was destined never to have that again, he had decided.

But....the thing is he could've. Right?

He thought to himself, you weren't an average woman, you were an X-Man, an immortal so it seemed. You were no normal woman that he'd lose to time or disasters.

He could have you for decades more, a century longer. A millennia if you both were lucky.

Who else could say that? Just you. Just the two of you, really.

And he's been so desperate to ruin that...for fears that may never come true.

Logan thoughtfully puts his glass down, glancing around as he thinks to himself, what an idiot he was.

He bursts from his seat, a newfound purpose in himself, a revelation that he hadn't had before. He could be happy with you, as long as he protected you, as long as he loved you, as long as he left behind that plague that followed him. Leaving it behind in that stool, tearing himself from the darkness that followed him constantly, he thought only of you.

The things he'd make up for. The moments he'd never taken with you. The days he'd cherish with you. The life you could build together.

But, first, he had to apologize. And fuck, did he have a lot to apologize for.

As Logan's leaving the pub, the news turns on, a broadcast that makes him stop at the door.

"Breaking News, Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, a home for wayward mutants in upstate new york, has been attacked as of 6 p.m. tonight, so far there's been 14 casualties and counting..." as the news anchor speaks, all attention going to Logan at the news. His eyes widening at the helicopter view of the manor ripped to shreds, smoke traveling up the ruined building. A sentinel striking down on the land.

"No," he breathes. "No, no!" Logan rushes out of the pub, to his motorcycle, revving the engine and driving off.

---

Arriving at the institute, driving straight into the smoke filled land, strands of flame, burned fields and falling embers from the crumbling manor. Logan looks around, blood running cold as he runs through the field, finding the bodies of his students, bodies broken or just their limbs seared right off from the beams.

He finds Scott, his eyes staring open into the sky, this glasses broken, but his eyes don't light up with red energy as they would've. He's gone.

Then Jean. A few paces away from Scott. Blood in her hair, reaching out for her husband. Gone.

He doesn't find Ororo until he finds Hank. The both of them dead next to one another, he cradles her in his arms, leaning over her.

"(Y/n)," he gasps out, sick to his stomach. He cries out again. "(Y/n)!"

His voice echoes in the silent, crackling field. The sentinels having gone, the carnage remaining.

A creak of metal falling apart makes him turn quickly, rushing to the noise, the smoke is heavy here, embers flying to the sky.

Creaking metal splits, a sentinel he realizes, but it'd been burned through the inside out, charred.

A body falls out of the crack, hitting the grass as it crumbles.

His grief moves him first, rushing over, "Oh my god, oh my god," he repeats to himself as he runs. "(Y/N)!" Logan screams.

Dropping down in front of his lover, your skin cracked and burned to charcoal, hardened to the touch, beneath the skin, he can still see the flames that scorch beneath. And yet your eyes still find him.

He takes you in his arms, feeling as your body begins to crumble away. "No, no, no, what's happening?" he shudders as he realizes you're not healing. "No, why aren't you--why aren't you healing?" he takes your face in his hands, gentler this time than he had this morning, than he had any day. "Why aren't you healing, baby?"

He looks closely, your body's sustained blasts from explosions, beams, you've walked through flames before. What's going on?

Logan shakes his head. "Why--" he doesn't known what to do. "Come on, come on, please. You've gotta heal, darlin'. Come on."

Your heavy-lidded eyes just stare at him, you breathe subtly, hardly a breath at all.

Tears run freely down Logan's face this time. "I lied," he began quickly. "I had found you before I knew I loved you. I found you in my dreams and in my thoughts before I slept, I found you in every moment of every day, (Y/n), please," he admitted to his love. Eyes flickering around to see if her body would finally start regenerating as it always had, but you continued to crumble and crack. "Please. Please, (y/n), please," he sobbed.

A hiss of steam runs off your face, your tears sizzle away on your skin as they leave you. Your eyes closing briefly as Logan puts your forehead to his, "I love you in every moment," he hiccupped. "Of every day, of every hour," he gasps out as he feels your hand dragging up to his wrist. He takes your hand, it's fragile, cracking beneath the weight of his touch and the effort to move.

"I love you..." you speak with your last breath, sparing it for him.

"I love you," he cried, reaching down, kissing your lips.

He feels your hand crumble to dust in his hands, your legs in his lap lose weight as they follow in the same way. As your lips fall apart, he kisses your forehead, unable to open his eyes to watch as you fall away.

Logan breathes in a painful breath, heart breaking as he can't feel you in his arms any long. Squeezing the remains of you in his fists, he inhales deeply, a stutter of an agonizing sound, he cries as he finds the strength to open his eyes.

Nothing left of his lover, nothing left of you, but the embers that flies in the air, the ashes at his feet.

"Oh god," he cried, bringing himself down to the ground, fisting his hands in your ashes. He shakes violently, weeping into your remains, before sitting up and wailing into the air, a scream ripping through his lungs, tearing at his vocals.

The terrible sound could be heard miles away from the destroyed manor.

---

Years later, Logan sits at a pub. Taking another shot of whiskey.

"Another," he requests.

"No more," the bartender says to him, frowning with a look of disgust. "You know you're not welcome here."

Logan glances up, jaw tightening before sighing, fists unclenching. "Just one more and I'm outta here."

Reluctantly the bartender pours him another.

And then suddenly, a red suited merc jumps out of a portal, clumsily flipping off the pool table and spinning over towards the empty stool next to Logan.

Part 2 coming soon.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Love and Deep Pockets"

Our LADS Men are financially stable we know this however.....what kind of provider are they? Walk with me....

Zayne

Type: Head of Household

I see Zayne as the traditional head of the household type of man. However he respects you and understands that if you want to work you're free to do so. Just know that all the money you make is yours alone.

MC: Let me pay for something! Zayne: Just let me take care of you

If you really insist on paying he will let you if that's what will make you happy/feel better. Otherwise he's covering all the bills, dates, trips, etc. the only thing that gets split 50/50 are household duties and even then you have to strong arm your way into the kitchen or into doing any of the cleaning.

Zayne is incredibly self sufficient; he's clean and orderly. He is used to keeping his house clean and his clothes washed, pressed, and folded. He's almost unreal with how perfect he is.

The only time you really spend your own money is when it's a surprise for him or when you're alone. He enjoys taking care of you because he absolutely adores you. You're a dream come true and he'll do anything to keep you happy.

Rafayel

Type: Head of Household, False Sense of Independence Provider

If you want to be spoiled he's perfectly fine with that. He's rich and you're his babygirl as long as he can see that smile and be around you he's a happy camper.

Now if you are hell bent on splitting 50/50 Rafayel will let you think you two are splitting bills and things 50/50 meanwhile all the money you send him for half of anything he's putting it into an account that's just collecting interest. He will let you pay for anything and everything you want but best believe he's reimbursing you behind your back.

He'd laugh when you figure it out and try to cuss him out.

MC: I gave you that money to help with the bills Rafayel: and it did help .... it helped me giggle while you thought I'd actually let you pay for anything.

Xavier

Type: Head of Household, No Argument

Xavier is also traditional in a way I mean he's a prince. He is definitely providing everything with no argument. The day you decided to move in with him your bill paying days were over. He let you have your independence when you lived alone, but now you're in his care.

MC: I could've paid for it Xavier: I know but now you don't have to

You can go shopping, buy groceries, buy lunch .... if you're by yourself. If he's with you expect him to already be sliding his card into your hand or directly into the card reader before you can even pull yours out. You have to damn near fist fight this man to pay for anything.

Sylus

Type: Sugar Daddy, Head of Household, Spoiled Brat

SYYLLUUUSSSS. I need him in ways that are unhealthy. This man is spoiling the absolute FUCK out of you. He gave you his black card like it was nothing and asking to spend his money is a 'trivial matter'

You had a bad day? Deposit. You had a good day? Deposit. He misses you? Deposit. Just because? Deposit.

Don't even think about trying to pay for something with your own money. He's the type to hide your cards and slip his into your wallet just so you have no choice, but to spend his money.

MC: I have my own money you know Sylus: Im more than aware kitten I just dont care

Whats his is yours and what's yours is yours. That’s his mentally all he wants to do is make sure you want for nothing and you have the most comfortable life with him.

Don't worry if you still want to work he wouldn't stop you, but those weekly or biweekly checks are just going to be collecting interest because it won't be touched.

[itaipava]

— forms of non-sexual intimacy with f1 boys.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

kind of intimacy where you guys do things together that lead to inside jokes and private memories; a beautiful feeling of closeness that comes from working in unison. sometimes it's so subtle and unexpected, it's like the two of you lose your way going somewhere the two of you have never been and one is responsible for the driving and the other for the navigation. maybe a bit of a fight here and there, but both  still working together to reach your destination and knowing you’re never really lost as long as the other is around.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

kind of intimacy where actions speak louder than words. making - or at least trying - each other's lives a little easier, a little lighter, a little smoother, a little prettier, and a little more bearable. having breakfast ready so you don't forget it when you're in a hurry. wash and dry dishes together after dinner. leaving little love notes in your things to make you smile. the little things he would do only for those he is really close to.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

his favorite form of intimacy is where the two of you give each other undivided and unique attention when you're together; being as busy as he is and having a lot to think about, there's something so beautiful and comforting about focusing on just one person: you. that means ignoring notifications and anything that bothers him aside when he's with you. leaving certain places earlier to spend more time with you. looking adoringly into each other's eyes at random moments where you can swear there are only the two of you in the world.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

distracted physical touches, usually out of habit. when you are watching tv; he reaches out and strokes your hair, plays with your earlobes, or nudges you gently with his foot. and even when you are in public or with other people, he finds himself playing with your hands, your fingers, tracing patterns on your palm or the back of your hand with his thumb, all while casually conversing with another person.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

bathing together; the form of intimacy in which you fully discover yourself and can appreciate every physical aspect while sharing a genuine and loving atmosphere. him gently washing your body with care and delicacy, as if he had all the time in the world to discover every little universe hidden in your body; he leaves soft kisses on your shoulder and neck as he washes your hair, which makes you smile because together with the little ripples of hot water they tickle your skin. being totally comfortable in each other's presence is what he's always wanted for the two of you since the beginning, and seeing your love growing every day makes his heart race with happiness in his chest.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the form of intimacy that grows on common interests and activities. for him, there's nothing quite like coming together because of a mutual love for a particular tv show, or during an animated monopoly game or mobile games, or an underrated book. thinking about each other whenever see or hear about it. simple but precious memories resulting from losing sleep because you were too excited at that show or playing together all night.

˒ ⌕ LIAM LAWSON

the kind of intimacy that only grows and flourishes with time, the true meaning of “making life” together. the kind where the two of you help each other grow in every aspect of life; supporting and rooting for each other's victory but also being there and taking care of each other in defeats. it's when you start to know each other's thoughts, times and patterns as if there is an invisible bond that grows each day between the two of you; like it always connects the two of you even when you're not physically together. it's the form of intimacy where you only know and understand each other on a very deep level.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

a kind of pure, genuine intimacy that encourages each other; listen to each other's dreams, fears, stories and secrets without judgment and show that no matter what, you will be there for each other. always cheering and supporting each other's hobbies, which always makes your heart warm to remember that someone is genuinely rooting for you and that even if you fail, that person will not give up on you.

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

Best friend!Sunghoon had easily convinced you to move in with him. His reasoning sat well with you—low cost and splitting of the rent. As a university student, you would do anything to save up some extra cash and this deal was spot on as it saved you half the amount of your usual living expenses.

However, the provided reason wasn’t even close to what Sunghoon had actually wanted. He knew you had a crush on him, yet you never acted upon it due to your experiences regarding sex and love were limited, which made him want to ruin you beyond words. He was more on the possessive side of the spectrum, which was also laced with jealousy as he hated the idea of anyone else touching his little angel, his kitten.

So he took the matter in his own hands, pulling you even closer to him now that you shared an apartment with each other. He stared at you a little longer, walked around shirtless, his touch on your bare skin lingered for a second too long and you loved it. Your body always reacted to him in such a manner which made him lose his patience each fucking day, until he finally decided to cage you between him and the wall when you had freshly came out of the shower, clad in just your tiny towel.

“You like showing your pretty little body, don’t you, kitten?” He’d whisper in a deep tone, eyes dark as he stared right in your eyes. He could see you biting your lip, your thighs pressing close to each other as you tried to formulate a reply. “What are you talking about Hoonie—” you were shushed with his slender finger, which was now pressed against your lips. “I know you want me, baby. You just have to say it, yeah?” He assured you slow but serious.

You couldn’t wait any longer, not when you dreamed the filthiest of your fantasies with him, not when you touched yourself desperately hoping that it was him instead, even more so when he simply sat in the room next door. You nodded fervently, “want you so much, Hoonie,” you almost whimpered, feeling smaller than ever under his intense gaze.

“Oh baby, I’ll ruin your cunt and fuck you in every corner of this goddamn apartment,” he growled.

He was gentle with you for your very first time, he knew exactly how you’d like it, he was your best friend after all. But you didn’t bother thinking that he’d actually fuck you everywhere. It started from your bedroom, where he took care of your all night, trying his best not to go overboard with you. The next time, he took you to his bedroom. The task was simple, you’ll have to suck his dick and he’d make a mess on your pretty face.

It then progressed to you crying out his name in pleasure as he fucks you from behind on your couch which barely fit two people. He didn’t even leave the kitchen out of the deal as he fucked you on the marble counter, his cock hitting just the right spots as you dug your nails into his shoulders for support. Then he proceeded to take you to the bathroom, the reason was simple again—to save the water.

It didn’t matter if it was your study table or the wall next to the front door, it never mattered if you were on the carpet or his gaming chair, he had to fuck you. As for you, you loved every second of it, he made sure to get your wildest fantasies out of you, only to make them come true.

When you finally crawled up to him, giving him your sweetest smile as you asked him to fuck you, he knew he had won in life.

He had ruined you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who proposed to you on vacation on the outskirts of florence. four days of beautiful scenery and incredible memories were just a cover for Jungkook's true plan: in a green field dressed in brightly colored flowers, the two of you were having a small picnic while laughter and tender words danced with the gentle breeze of the day; and when Jungkook's question flowed as naturally as any other sentence he could have said, your heart immediately accelerated, sending waves of happiness and fulfillment throughout your body. “will you marry me? make a whole life by my side? only you and me?”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who insisted on throwing floating lanterns at your wedding. but Jungkook didn't want any lanterns, no; Jungkook wanted your dreams and desires for your life to be written and decorated on the light fabric of the lantern, believing that, when they reached the vast starry sky, they would be able to cling to the various stars and guard your future forever. “the celestial magic of the stars will make all our dreams come true, you’ll see.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who kisses you under the rain on bad days. it was a simple gesture, something small and quite banal, but it was something precious, an action that warmed you inside and made you feel good, made you feel alive; it was between raindrops that Jungkook declared his love for you in the form of a kiss, the lips that sang so many promises to you and shared so many dreams reminding you that in all the darkness of the world, among all the rain and grey, there was always something warm, there was always his love for you. “just to remind you that after so long, i still love you. and i will love you forever.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who wears his wedding ring like a badge of honor. Jungkook was proud to be your husband; for him, you were the only person to exist, you were the only one who really mattered because you, quite simply, were incredible in every way; so, having a token of your love, something physical that people could see, only made Jungkook's eyes shine even brighter — after all, he was eternally united to the best person that could exist. “yes, i’m married to the love of my life. isn't it incredible? i’m the luckiest man alive.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who hugs you from the back in the morning and gently kisses your neck. still infected by sleep, Jungkook walked slowly through the kitchen, his feet leaving traces of need, his small yawns looking for you lazily; Jungkook's arms would wrap around you without any difficulty, squeezing you with all the love he felt for you, letting his natural scent mix with that of breakfast; Jungkook's lips kissed your neck innocently, an invisible mark of wishes for a good day beginning another opportunity to live life. “good morning. you weren’t in bed, i thought i wouldn’t have time to say goodbye.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who takes you on long car rides at night just to decompress. with the windows open to let the night breeze flood his car, Jungkook took you to different neighborhoods and streets without any destination in mind, just the desire to bring you a little peace controlling his steering wheel; soft music was gently played in the car, while the stars of the night guided you to moments of tranquility and serenity that made you realize that it was with Jungkook that life was worth living. “the night is beautiful today. do you wanna go out? we can eat ice cream later.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who will love you forever and ever. Jungkook deeply believed that it was the universe that brought you together; it was impossible for two such deep and similar souls to meet by chance — it had to be destiny. because, for Jungkook, your souls had already been formed in ancient times, wandering through worlds and constellations in search of a way of loving deeper than the spiritual — and here you two were, extending every fragment of your passion beyond the soul. “what are the chances of feeling like we’ve loved each other forever? believe me, we are made of the same celestial dust.”

[jyoongim]

~Blood & BLISS~

Human!Alastor x wife!Reader

Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life! fluff, smut, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy,  blood, murder, secrets 

chapter two

Synopsis: Marrying New Orleans famous radio host had been a shocker to everyone. You, a southern belle from an esteemed family, had somehow managed to catch the attention of the mysterious bachelor. 

Your wedding was all in the papers and talk of the town, even though the ceremony was rather private.

You quickly settled in as the homemaker as Alastor brought home the dough and took care of you. 

It was a dream come true.

But Alastor was strange, even to you and you were his wife, but you brushed it off as him just being a man.  You had nothing to complain about. You lived in a nice big house, had the finest luxuries, and Alastor would dote on you. What wasn’t to love?

Well… all those things were nice, but you were starting to crave a family with your husband.

You knew of Alastor’s upbringing and had an inkling that children might not be an option…but Alastor wouldn’t deny you what you desired most would he? Of course not ma belle.

Alastor prided himself on how people often wondered about him. The renowned radio host, who the public rarely saw. He was a mystery to many. He frequented jazz lounges and often could be found drinking whiskey as he listened to the Mimzy gossip about the latest news.

He,  himself was shocked when he met you, the prettiest thing in the city. He had to have you. He knew you were the one.

Like the gentleman he was, he sent you flowers and love letters to begin courting you. He never tired of how shy you were around him. 

It wasn’t long before he asked your father for your hand and the two of you got hitched.

And what a wedding it was! he spared no expense to your disapproval.

Alastor was the epitome of what every husband inspired to be! 

Doting, providing, and attentive.

But he had a secret he kept from his little wife…

Can he maintain control over his domestic affairs and his sinister ones?

Soft jazz played in the background as you busied around the kitchen preparing dinner. The sizzling of the oil carried the scent of fried chicken as you chopped collards and added them to another pan to fry.

You hummed along to whatever song was playing as you cooked.

You took the chicken out of the grease, poured some of it in a can for later and used the rest to make cornbread. You stirred the collards a bit, adding pepper and a little salt before turning the stove off. You glanced at the clock; 6pm, Alastor should be coming home soon.

After putting everything in pretty dishes and wrapping it in foil you sighed tiredly as you finally got off your feet, plopping down on a couch.

You almost wanted to go back into the kitchen and clean up, but thought to just wait after dinner to do so. 

You perked as your radio made a noise, static as if the channel had changed, before the voice of your husband came through.

”Well folks that is all. I have for you tonight! I hope you enjoyed today’s broadcast and I will see you tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to be late for dinner nonono haha. Until next time!”

You smiled, feeling happy he wasn’t going to stay at the studio all night.

With that in mind, you quickly ran upstairs to freshen up, wanting to greet your husband without the smell of grease clinging to you.

“I’m home!” A voice called as the sound of the front door closing had you rushing downstairs.

Alastor was taking off his coat, when you greeted him “Oh let me take that” you smiled, grabbing his coat to put it away. He let out a relieved sigh as he removed his shoes and put them by the door. Once comfortable, his long arms were around your waist, pulling you into a kiss “And how was my beautiful wife today hmm?” He asked bringing a dainty hand to his lips. You giggled “Oh nothing worth mentioning. How was work today? I heard you signing off. I hate that I missed tonight’s broadcast” you mused, untying his bow tie. Alastor hummed “oh you know same ole same ole, through I will say I got a lot of fan mail today” he chuckled as you rolled your eyes. He took a whiff of the air and grinned “Hmm looks like I actually made it in time for dinner”

You both made your way to the kitchen and you immediately went to fix his plate, while he got glasses out of the cabinet and some red wine.

Alastor practically had drool coming out of his mouth as the smell of food wafted into his nose. You took a seat across from him and smiled. “My my my dear what a meal youve prepared tonight!” He commented as he took a bite out of the cornbread, moaning in delight.

It always filled your heart with happiness seeing Alastor eat your food. When you first got married, you didn’t have a clue on how to cook. It was rather embarrassing, but you had grown up with personal cooks.

But Alastor didn’t mind teaching you, and soon enough you were whipping up delicious meals that filled his stomach, rather than upset it.

Dinner was quiet as the two of you enjoyed each others company, Alastor making comments about the lastest gossip he had heard and you catching him on the neighborhood gossip. “Oh before I forget,  Mimzy wants to know if you wanted to swing by the lounge this weekend. Something about I keep you to myself too much” Alastor laughed, swiping at his mouth. You laughed, that sounded like Mimzy. Always hoping to get a chance at you singing on stage so she could make a few extra bucks. “Well tell ‘er not this weekend, I have plans to host a few of the ladies for book club. Rosie is sure to have some gossip I’ve missed.” 

Alastor quirked a brow “You sure dear? I fear Mimzy will chew me a new one if she don’t get to see ou” You mulled it over “Well book club usually don’t take that long and its during tea time so I guess I don’t mind gracing the lounge with my presence” you giggled, getting up and taking your empty dishes to the sink. Alastor followed you and quickly swatted your hands as you reached to turn the sink on. 

“Now now my dear, you spent all evening cooking the least I can do is wash the dishes. The chef shouldn’t cook and clean” he nudged you away from the sink as you pouted.

It never ceased to amazed you that Alastor took on household chores. Most husbands had their wives cook and clean, but not your Alastor.

He didn’t like you to tire out from maintaining the home all day.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek in thanks and told him you’ll be upstairs getting ready for bed.

You had just finished rolling your hair when Alastor came up to your bedroom. You sighed as you sunk into the cool cotton sheets, finally relaxing for the day. You didn’t realized you had quickly fell asleep until feeling Alastor slide into bed beside you, arm pulling you to tuck you into his side and rest your head on his chest.

You happily cuddled into him, breathing in his scent as the sound of his heartbeat lulled you back to sleep.

A yawn passed your lips as began to fall asleep

”Goodnight” 

”Sleep tight dear”

”Don’t let the bedbugs bite”

”haha see you in the morning light love” he whispered pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sighed, chest heaving in deep breaths.

Alastor smiled at your sleeping face; how lucky was he to have a sweet wife who worked so hard while he was gone. His eyes grew heavy as he listened to your soft snores.

What bliss. He wouldn’t give this up for anything in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTE: aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh why and how did my mind conjure this when I have other things to write eeeeeeehhhh!!!!!!!

Anyway….this is gonna be ANOTHER short story hehehe. Since I wrote it on a whim it might take some time for me to post the next part but I hope y’all enjoy it nevertheless!

Remember to comment on the pinned post as I have a hard time finding everyone to tag since y’all are scattered on different posts!

if i missed anyone my bad!!!!

@nightshadelm @th3-st4r-gur1 @amurtan @lunaramune @southern-bayou-beau @monstersealclubber @certifiedcrybabyyy @karolinda007-blog @theveiledlibrarian @simphornies @yourdoorisunlocked @nettaw @purplecatsandhearts @catherine1206 @jellibean2018 @thewinchestah @wonderlandangelsposts @alishii @readergirlstuff @whydohumansss @missgurlsstuff @yuzurixx @darkovergrownforestnymph @dasimp777 @markster666 @alastorsgirl48 @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @preciousbabypeter @alastwhore666 @strawberrypimp666 @stawberrypimpsimp @queenariesofnarnia @peachedtvs @peachedtv @tpks @siiv3r @hazelfoureyes @okay-babe @aconfusedworld @chewbrry @altruisticalastor @yunimimii @dievia3 @alastorsdear @alastorsdarlingdoe @t0byisher3 @dennsfz @twismare @nanami1chu @yoongibabs @menthatilove @smoky000

[gay-dorito-dust]

hmmm just imagine Jason Todd with a girlfriend pretty and kind like an angel and everyone is just shocked because 'how they're a couple??"

Think I went a little of ask for this one 😂 🦦

Jason calls you his angel for a reason.

You’re sweet, you’re kind, you’re downright beautiful/gorgeous and withheld an equally sweet, kind soul that bleeds through everything that you did or said. When you met Jason he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, finding him just slumped at your front door, severely injured. Anyone else who knew better would’ve left him but no, not you. You brought him -THE RedHood- into your house and home out of the kindness of your heart and patched him up as best as you could.

Heaven sent is another name of endearment that Jason called you and it held true on a plethora of occasions where he would find himself being dragged back at your doorstep, and it wasn’t long after that did Jason finally allow himself to pursue a chance at happiness by your side, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made in his entire life because being with you had been nothing short of a dream for Jason. A dream he never thought he’d get to live with the fucked up ordeal of having came back from the dead.

However when his family manages to catch wind of this because nothing stays secret for long, not by a long shot, their first thought was; how?

This wasn’t a slight towards Jason or his character but they couldn’t help but feel as though they’ve blinked and missed something extremely pivotal for this to have become the end result. They weren’t the only one to share this sentiment though as even Jason would be taken aback by your differences and often wondered if you were too different for your relationship to work.

It does however and it was one of the only times where Jason was grateful for being wrong for getting inside his own head, and just before he possibly ruins the best thing that has ever happened to him in a long, long while by self sabotage too. God only knows how much Jason would’ve hated himself for doing such a heinous thing to someone as underserving of such treatment as you.

So when Dick asks him one day ‘how did you manage to get someone like them?’ Whilst gesturing to you as you talked with the likes of Duke, Stephanie and Cass and getting along. Jason couldn’t think of a clear answer that would be enough to satisfy his brother’s curiosity because how was he meant to answer that question without it sounding generic and unoriginal.

‘Did you use any offhanded tactics to get them to be in a relationship with you?’ Damian asks and Dick gives him a look, only for the younger of the two of them to shrug his shoulders. ‘It was only a simple question Grayson.’

‘Yeah, just not one you ask when your brother comes home for the first time in months, and in a relationship nonetheless with the epitome of sweetness.’ Dick replied before looking over to Jason who was looking over at you with soft yet protective look on his face, but before Dick could say anything about how nothing was going to happen to you whilst in the Wayne Manor, Jason had already found the answer he has been looking for the entire evening.

‘They saved me.’ In the moment he said those words you looked over at him, Dick and Damian and smiled brightly that it never failed to knock the air out of Jason’s lungs upon seeing it. His angel, his heaven sent, the face he is blessed to see first and last thing in the mornings and late nights where he gently scolds you for staying up for him before kisses you in gratitude for doing so anyway.

Dick seemed content with this answer and meanwhile Damian looked visibly indifferent, he made a noise that said that he was also satisfied with this answer, just in time too as you came over to Jason and subtly held his pinkie with your own as you kissed his cheek. ‘You didn’t to tell me how cool your siblings were Jay!’ You began when Dick decided to join in on it too as he looked as Jason, betrayed. ‘You didn’t? Why not? Is it because you want your lovely partner to always be biased towards you?’ He pouts.

You chuckled and patted Jason on the bicep as you addressed Dick. ‘I’m always going to be bias towards my Jason.’ You admitted, causing a wave of warmth to flood Jason’s entire body upon hearing your confident confession. ‘For he is simply the best man I have ever met and that will never change.’

‘Never?’ Dick asked.

‘Never.’ You answered.

‘Even if he may be in the wrong sometimes?’ Damian asked this time and you shrugged, still smiling. ‘Not all of us are perfect beings and that’s a reality I’d accept rather than one where we’re all without flaw, physical or otherwise.’ Jason felt as though he might combust from your words alone but managed to compose himself enough to press a kiss to your temple to whisper against it. ‘Thank you baby.’

‘Anything for you Jaybirdie.’ You responded in kind, feeling him take hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers together as you rested your head against his bicep as you both continued to talk with Damian and Dick.

Yours and Jason’s relationship may not be what many expected it to be or make logical but why should it when you and Jason were more than happy together?

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[thevillainswhore]

New Tricks: Celestial Heavens

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Summary: Life couldn’t seem any better — your life long crush, and the football star of your fantasies is now your boyfriend, and your relationship is running smoothly. It’s a dream come true. But when Bucky admits he’s ready to take things to the next level, you’re anxious to make sure losing his virginity is an experience he won’t forget — for all the right reasons.

Which means, a first date is in order.

A night beneath the stars brings the two of you closer together, where emotions run high and confessions sit on the tips of tongues.

Warnings: College AU, Smut, kissing, grinding, dirty talk, praise, reassurance, fluff, fluff and more fluff, pet names, swearing, teasing, first dates, Bucky is a smooth little shit, cute astronomy puns.

Author’s Note: Happy Valentine’s Day my loves 🥰 here is the highly requested part two for New Tricks 🥹 the support I have received for part one has been so overwhelming and I want to thank all of you who expressed your love 😭

Beta and divider graphic credits go to @rookthorne - I can’t thank you enough for spending hours of your time helping me bring this AU to life, you’re incredible — this one is for you ❤️

I hope this follow on lives up to your expectations and does our favourite college babies justice. Once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Happy reading my lovelies 💜

New Tricks Masterlist 🌼🐾

New Tricks Playlist 🎵

‼️ Small disclaimer ‼️- while I have done some research, I in no way consider myself to be an astronomy expert. If any of the facts or information I have included are wrong, I apologise profusely.

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, you hum a tune to yourself while waiting for the door to open. 

The impulse to knock again after only a moment of waiting is overwhelming and your impatience begins to wane. You grip the canvas strap of your tote bag which is full to the brim with notepads and books, when the door suddenly swings open to admit you.

“Hey–! Oh, it’s you.” Disappointment sours your tone upon seeing Steve in the doorway. You push past his broad frame and enter his apartment to look for the true reason you are there, paying no mind to the scoff that falls from his lips. 

 

“Yes, hello sis. So good to see you, too!” Steve stays by the door, unmoving and starts conversing with himself. “How am I? I’m great, thanks for asking—how about you? Come on in, we’ll have a drink.” 

You shake your head, huffing a laugh while you scold him playfully, “Oh hush, Stevie, don’t be so butthurt.” From down the hallway, you see a light casting shadows along the floor — the source coming from a slither of an open door. A flicker of red hair disappears around the door frame. “Huh,” you muse, a smirk dancing on your lips. “You should know by now I’m not here for you. Where is he?” 

Steve sighs. “He’s–”

“Buttercup!” Bucky’s shout from his bedroom interrupts Steve, and it snaps your focus towards the direction of his voice. “Baby!”

The heavy thud of his rapid footsteps echoes down the hallway towards the living room, where you currently stand waiting for him, and you can’t help but giggle with amusement at his excitement. 

He appears in a blur, skidding into the room with grace akin to a drunken swan — a pink blush dusts over his cheekbones and the boyish charm of his eager smile makes your stomach flutter. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows, and he covertly attempts to catch his breath from the sudden burst of excitement. 

“–There,” Steve finishes, lamely. 

The bright, pretty smile on Bucky’s lips and how his eyes grow wide when he sees you makes you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. “Hi, Buttercup,” he breathes, and the pure innocence of his greeting melts your heart.

You can’t help but copy his smile as you make your way towards him, where he positively vibrates in place. “Hi to you too, handsome.” The cotton of his shirt is soft under your palms, and you meet his lips with a small kiss. The brush of his plush lips against yours makes you sigh against his mouth, and his hands sneak around your waist to grip your hips, keeping you in place against his chest.  

He wasn’t going to let you sneak away with just the one kiss — he never does. 

A more insistent press from his lips makes you part your own, and he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.  

“Guys,” Steve whines, “Get a fucking room — I don’t want to see that shit!” 

The effort to pull away from Bucky’s lips is beyond tolerable, but you refuse to turn and look at Steve as you say, “Sorry, bro,” with little to no remorse for his fragile disposition as the older brother. Bucky does not tear his focus from you, rather, his lips quirk in a playful smirk at your snark. 

Unbeknownst to you and behind your back, your brother’s mouth upturns in a smile; the two most important people in his life finally together and so sickeningly in love. 

As of a few weeks ago, Bucky and you started officially dating after a shy, whispered question during the late Sunday morning of your first weekend together. 

Bucky’s small, timid question of what the two of you were once he dragged you back to bed — after the clean-up from a spilled gift basket in his haste — set the butterflies in your stomach aflame. 

Of course, there was no other answer but to rid the doubt in his mind and reassure him. 

From then on, the two of you lived in your own bubble of bliss. You, over the moon to finally be with your long-time crush; Bucky, unbelieving of the reality that he has and is deserving of the girl of his dreams, who loves and nurtures all aspects of him. 

The only way to describe you both during this honeymoon phase is inseparable — spending every single spare moment through college life with one another. 

But no matter how badly you wanted to be with him, and spend more time staring at his handsome features, your art finals were also crucial business — as was keeping Bucky’s GPA intact. The scholarship he revered depended on it. 

Steve’s voice brings you from the torrent of memories and back to the present where Bucky held you fast against his chest still. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You reach around Bucky’s neck and twirl your fingers through his hair before whispering loud enough for only him to hear, “Ready to go, Puppy?”

The red flush of his cheeks and the part of his lips has you trying to hide the satisfied smirk that threatens to pull at the corner of your mouth — his new nickname borne from a quick-witted quip you thought nothing of, truly is one of your greatest accomplishments to date. 

You remember it perfectly.

Bucky leaned against the headboard, his lips in a full pout, and arms crossed tightly across his chest. The bare expanse of skin was shadowed by the low light of your bedside lamp. “No,” he grumbled, furrowing his brows with his sudden, foul mood. 

“Bucky— come on, we have to eat something,” you reiterated for the umpteenth time. 

“No.” The dramatics of his brooding had you struggling to rein your laughter in. 

“We’ve been cuddling for three hours,” you insisted, deciding to reason with the stubborn idiot. “I literally heard your stomach rumble an hour ago. You need food.” 

Bucky sulked. “No. Only need you.” 

“Oh my god,” you giggled, “you look like a kicked puppy, Bucky.” 

There was a deep, impatient huff, and then he stared at you, an expression of longing covering his features. It only exaggerated his puppy eyes. 

A bright idea came to you then, the comparison may just be what you needed to make the boy move… “Here, boy,” you called, patting your thigh with one hand and snapping your fingers with the other. “Come on, who’s a good boy? Huh? You want a treat, baby? Do you wanna be a good pup for me?” 

Bucky’s reaction was more than you could have ever hoped for — his entire body became deathly still for a moment, then his arms slackened to fall onto the bed and a deep flush of blotchy red trailed up from his chest and up to his neck. 

You would have been worried about overstepping if you hadn’t spotted the dazed, glassy look in his eyes, darkening the cerulean to an Aegean blue.  

Bucky liked it. 

The praise, humiliation, spliced with a pinch of demand — the entirely accidental recipe for how to break him. 

Ever since then, Bucky’s new nickname causes the most visceral reaction he so desperately tries to hide, with very little success. The quiet hitch of his breath has you trying to keep your composure, and if only to tease him a little more, you wink at him. 

In the present, he chokes on a sharp intake of breath and coughs. 

There’s a quiet, short bout of laughter behind you from Steve, but you focus on Bucky while he catches his breath, still beet red. “You ready to go, Buck?” you repeat, squeezing the back of his neck.  

The rapid semblance of composure did nothing to hide the effect your words have. He blows out a breath, and stutters a determinedly stoic, “Y–yeah— almost, just gotta— um— run and g–get my jacket.” 

You hum and bump your nose against his before stepping back to let him breathe, “Okay, Buck. I’ll be waiting by the door.” 

Bucky wastes no time in spinning around before taking off like a shot down the hallway towards his bedroom. As he disappears, you chuckle to yourself and wonder how embarrassed he will be when he realises that he is already wearing a hoodie.  

“You’re wicked.” Steve stands with his arms crossed and a raised eyebrow. But by the small smirk upturning his lips, you know he’s just as entertained with Bucky’s fumbling than you are. “He’s so whipped.”

Before you have a chance to retort, a honeyed, feminine voice calls from your brother’s room. “Steve, stop hounding your sister and leave her be! You promised me a foot rub.” 

“Oh?” It's your turn to cock your eyebrow, and you watch, all too righteously, while his cheeks turn bright red. “Remind me who’s the whipped one again, hm?” 

Steve flounders in place, his mouth opening and closing while he searches for the words to no doubt put you back in your place, but another voice beats him to it by calling out to you from the hallway. “Flower, you have no idea! Last week I got him to–” 

“Okay! That’s enough of that,” Steve interrupts, quick to shut down the reveal before it knew the light of day. He stalks down the hallway towards his bedroom, and as he goes, he yells over his shoulder at you, “Enjoy your time with Buck, sis, please don’t break him, we’ve got training tomorrow. Love ya — see you next week!” 

The door slams shut just as Bucky appears around the corner, clad in both a hoodie and a jacket, and his eyes dart everywhere around the room but at you. The realisation must have hit him, and he was far too stubborn to come back empty handed. 

Decidedly, you don’t question him on it. Instead, you hold your hand out to him and say, “Come on, handsome, we’ve got some studying to do.” 

And just like that, Bucky’s face lights up and he bounces towards you to interlace his fingers with yours. He follows you with ease while you lead him out his apartment to the elevator, the doors opening for you instantly for the both of you to step in. 

The floor numbers descend on the screen, and a companionable, comfortable silence floats in the air. Until you turn to the side when you feel the stare of your boyfriend. 

Bucky’s blue eyes shine brightly while he looks you up and down, taking you in once more, and your heart flutters against your chest with the soft smile pulling at his lips. “You look beautiful today,” he whispers, a line of worship that makes your stomach flip. While holding your gaze, he lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a kiss to the back of it. 

If the heart eyes from the cartoons were real, then your boyfriend takes the gold. 

You barely fight the urge to squeal out loud with the show of heartfelt adoration. “Thank you, baby.” 

The elevator doors open with a swoosh as you reach the ground floor. Squeezing his hand gently, you begin to lead him out the lift and towards the exit. “Let’s get going — we gotta make sure you ace this test.”

In the beginning, it took a while to process that you were Bucky’s girlfriend — an ease unlike any other helped you both fit together so seamlessly, as though you had been dating for far longer. 

That same ease also makes itself known in your shared sexual compatibility.

Ever since that fateful movie night back in Steve and Bucky’s apartment, the two of you went no further than making out at every opportunity that presents itself (or that you make) and grinding against each other until you both came — though it didn’t stop you both from doing it a lot. 

Sex for the first time is a big deal. Bucky’s admission of still being a virgin, and his comfort being your priority, you take every old and new venture into pleasure at his pace. But your hesitance is met with an unprecedented hunger that leaves you breathless with need, every single time. 

Bucky’s eagerness to feel you against him, the heat of your bodies intermingling as best they can between the layers of clothing always made him feral with want, and each time he ventures closer, further than he did before in his exploration of your body, it grows with such passion it scorches your skin.   

You were going to wait on his signal no matter how long it took. But a few signs were telling you, however, that Bucky wants it. 

Recently, your boyfriend has been a little more desperate, more so than usual. 

His whines and whimpers turn from breathy and high, to deep, animalistic sounds that send shivers up your spine. Bucky was already putty in the palm of your hands at the best of times, and to witness him let go of his inhibitions was addicting — you wanted more of him, and you have the inclination that he longs for the same. 

And although the both of you swore to one another that you would head to the campus library to focus on your studies, somewhere along the way, your feet took you straight back to your dorm room and into your bedroom. 

Your giggles and sighs echo off the walls, along with the rustling sound of your bed covers. “That tickles!” 

Bucky, the clever, sly boy he is, figured out far too quickly where the sensitive spots on your neck are. “‘M sorry, baby,” he whispers against your neck, his breath hot and fanning over the delicate skin. His sweet, tender kisses start to turn heated — more passionate and intense as his hands begin to wander over your body. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes against the curve of your jaw. “You smell so good, Buttercup — could jus’ eat you up.” 

You softly moan in reply. The sudden hunger in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine and settle heavily between your thighs.

“C’mere,” he growls, and he rolls his body over yours, forcing you to lay flat against the mattress. You quickly wrap your legs around his waist as he trails sloppy kisses from the curve of your mouth and down the slope of your neck. “Atta girl, good girl.”

The feel of his lips against your skin makes your eyes flutter closed, and it’s entirely impossible to withhold your upper body rising with the arch of your back, pushing your covered breast up against his chest.

You can’t help but think of how confident Bucky has grown in such little time — his boldness only adding fuel to the fire.

Bucky firmly grips your waist in his hands with a thready moan, and he slowly, torturously inches them up towards the bottom of your tits. You feel the brush from the tips of his thumbs through the fabric of your bra and shirt, the pressure of them indescribable. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He squeezes his eyes shut as he tests a roll of his hips into you. The high moan that tumbles from your lips jolts him, and he thrusts forward with a small, disjointed groan — the heavenly pleasure of grinding his cock against your clothed cunt almost too much for him to bear. “Feel so good, Bee — holy fuck.”

You grin up at him, squeezing your knees against his hips. Another thing Bucky grew confident in: being vocal in the bedroom. His litany of curses and range of vocabulary comes to life if he loses himself enough; bold in his actions, he takes charge more and it leaves you a wreck every single damn time.  

“Gotta keep going, baby,” he pants into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “don’t make me stop, please don’t make me stop.” The desperation in his voice is as addicting as the pleasure he so freely gives, and you moan loudly to the ceiling. His pure, feral need to take what he wants only sends you closer to the edge. “Fuck–”

Your whines and pleas for more mix with his deep grunts on every grind into you. “Bucky, don't you dare stop,” you gasp, grabbing at his shoulders and wrinkling his shirt in your grip. “Oh my god, please don’t stop.” 

“Not gonna stop,” he promises as he pants against your neck. “Not gonna stop till you fuckin’ cum for me, Buttercup.”

You grab onto the back of his thighs, forcing him to rock against you faster. Harder. 

Bucky’s whimpers only serve to drive you crazier and with wild abandon, you buck your hips to meet his thrusts. “So close, baby. Almost there— oh, fuck,” you cry. 

Bucky bites the skin of your neck, causing you to gasp loudly and moan. 

“Fuck, doll,” he groans, and he swallows your whines with frenzied need, his tongue laving over yours. The harsh pants for air when he pulls back to speak send you into a whimpering mess. “Drivin��� me crazy, Bee. Need you so bad, you got no idea—” 

“Keep going, please, keep going!”

“—Gotta have you,” he grunts. “Need these fuckin’ clothes off — wanna see your perfect body.”

It’s hopeless to keep your moans at bay. His ferocity has you on the edge and your thighs shake as you balance on the precipice. “Gonna— gonna cum.” You tangle your fingers into his damp hair and pull. “Bucky, baby—”

“I know, pretty girl,” Bucky coos. “I’ll get you there, don’t worry—” 

“Please, please, please!” you frantically beg. The knot in your stomach is wound tight; the fast rhythm of Bucky’s thrusts pushing it to the point of shattering. 

With a slight shift in angle of Bucky’s hips, the tip of his cock rubs against your swollen clit through your leggings, and you scream from the sheer ecstasy that flows through your veins with your climax. “Cumming! I’m cumming— oh my god, I’m cumming!”

Bucky’s hips falter, and he chokes out a raspy moan, “Fuck!” 

The shattering of built-up tension rushes over the two of you; harsh moans fall from Bucky’s parted lips while he rides out his high, his hips continuing to grind against you. 

It all falls on deaf ears while fire still runs through your veins.  

“Holy shit,” Bucky whispers, finally slowing down his breathing and stopping the faltering, aborted thrusts of his hips. The growing wet patch that stains the crotch of his sweatpants no longer makes his cheeks flush with shame. 

Quiet whimpers and gasps for breath leave you unable to speak, to utter just how wrecked you feel beneath him. 

“Holy fuck,” Bucky repeats, and he gently rests his lower half against yours while carefully keeping his upper body propped up on his elbows. “That was–” Hot breaths fan over your lips as he rests his forehead against yours. “So fuckin’ good.”

You laugh breathily and squeeze his shoulders, the press of your fingertips meeting hard, strong muscle.

It’s a peaceful moment; a serene bliss you only find in the comfort of Bucky’s arms. It feels right to be cocooned in his warmth — your boyfriend always making you feel safe. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky says softly, placing a quick kiss to your nose, then a lingering, passionate one on your lips. “I can’t– fuck, can’t believe you’re mine.” 

You smile brightly up at him, lost for words, and with a tired huff, he rolls off of your body to lay beside you. Your chests rise and fall in a soothing sense of synchronisation. 

The slow drain of adrenaline from your body erupts in a sudden fit of giggles.  

Bucky blinks, then smiles hesitantly, a confused quirk of his lips. “What’s so funny, Buttercup?” 

“I just–” You bite your lip in an attempt to stop your laughter so you’re able to respond to him. “Sorry– it’s just a little crazy to me how you’re not as shy as you used to be.” A teasing smirk pulls at your lips. “You’ve gone a little rogue, Pup.” 

Heat creeps up Bucky’s neck and covers his cheeks with an adorable red flush. Even if your man has gained a lot of confidence, he will never be able to rid the bashful puppy inside of him. 

“I should be worried,” you tease. “You’re giving me a run for my money.” 

“Right, that’s it.” Bucky suddenly shoots up and climbs over you, pinning you in place with his hips and thighs. One of his hands snakes up your arm, then the other, and you shiver with the ghost of sensation, only, he smirks. “I’ve got you now.” 

Your wrists are suddenly together, unable to move from the top of the bed and in the grip of his hand. “Hey–!”

There’s a wicked, playful glint in his darkening eyes as he looks down at you. “You’ll learn, Bee, that I’m not a man to be teased.” The hand he has free begins to flit over your ticklish spots. 

“Bucky,” You warn as you nervously chuckle, trying to edge away from his touch. “Don’t you even think about it.”  

That doesn’t deter him though. He runs the tips of his fingers, a feather light touch, underneath your tank top. “Oh, no– no, no,” he tuts. “I have the upper hand now, baby.”

“No!” you loudly squeal, trying to kick your feet to dislodge the weight of Bucky’s athletic build over your lower half, but it’s of no use. 

You burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter — tears start streaming down your cheeks while your boyfriend watches in cruel amusement above you. “Where did all that fighting talk from earlier go, huh, Buttercup? Where did it go?” 

“Okay, okay! I– I lose, you w–win!” 

With a satisfied sigh, Bucky yields and lets go of your wrists to bring one hand down to your waist, closely following with the other as he starts to gently stroke the exposed skin of your middle. 

“You’re too easy, baby,” he chuckles, fondness bursting over his features. 

“Yeah, well,” you sigh in defeat. “You played dirty. Best believe I’ll get you back, big guy.”

A comfortable silence stretches between you both while you breathe heavily and close your eyes against the exhaustion overtaking your limbs. The rush of endorphins and all manner of happiness still flowing through your veins.  

Until, “Did I go too far?” Bucky asks suddenly, his voice timid, small. 

The tone of his question indicates a sense of duality — he’s not just asking only about the tickle fight. 

You open your eyes to the view of his long hair hiding the two of you from the world; your room obscured by the curtain of it. The bright, shining blue of his irises steals your breath with the depth of emotion swimming in them — keeping you firmly within the bubble the two of you created in your passion.  

“Oh, Bucky,” you whisper soothingly, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek — the soft strands of his hair against your fingertips sends an unprompted shiver down your spine. You move your hand from his cheek so your index finger could press against his nose, then up to smooth over the furrow between his brows. “Not at all, handsome.” An effortless smile pulls at your lips, one that he hesitantly returns. “It was perfect, I promise.” 

Though he doesn’t seem to settle. Something is on his mind, that was obvious — his tells are easy to decipher from the time you spent studying his expressions. When he is unsure, hesitant, the tip of his tongue runs over his bottom lip; when anxious, his shoulders hunch inwards in an attempt to make himself smaller. 

Bucky swallows thickly. 

You frown. “Are you okay, Puppy?” 

The soft lilt of your voice soothes his worries, and he takes a deep breath before responding with a wavering, “I think I’m ready.” 

The implication of such a comment makes your eyes widen slightly — while the possibilities are endless for what he could possibly be referring to, you’re almost certain you understand exactly what he means. 

As though he suddenly realises how it could be interpreted, he barely whispers, “I w–wanna have— have sex.” There’s a slight tremble in his voice despite his courage to confess. 

You blink once, twice, hesitating only for a second before opening your mouth to reply, to question him, but Bucky rushes to add, “With you.”  

It’s your turn to swallow — despite the harsh dryness coating your throat. In the past, you had partners, summer flings. Few stayed, and even fewer were worth the trials and effort of a proper relationship. And through those couplings, sex became something that didn’t faze you. 

With Bucky it feels different. 

The connection is far more meaningful to you than any casual hookup from a club, and to know he is in a space where he is comfortable enough to place such vulnerability in the palms of your hands… It is not lost on you, the importance of his choice. 

You look deep into his eyes while you seek his full consent — if only just to quell the doubt that swells within yourself. “You’re sure about this?” 

“One hundred percent,” Bucky confidently assures. “I want all of you, Buttercup. And I wanna give you all of me.” 

Fuck, you curse to yourself. You didn’t deserve him. 

You nod, then say, “Alright, baby.” Bucky grins at you, and this time you rush to add, “Let me do this properly though, okay? I want to take you out; treat you like you deserve.” 

A sudden sheepishness clouds his expression, and his eyes dart downwards to your lips while he licks his own. “Mhm,” he mumbles quietly, “Y–You can do that if— if you like.” 

You take both of his cheeks in your hands, and you tilt his head up to place a soft, loving kiss to his swollen lips. When he makes direct eye contact with you, you whisper against his mouth, “You deserve the world, Pup — nothing less. So yes, I would love to.” 

The night of the long anticipated date night arrived faster than you realise — after classes, study sessions, and accompanying Nat to the boy’s football training to cheer them on, time flew by in a blur.

As much as Bucky begged you for a scrap of a hint or clue for what you planned, you kept it under tight wraps; a lock and key that will not budge for even the sweetest of pleas.  

It hasn’t been an easy task to stay strong against his wide, puppy eyes — on more than one occasion, you almost let slip. But with severe determination, you successfully keep it a secret. 

And by god are you proud of yourself for such an achievement. 

You know for sure that Bucky is going to enjoy himself tonight — every last stop pulled, and with the help from your brother for the venue, you feel confident in the plan.

That is, until you smooth over the invisible wrinkles of your dress for the umpteenth time while you make your way down the hallway towards their apartment, your stomach roiling with anxiety of the unknown. Will Bucky truly like it? What if he hates it–?

A hand with perfectly manicured, blood red nails grabs yours, and pulls your fidgeting fingers away from the seam of stitching to the pockets of your dress. “Babe, please stop panicking.” Natasha’s soothing tone brings you back down to earth. “You look incredible — Bucky isn’t going to know what hit him.”

After hearing of your plans from your brother, she was quick to offer her help with your makeup and hair, which you graciously and gratefully took her up on. You were desperate for some feminine support, and Nat came in the form of an angel sent from the heavens.  

The way she worked her magic left you unable to believe it was you staring back at yourself in the mirror; hair flawlessly styled and makeup ethereal. A shaky sigh escapes you. “You really think so?”   

All in all, as you walk down the hallway to the door that hides your date from view, arm in arm with your guardian angel, there is not one reason for why you are so anxious — though the pressure you place on yourself to make sure this date is perfect is among one of the chief suspects. 

You meant, wholeheartedly, what you told Bucky before — he deserves the world, and you crave to hand it to him. “I mean–”

“Listen to me,” Nat says fiercely as she steps in front of you, blocking your path to the door of the apartment and stopping you in your tracks. Her hands grip your arms, tethering you to reality. “I know for a fact that boy is going to positively die when he sees you.” 

The tension releases from your body with her comforting words, but Nat still goes above and beyond to bring you out of your spiral. “Hell, if I wasn’t already with your brother, I'd have snatched you up myself.” 

You can’t help the small smile that quirks your lips for her instilled confidence, and she winks. 

You’re grateful that Steve has found someone so genuine who you easily get along with. Natasha is a beautiful woman both inside and out, faultlessly honest and loyal — traits that are hard to find in a person, yet here she is, extending her help with little thought or expectation of it being returned.  

“Thank you,” you murmur, trying to convey how much you appreciate her. “Y–You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“Maybe not.” Her hair bounces as she shrugs. “But us girls gotta stick together — especially now that we’ve got two helmet heads stuck to our back.” 

“Come on.” Her arm hooks around yours, and she pulls you along. “Let’s go get your boy.” 

Before you can blink, you are standing outside your brother’s apartment, and with a deep breath and moral support of the redhead on your arm, you bring your closed fist up to the wood. “Here we go.” Three, firm knocks ring through the silence, and you step back to wait. 

The anticipation doesn't last very long at all before the door swings inwards with a flourish. 

Steve stands in the entryway, his back turned towards you while he shouts into his apartment. “Hurry your ass up, Buck–!” You lightly switch your weight between your feet, waiting for him to turn around. “They’re at the door!” 

There’s a clattering bang and more curses from inside the apartment, when Steve finally turns around to greet you. “There’s my favourite girls—” He freezes in place, mouth slack from shock, and his eyes trail up and down your body. “Flower,” he gasps in awe. “Oh sis, you look so beautiful.”

The sincerity in his words immediately brings tears to your eyes, and Nat hisses at her boyfriend, “Hey, don’t ruin her makeup!”  

“I’m sorry,” Steve says slowly, still taking you in. “I just– you’re so fucking beautiful. Look at you.” 

Nat hums happily while her hand rubs your shoulder. “Isn’t she? I said Bucky’s going to die when he sees her.” 

“Guys,” You whine, the hot flush of embarrassment leaves you feeling utterly flustered.  

Steve ignores you though, readily agreeing with his girlfriend as he opens the door wider to let you both enter. “She’s right, Flower. It suits you perfectly.” 

A surge of giddiness hits you — after a time of intense deliberation of your wardrobe, you chose one of your favourite sundresses to wear for the special night, a spaghetti strap in a soft, cornflower blue. A small surprise and homage to someone special. “Thanks Stevie, I really appreciate–”  

“Okay, okay, wait–” Bucky rounds the corner from the hallway as he enters the living room, interrupting you. “What about this one?”  

The cufflinks on his navy blue button-up steal his whole attention, while his long, chocolate hair conceals you from his view. He struggles fastening the cuffs with the subtle shake of his fingers, and you can almost hear his inner frustration when he huffs an annoyed breath, blowing strands of hair from his face. “Dammit, I swear–”

You stand there with thin lips to contain your laughter while waiting for him to look up.  

“Steve?” Bucky asks frustratedly after he doesn’t receive an immediate response. “Do you think Buttercup will like this outfit or not–” His head tilts upwards, hair falling either side of his handsome face that is painted with exasperation at being ignored, and his words falter.

Blue eyes widen in surprise to find you standing there next to his best friend. 

“Oh– fuck,” Bucky gasps, and his jaw slackens with the gravity of your presence; truly awe stricken by the sight of your opulent outfit and appearance. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps uselessly around his inability to speak. 

The click of your shoes against the floorboards doesn’t snap him out of his daze let alone register in his mind, so deep in his fixation of you.  

You take the chance to admire his appearance. 

The navy, button-up shirt clings to his broad shoulders, accentuating the definition of the muscles all the way down to his forearms, and with each movement, the material tightens sinfully. The top few buttons of his shirt are left undone — a choice you’re most thankful for because of the tease of his bare chest. Black slacks fit snug to his hips and grip his thick thighs. 

On any normal day, when Bucky wasn’t out in the field in his football gear, he normally stuck to his casual clothing of an old t-shirt and sweatpants — comfort over presentability, not that you ever complain about the sight of him in sweats. But this is the first time you’ve ever seen him remotely dressed up.

You walk towards him and grab his hands with yours, stopping his absentminded fidgeting — gravity keeping him routed in place. 

“I think you’re absolutely gorgeous, Bucky,” you say, gazing into his eyes while you wonder how lucky you are to hold his attention in a room of his favourite people. “If that answers your question.”

“My god, Bee,” he whispers, finally able to give a voice to the flock of thoughts circling his mind. “You look stunning, baby — ethereal.” He laughs, a little deliriously. “You’re kinda killing me here.” His large hands encircle yours, bringing them up to hold against his chest. 

There’s so much emotion in his eyes as they dart over your figure like there’s not enough time in the world for him to take you in. 

“Give us a spin!” Nat calls into the charged air while she clings onto Steve’s arm, who watches on teary eyed. 

Bucky takes one of your hands and lifts it into the air, encouraging you to twirl. The skirt of your dress fans out around your thighs, and you can’t help but grin wide as your boyfriend whistles low. “You're a goddamn dream, Buttercup.”

He guides you back into his hold, before gently gripping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to bump his nose against yours. “And all mine.” 

The way Bucky’s stare burrows deep into your soul and makes a home where he rightfully belongs — it takes everything you have to not blurt out the three words residing on the tip of your tongue, but something has you biting your lip against the impulse. 

Instead of declaring aloud what your mind and heart feel, you settle with another truth, “And you, Bucky Barnes, are a sight for sore eyes.” 

A dusting of pink spreads high over his cheeks, and you take pride in being able to fluster him so easily — your adorable Pup would never lose his bashfulness. 

“What did I tell you, honey?” Natasha bumps her hips against Steve’s as she snickers into her hand. “He’s practically drooling over her.” 

You join in with their laughter while Bucky pulls you close and buries himself into your neck, even more flustered from the insistent teasing, and he grumbles low into your ear, “Great, now there’s two of them.” 

Leaning back to better look at his flushed face, you assure him, “I think you’re adorable, baby.”

His eyes twinkle with a spark only you could ever bring out of him. “I’m excited for the night, Bee,” Bucky declares, honest and sweet. 

“Me too, handsome,” you readily agree while you step back, the small hops of uncontainable excitement making Steve and Nat chuckle. “Are we all set to leave?” 

“Oh!” Nat cries, “Before you forget—” She slips out of Steve’s hold and rushes into the kitchen, coming back a second later with a wicker basket full of food, the very same that she insisted on when she first found out about your date. With a wink, she hands it to you. “You can’t leave without this.” 

“You’re an angel,” you praise, walking towards her and holding your arms wide for a hug. She readily accepts it and kisses you on the cheek. “Thank you so much for this.”

Just as you step back from her embrace to grab her offering, Bucky swoops in and grabs the basket before you can even touch the wicker handle. “Hey! Excuse me, Barnes,” you scold, frowning at him. “I am more than capable of carrying that.”

“I know,” Bucky teases while he walks backwards towards the apartment door, a devilish grin on his lips. “But I don’t care for a picnic basket gettin’ in the way and ruinin’ the view of my girl in a pretty dress.” 

Your jaw drops from his suave words, and you stand there, flustered as you watch his retreating form. Without looking, he opens the door with his free hand and bids farewell to his best friend with a nod, then he smiles at Nat. 

Bucky then looks to you. The flick of his hair as he nods towards the hallway pulls you from the reverie. “Come on, beautiful. The night is young; the possibilities endless.” 

Where the hell has he gotten his silver tongue from? your mind questions. 

“He’s gotten too smooth for his own good,” Steve comments as though he read your mind, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“You don’t say,” you reply easily. To get to the door, you walk past your brother, and he slips a folded piece of paper into your hand while Bucky is walking into the hallway, his back turned. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

Steve grins. “Have fun, Flower — you deserve this.” Naturally, it wouldn’t be a traditional sibling farewell without a departing shout of, “And make sure you wear protection, shithead!” 

The Brooklyn streets are aglow from the overhead lights while the moon creeps up the horizon, watching over you and Bucky holding hands. He blindly follows you towards your best kept secret.  

“Let me get this straight.” Bucky swings your arm with his gently. “You’re telling me I can’t have any clues about where you’re taking me?” 

“Nope,” you respond, staying strong to your oath of silence. “We’re a couple of blocks away, you dummy. You’re going to find out in five minutes — be patient, I know it’s hard.” 

“C’mon, Bee,” Bucky begs. “You don’t wanna put a poor man out of his misery?” He lightly tugs on your intertwined hands to spin you into his chest. 

“Hey–” You look up at him to find his eyes hooded with barely restrained lust.  

“I almost died already after seeing you in that dress for the first time, and now you’re torturing me, I have to watch you walk in front of me in the damned thing.” 

Oh, you laugh to yourself. He’s really turning the charm up. 

“Puppy,” you whisper breathily, intentionally running a hand down his chest. The action and your touch makes Bucky shudder. “Believe me when I say I could make you do a lot worse.” 

A deep flush of red paints his cheeks and spreads blotchily down his neck, and his breath hitches when you cup his jaw in your palm. “Be good for me, and be patient,” you warn, the fan of your breath over his lips only worsening his flustered state. “I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Y–Yeah, okay–” He clears his throat and sets you back onto your feet, though he does not release your hand.  

A flash of mischief darkens his eyes when you pull him onwards, and you look over your shoulder at him when he says, “Yes ma’am.” 

That is something you could get used to hearing. “Atta boy.”

The rest of the walk is quiet but calm — a mutual contentment stretching between the two of you where words aren’t needed. 

You know that around the next street corner lay your surprise, and Bucky still has no idea what is in store — the piece of paper that Steve gave you begins to burn a hole in your dress pocket.  

The exclamation of surprise that falls from Bucky’s lips when he lays eyes on the museum makes all the effort worth it, though it grows to a state of clear confusion from the furrowing of his brows. “Wait, it’s late — isn’t it closed?”

“Come on,” you say in reply, and instead of going to the main entrance, you lead Bucky towards an alleyway where Steve told you the back entrance for staff is situated.  

The crinkle of paper is louder than the cheering crowd at a football game, and you grip the invaluable information as you near the locked door. Steve’s offering rings in your mind: It will get you into the main foyer, from there, you’re gonna need to get sneaky.

Bucky’s hand squeezes yours in an attempt to get your attention. “Bee?”

You’re too homed in on the memory of Steve talking to you about your plan — one of their teammates works within the museum, and he was able to pull a few strings and call in a couple of favours for the gold mine in your hand. 

You determinedly walk towards the keypad built into the wall next to the door and unfold the note. In the process, you let Bucky’s hand go — you instantly feel the loss of connection.    

“Um— Buttercup,” he chuckles nervously, glancing over his shoulders to spot any onlookers. “I think this is classified as illegal trespassing right now.” 

“I mean,” you say, then you stick your tongue between your teeth as you work the six-digit code from the piece of paper to the keypad. The low tone press of each digit covers up the shuffle of feet behind you. “Bucky, it’s okay — it’s safe.”

“But–” He hesitates when the mechanism clicks to signify it's open. 

You look at him and suddenly grasp the idea that he is anxious — his football scholarship and prospective future could be ripped away from him within the hour should the two of you get caught by the authorities.

“Hey, hey, we’re good — no one’s gonna catch us, I swear,” you assure. Though he still looks on edge. You don’t want Bucky to feel apprehensive for the sake of his headspace or the rest of the evening, and your only option is to offer him your most sincere form of faith. You hold out your hand, palm up. “We’re gonna be okay. Trust me?”

  

There’s a small, nervous twitch of a smile on his lips, and then, finally, his tense shoulders and posture relax as he steps forward and sets his hand into yours with an ease that shocks you, only strengthening the solid connection you have. 

“Come on.” Bucky follows behind you, a slight laugh on his breath as you all but run into the museum. 

Different eras of evolution pass by in a flash; hundreds of exhibits dedicated to all corners of the world go ignored in lieu of taking Bucky to one place that, normally, was not an easy area to walk through and explore, given how popular the exhibit is. 

By the time you reach the doors hidden behind a set of double, velvet curtains, you’re out of breath. “O—kay,” you pant, hands on your hips as you slightly bend forward. “We’re — we’re here.”  

Your boyfriend, the teasing bastard he is, chuckles while he extends a hand to your shoulder, “Are you okay?” 

The bastard hasn’t even broken a sweat. 

“Fine — I’m fine,” you gasp, and you gesture at the curtains. “Come on, I can’t hold it in any longer–” The heels of your shoes click over the floor, and you push aside the curtains to reveal the door — only then do you turn around and smile at Bucky. “Here we go.”

The doors fly open with a flourish and reveal a domed planetarium with the signage above a giant moon: A Journey Through The Stars. 

It is a coveted event within the science community, and only after you hear of it through whispers in the halls of your dorms and classes did you realise it was perfect. 

Darkness cloaks and envelopes the two of you as you step inside — Bucky moving slowly in his daze of amazement. On strings and platforms above and lining the dome ceiling are twinkling lights and stars, the only source of lumination to show the wonderment in his cerulean blues. 

You watch from a distance with bated breath while Bucky stares to the ceiling, mouth agape, taking in the moving three-dimensional hologram above him and everything it has to offer. 

The galaxy, with its swirls of pinks, purples, and blues among millions of stars, are brought to life before his very eyes. Planets thousands of times bigger than the two of you cross and circle one another above your heads, closer than either of you could have ever thought possible, and yet, still only just out of reach — the concept achieves the impossible. 

In the end, you realise as you stare at Bucky, your heart swelling with the love that courses through you, that you have gone beyond the very goal you were desperate to attain; to give Bucky Barnes the world. 

He spins on the spot, eyes bright with a childlike awe you have only ever seen on the mornings you've woken up in his arms. The glow of the celestial wonders captures in that second, a memory that will last forever — the sight of your man, the centre of your world, underneath the stars. 

Ever so slowly, Bucky delicately brings his gaze back down to earth, and notices the distance between the two of you. His voice echoes across the room, off of the planets and stars as he asks with a waver in his voice, “H–How did you know?” 

You smile. “That you’re kind of an astronomy nerd?”  

Bucky only nods his head, still at a loss for words. Strands of his neatly tucked hair fall over his eyes, and you take a deep breath and steady your own voice. “Do you remember our first movie night with Stevie and Nat?” 

There is a small hum of acknowledgement from deep in his throat. 

“Well,” you continue, “I remember the two of them were arguing, it took them ages to settle on a film choice. I was beginning to lose my tether.” The recollection of the memory — their voices and banter make you chuckle. “Anyway, a trailer came up on the TV for an upcoming film about an astronaut getting stuck in space — the Martian, maybe? I’m not too sure.” 

He is purely focused on you as you speak, and you begin to recall your favourite part of the memory with a fond smile, ignoring the slight lump in your throat from the overwhelming flood of fondness and adoration. “But I watched– I watched as your head snapped up instantly. You were enamoured, Bucky — I’ve never seen you so hooked into anything more in my life.”

Time freezes as Bucky stands there, unmoving and speechless. The lack of reaction from him makes your stomach twist with nerves, and you rush to fill the silence, rambling on, “Then I noticed the smaller things. Your stack of astronomy books on your nightstand, the NASA merch I find when I steal one of your sweaters.” A small laugh escapes then at his incredulous expression. “And so, I went out on a whim, piecing everything together, and I– well, I thought I should try my chances.” 

“You really—” Bucky swallows the lump stuck in his throat. “You noticed all of that?”

“Of course I did, Bucky,” you tell him with reverence. “How could I not notice something you’re in love with?” The colours of the night sky shimmer over his face and over the sheen in his eyes as he stares at you. Hesitantly, you ask, “D–Do you like it?” 

“Do I like it?” He repeats, huffing a breath. “Do I– do I like it–?”

There’s a thud as the basket he was holding falls to the floor, and you gasp while he storms towards you and picks you up around your waist to spin you around in the air. 

His grin is wide while you squeal with shock. “Damn right I like it!” he shouts with pride. “My girl is the fucking best!” 

“Ah–! Bucky!” The skirt of your dress flutters over your thighs as you hold onto his shoulders.

He whoops and yells his happiness, and after a few rotations, he carefully places you back down onto the floor, only he doesn’t stop his persistent touch — kisses scatter over your face, never lingering in one place for more than a second. 

“You’re — so — amazing.” His lips move downwards from your face to your jaw, then your neck. “Can’t — believe — you’re — actually — mine.” 

The ache in your stomach flutters from your laughter, though you are on cloud nine and find it difficult to care when the boy you’ve had a crush on for so long is kissing your face like there is no tomorrow. 

Eventually, Bucky begins to calm down, settling his forehead against yours while wrapping his hands around your waist. “This means everything to me, Buttercup.” He grants you a slow, final kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” 

“You are more than welcome, sweet boy.” You move closer into his chest and peck him on the lips. “Now let’s have that picnic.”

The two of you sit under the largest planet, and you dive into the contents of the picnic basket to find Natasha has packed a whole range of finger foods from sandwiches, mini cakes, to strawberries and grapes. A small bottle of your favourite drink is tucked into the side of the basket, next to two glasses.  

After a toast, “To what the universe has planned for us,” you both bask in one another’s company — two tiny specks of the universe coming together as one. 

You listen intently as Bucky excitedly rambles about the different planets, as well as his love for Mars in particular. The gesticulation and smile on his face is priceless, and you only wish you had thought to bring a camera. 

Bucky continues endlessly — listing interesting facts about each planet and star he knew, and he goes into detail about any active NASA projects or upcoming ones he’s been keeping track of. 

Not only is he an avid storyteller, he makes sure to involve you in the conversation, engaging you with silly questions on whether you believe in other life out there, and any of your thoughts you have about historical space ventures. 

It is easy to fall into step with his passion, and you know that you could stare all night as his whole face lights up, especially his eyes, while he talks about something he thought no one noticed before. 

But you did. 

The highlight is when Bucky begins to talk about star constellations — his love and adoration surpassing that of anything you had heard from him before.   

He sits behind you, legs resting either side of your body while he holds you to his chest with one arm, the other pointing up towards the dome ceiling. “You see that one there, Bee?” There’s a cluster of twinkling stars in the direction of his gesture. “The large rectangle one — that’s Orion.”

The soothing rumble of his voice against your back is remedying — home.  

“It’s also known as Orion The Hunter,” Bucky explains further. “A Greek name, but its true origin is believed to come from the ancient times of Babylon.” 

“It’s beautiful, Bucky,” You sigh happily. The cluster and the whole of the night’s sky is truly beautiful — once they were just a pattern of lights in the sky to you, now they hold far more meaning. 

“Yeah,” your boyfriend agrees. You don’t see how his eyes flicker down to you, rather, you only feel his cheeks rising in a smile. “It is.” He clears his throat. “The constellation includes two of the brightest stars in the sky.” 

“Really?” You hunch forward a little to look upwards. 

“Mhm,” Bucky confirms with a hum. 

With a huff of effort, you push yourself up onto your feet, and walk closer to the constellation until you are directly underneath the pattern of stars. It’s with a new appreciation you stare up at the twinkling lights that you didn’t have before — admiring the complexity of the placement but the simple beauty of it. 

The reflection from the dome ceiling illuminates onto your skin, tattooing patterns of a realm that will never be discovered for its full existence. 

Bucky, however, focuses entirely on you — his girl, in a reality the two of you once never thought possible. 

A shuffling of feet comes from next to you, and Bucky stands and makes his way towards you. He places both of his hands onto your cheeks to tilt your head back down, to be back in the present with him. “Maybe not the brightest. But that’s okay, because that one is only meant for me anyway.” 

It’s sudden, but it consumes you whole — mind, body, and soul — of the realisation that Bucky Barnes is the love of your life. 

You fight the tears threatening to bubble to the surface, though it’s futile — a few escape and trail down your cheeks to collect on Bucky’s thumbs. Those three pesky words fight to spill from your heart and out into the open, to hang in the closing distance between Bucky and you. 

But somehow, it doesn’t seem like the right time. A fragile moment that while you know could truly never break, uttering those words feels like it will shatter the last of your resolve. 

And so, you save them; sealing your mouth closed with a sworn promise to let them go soon. 

Seconds go by as you collect yourself, and then you manage in a choked voice, “My, my — What have you done with my Bucky?” 

“He’s still here,” Bucky vows. “You just make me so dizzy — so goddamn fuckin’ dizzy — that I’ll spill whatever comes to mind.” 

That makes two of you.

You place your hands over his, still encapsulating your face. “Well, you certainly know how to make a girl swoon, handsome.”

His lips turn upwards in a lopsided grin that shows a slither of his pearly whites. “I would find a way to pull the moon out of the sky if you asked me to, Buttercup.” 

There is no doubt in your heart over that — Bucky would go to the ends of the earth for you. But you didn’t need that, you have everything you could wish for already in the palm of your hands. “Lucky for you, I’ll only ask for a dance underneath it.” 

Bucky’s lopsided grin turns into a thousand-watt smile, as bright as the stars above you both. “Now that is something I can make happen.” 

There’s no music, no beat for the two of you to follow, but that doesn't stop Bucky from gathering you closer to his chest — his arms cross over your back to pull you flush with his front. 

You turn your head to the side and lay your cheek against him, wrapping your arms around his neck to better hold him. 

The steady rhythm of his heart guides the steps to your dance, the slow sway side to side of your bodies. You feel the brush of his lips at your temple, then he mutters something under his breath; a barely there string of unintelligible words that do nothing but add to the peace of the moment. 

Bucky sighs and hugs you tighter. 

The night is only just beginning. 

Part Three