#this is what i get for thinking ''Making her a Sage THIS LATE IN THE GAME wouldn't be that bad :) It suits her character more :))''

[totkdaily]

Day 92: Truths at Hyrule Castle and Kakariko Village

Time ticks on, and I still can't get close to the doppelganger. What does she want, this… thing?? 

The next ambush is three shock like likes - nasty. 

Once we've taken them out, the voice of the imposter echoes mockingly through the hallways. She's waiting for me. In the sanctum. 

Very well. I will be ready. 

I take a moment to make sure my weapons are as strong as I can make them. Then I head to the sanctum. 

She's there, waiting for me.

She transforms Hyrule Castle into the glory of its former self - is it real? Or just an illusion?

Her face… and her voice… 

She transforms before my eyes, becomes the mummy from beneath the castle. The Demon King. She is nothing more than his puppet. I knew it couldn't be real. She would never run from me. 

The Demon King transforms his puppet into an avatar of some kind, which quickly multiplies. Some part of his essence is drawn here, to kill me. I can't let it succeed. 

It's closer than I'd like, though. His puppets, his phantoms, are frighteningly fast and strong. Together with the Sages’ avatars, they are destroyed. But then… he manifests his power again, as he did when Zelda and I first found him. It's so quick - and then the Sages are there, truly them, standing with me. 

The relief is overwhelming. I am no longer alone. Ganondorf, the Demon King, tries to scare us with a nightmare vision of the world. He claims it will come under his power.

And then, just like that… he leaves us. 

Riju, as always, is the voice of reason. She suggests that he isn't yet at his full power. There is still time to defeat him. And, as we head back to Lookout Landing, I know there is still time to save Zelda. 

I run out under a clear sky, and feel a flicker of hope. Together, we will do this.

I have just about enough stamina to glide down to the Skyview Tower at Lookout Landing, and I take a second to enjoy the view. A gorgeous sunny day is just what I need after two days of running after a puppet under thunderous skies. I breathe.

Then I drop down to find the others. 

Purah says there's one Sage missing. Rauru had six, but even counting Zelda we only have five. Somewhere, she believes, there is another set of ruins and a secret stone hiding within. We have to find it to find the Sage. 

Perhaps Purah herself should bear a stone? As a representative of the Sheikah people, and because she's led us all this far. Or does that make her our Rauru? But then, Rauru also had a stone… I don't know. But she's led us true so far. I have to trust that her ideas will lead us to Zelda. 

But where are we supposed to look? Ruins… Suddenly, I think of the Ring Ruins. I can see them from here. With the imposter proven to not be Zelda, surely now I could reach that fifth ring? 

I zip to Kakariko Village to find out. 

Paya and Tauro, thankfully, agree to open the ring ruin once they hear of the imposter. They wonder how to get inside… I suspect Rauru's arm will be useful to me. 

On my way up the hill, I stop at Wortworth's study to show him the stone slab I found. It reads something like: 

"Quaint/Queen Mineru, the King's elder sister, falls so deep in her books such that she often forgets to eat. In my wearied way I have done what I can, but I fear that it is to little avail. Of late she reads of constructs, things she made with her hands as vessel for spirit when body has failed. So, said she, might she live long, in spirit housed within this construct. Though Mineru doesn't seem to hold any deceit… By my faith, I cannot believe her words. "

So. Mineru from my visions was attempting to live eternally. Did she succeed? Is she still here, somewhere? Or perhaps her construct could have carried Zelda back to me in the present? Both of them were Sages - just the power Purah's looking for. 

There's eleven more of these. I really haven't been keeping an eye out for them at all - but the information on this one makes me feel I should. 

I head up the hill towards a different source of knowledge - the Ring Ruin.

I was right. With Rauru's arm, I easily ascend into the structure.

I can't read the stone slab, but there are plenty of researchers below. I take a picture, and ascend again to re-emerge. 

Tauro calls Paya and Calip at the sight of the picture. Tauru translates: 

"…promise… Zelda… solemnly signed… Mineru, Sage of…hide the key… southeast… Entrust… future… wish… defeat… Demon King…"

It's not much. All the Sages made promised to Zelda - I wonder what promises Mineru made. To get her here? To help her reach the present, in one of her constructs? I dislike the idea of her held in some machine, but to have her here at all… 

Paya thinks the slab reads “dragon land southeast”. Calip reminds us of the Zonai ruins in Faron, and then gets completely distracted when Tauro praises his deduction. 

Tauro plans to establish a base in the Popla Foothills - there's a Skyview Tower by the ruins. He and Calip leave promptly. 

Paya wants to join them, but she seems to be settling into her role as chief, and elects to stay. Good for her. 

I check into the clothing shop before I follow Tauro and Calip, but I'm running too low on funds to afford any new clothes. I make a note to try and gather some gems soon. 

I pray for more stamina at the Goddess statue, and then I head to the Popla Foothills Skyview Tower. 

Calip is already camped out here - he's efficient, I'll give him that. He says Tauro is headed to Dracozu Lake, southeast of here. I think I remember it - isn't there a huge Goddess statue near there? I wonder how close I can get if I launch from the tower…

I probably could have made it the whole way, but I stop at Jiukoum Shrine - it's on the way.

[sonknuxadow]

i cant help but notice that in the version of the ending where sage doesnt "die" and gets to go home with eggman shes not flashing between color palettes shes white and blue the whole time in that scene . and in all sonic channel art of sage thats been released since the final horizon dlc came out shes been in her white and blue color palette. is that just what she looks like permanently now ..?

[vaniliens]

Starting to think switching out my mage for a sage mightve not been a good idea (<- rlly. Doesnt. Wanna grind for levels anymore.)

[ellemj]

Does It Hurt? BONUS CHAPTER: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Sex Pollen Fic

Summary: When you're finally out of HYDRA's clutches, the recovery process drives you and Bucky farther and farther apart. You can't decide if what you felt between you was real or chemically-induced. What will it take to sway you?

Read the first part here.

Warnings: angst, unprotected sex (non-descriptive), profanity, no use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 12.4k

A/N: The fic is up and only five hours late 🫶🏼

There was a time when Bucky Barnes felt like everything just might turn out okay for him. It was brief, fleeting, but it was a time he remembers well. It was the night he had you on the back of his bike, with his helmet protecting your head and your arms wrapped tightly around him. He may have just pistol-whipped the son of a bitch who was so damn insistent on feeling you up, but he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over it. He only felt an unfamiliar warmth everywhere that your body made contact with his as he pushed past the speed limit on the highway. Something about it all felt so…good. The two of you were halfway back to the tower when he came to the conclusion that he actually felt normal with you on the back of his bike. He didn’t feel like he was over a hundred years old and stuck in the wrong century. He didn’t feel like he had committed an atrocious number of human rights violations, and all for the wrong side of history. He didn’t even feel like he was an unforgivable, unfixable product of experimentation. He felt like his old self, before the serum was ever introduced into his system, before he lost his arm. He felt like Bucky Barnes with a pretty girl pressed against him, and truth be told, he hated it. He hated the way that this odd feeling that he might be okay, that life could maybe turn out fine for him, seemed to be inexplicably linked to you.

The soft cushion of Dr. Raynor’s office couch molds to Bucky’s shape as he sinks down into the center of it, parting his knees and turning his head to the left to take in the rolling gray clouds outside of the wall of windows. He doesn’t want to be here today. He knows it’ll start raining by the time his session ends, yet he still chose to take his motorcycle out for the half-hour away from the tower. He’ll get stormed right off of the highway, and he doesn’t really give a shit about it.

When Dr. Raynor walks in just a moment later, she can sense Bucky’s foul mood immediately. It makes the air in her office feel stale and stagnant. If she was a more spiritual person, she would probably aggressively sage the space after the session. Dr. Raynor moves to her seat across from the couch and takes in the sight of her client. He sits on the couch, looking almost defeated, with a dark outfit to match his dark aura. Dark boots, dark jeans, and a dark shirt beneath a dark leather jacket.

“The funeral isn’t until Saturday.” Dr. Raynor begins the session, flipping open the notebook on her knee and balancing a pen atop it. Bucky turns his head, looking across the room at her with a raised brow and pursed lips. “Aren’t you dressed for it a little too soon?” He scoffs at the dig, turning his head once more to watch as the first drops of rain begin to fall from the gray sky.

“This is how I always dress.” Bucky argues, but there’s little effort in his tone. He doesn’t really care what she thinks about his wardrobe.

“You’re wearing the leather jacket today. Are you riding your motorcycle in this weather?” Dr. Raynor presses on, still choosing to focus on his clothes. Bucky rolls his eyes before dropping his gaze down to where his hands rest on his thighs. He starts tugging his gloves off one at a time before dropping them on the couch beside him.

“A little rain won’t ruin a ride.” He responds dryly. Dr. Raynor cocks her head to the side at his dismissal.

“I’m starting to think you have a death wish. Do you really think your team wants to attend two funerals in the same month?” Bucky only shrugs at her question, so up the pen goes and she begins scrawling away on the blank page. Bucky scowls, dropping his shoulders and scrunching up his face.

“Really, doc? I thought you stopped doing the passive aggressive thing months ago.”

“And I thought you stopped acting like a pre-pubescent boy who doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings.” Dr. Raynor retorts, letting the pen still in her hand and hover over the page. She wasn’t really writing anything of essence, but the trick always seems to work on Bucky.

“I took the bike because it’s loud.” Bucky explains. He reaches up and runs his flesh hand through his hair, messing it up a bit as a sigh leaves his chest. “It makes it harder to hear my own thoughts.”

“What thoughts are you trying to drown out?” She sets the pen down on the notebook and Bucky’s eyes follow it closely. She watches as he wars within himself, as he tries to decide what things to share and what things to bury. Bucky shakes his head like he’s refusing to answer, but then his eyes land on the pen once more and he decides to speak.

“All of them.” Bucky knows that Dr. Raynor hates when he’s vague, even more than she hates when he doesn’t want to talk at all.

“Give me a few examples of the thoughts you’ve been having today.” As soon as she requests it of him, Bucky’s mind is falling into the dark abyss he’s been trying so hard to crawl out of for the past week. He can see everything when he closes his eyes, hear everything that happened replaying all over again.

“Where is she? Where the hell is she?” Bucky yelled out, pushing against Sam’s chest with both hands hard enough to send him crashing into the stark white wall behind.

“Bucky, you have to calm down.” Sam responded, holding his hands up, refusing to physically engage with the raging super soldier. “I’m not telling you anything when you’re in this state, man. You need to sit down and get your shit together.”

“Let me see her.” Sam had never heard Bucky sound so desperate, so fucking devastated.

“Bucky…”

Dr. Raynor can see straight through him. She knows he’s having a flashback just from the pained look in his eyes and the way his hands keep curling into fists and then uncurling just as fast, repeating the movement over and over. She gives him a few seconds, noting the tension he holds in his jaw.

“James?” Dr. Raynor calls his name softly, leaning forward in her chair a little and waving her hand. He blinks a couple of times before focusing in on her face and letting his muscles relax into the couch.

“I’ve been thinking about the first day in the hospital.” Bucky relents. He starts tracing the golden crevices of his vibranium arm with his flesh index finger, avoiding Dr. Raynor’s gaze.

“What about it?”

“They wouldn’t let me see her.” He shrugs, as if the events of that day are common knowledge. Bucky hasn’t talked to anyone about what happened after HYDRA’s bunker was blown to shit. He awoke in a hospital room almost twelve hours after being pulled from the rubble semi-conscious and heavily sedated. He ripped his IV out, broke the metal IV pole off of the hospital bed, and threatened to take down anyone and everyone who stood in the way of him getting to you. Luckily, Sam never relayed that story to Dr. Raynor.

“That’s what’s on your mind today?” Dr. Raynor is suspicious, as always. With a patient like Bucky, there’s always more to the story that he’s building in his head. He leaves out details like the details are what will crucify him in the end. She watches as he shifts in his seat. Bucky leans forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him as he drops his head down.

“She has some memory loss, it’s hard to know how much when she doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” The doctor said quietly, folding his hands together in front of his white coat as he addressed the group.

“What do you know for sure?” Fury asked, needing something concrete. He came here for a solid update and he was damn sure going to get one. You’d been in this hospital for three days since the HYDRA bunker was destroyed and every update that he got over the phone seemed to have less and less information, so Fury drove himself down here this time.

“She remembers the morning of the day she was taken, she mentioned going to the gym that morning and having a shower after. She said her hair was tangled.” Bucky felt his heart thumping hard against his ribcage, threatening to break free at the doctor’s words. You remembered that morning, the morning you touched his scars. “She’s been able to retain her memory of everything that’s happened since she arrived here, but she doesn’t seem to have any recollection of what happened while she was held captive.”

“That might be a good thing.” Sharon pointed out, earning her a various array of looks from the group. “What? We all know what HYDRA is capable of, it might be for the best that she doesn’t remember it all right now.”

“She’s right. While the amnesia could be the result of a minor brain injury or whatever drugs they were pumping into her system down there, it could also be the result of a sort of psychological protection mechanism.” The doctor explained carefully.

“You’re saying she could be blocking out whatever happened to her because she doesn’t want to remember it?” Sam asked, with worry etched into his features. The doctor nodded slowly, before stealing a look at the only silent one in the group, the super soldier who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.

“I hope that’s not the case, but yes, she may not want to remember.”

Dr. Raynor is snapping her fingers this time, dragging Bucky back out of his head and into the present reality. Thunder rumbles in the distance and the wind shifts so the rain starts coming down sideways, pattering against the wall of windows to Bucky’s left.

“You keep zoning out.”

“They wouldn’t let me see her because they were scared that her seeing me might trigger some traumatic memories.” Bucky says suddenly, turning his head to glance out at the brewing storm. “They wanted me to stay away.”

“And that made you feel—”

“Like shit.” Bucky finishes Dr. Raynor’s sentence quickly.

“Understandably so. Have you seen her since the explosion?” She questions, turning her head to gaze out at the gloomy weather as well. Bucky shakes his head, watching as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky but doesn’t quite reach the ground.

“No.”

“But isn’t she back in the tower now?” Bucky nods, catching Dr. Raynor’s eye for a brief moment. “So, you’re avoiding her?”

“I’m giving her space.”

“Did she ask for that?”

“It seems like the right thing to do.” Bucky shrugs, picking at the seam of his dark jeans.

“The right thing for who? For her? Or for you?” Dr. Raynor narrows her eyes, slowly beginning to understand what’s going on here as she continues on with her line of questioning.

“I don’t know.” Bucky admits gruffly. He knows Dr. Raynor is figuring his shit out and he can’t stand it. He starts pushing up from the couch, coming to stand in front of it as he scoops up his gloves and begins tugging them on.

“We have another forty-five minutes, James.”

“I have to cut this one short, don’t want to get stuck in a flood on the bike.” He says smoothly, his eyes flitting toward the door as he speaks.

“You won’t be able to avoid her on Saturday.”

“I doubt she’ll be going to a funeral for the man who had a hand in drugging her.”

“He was an undercover agent and he played a pretty big role in keeping her safe in that bunker.”

“I know.” Bucky mutters, acknowledging those facts but refusing to let them paint the man in a better light. He may have been a double-agent for SHIELD, but he still let things go too far with HYDRA. He could’ve contacted Fury to send in the rescue team so much sooner than he did, he could’ve spared you the entire final night in that damn concrete bunker, but he chose not to. He chose to give each of you the injections and leave you together to do exactly what HYDRA wanted. He’s as guilty as everyone else that died in that bunker.

            You’ve always loved bad weather. You love the way the sun disappears behind rows of thick, dark clouds, the way you can taste the rain in the air long before it ever begins to fall, and especially the way you can feel the vibration of thunder deep in your bones when a storm is really close. Even now, as a storm is rolling in, your inner turmoil can’t compete with the peace that’s washing over you in waves. You relish in it for a moment, that recently unobtainable peace.

            “You know, being out here under all of these big trees in weather like this isn’t really a good look. Someone might think you wanted to be struck by lightning.” Sam’s voice is light and playful as he approaches from behind. You wonder just how long he’s been standing around in the woods watching you, because if he had been walking, you would’ve heard the sounds of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. He raps his fist against the trunk of the tree you’ve chosen to lean against for the time being. The bark is digging into the thin fabric of your shirt and probably adding to the bruises you already have underneath, but you remain still.

            “I was going to head back in soon.” You assure him, crossing your arms over your chest and letting your eyes roam over the expansive landing strip out ahead of you. Short of breaking onto the roof of the tower and pissing off a very unwelcoming security team, standing out here at the edge of the woods overlooking the landing strip is the best way to observe an incoming storm. Sam moves to stand beside you, crossing his arms over his chest to mirror your position as he gazes out at the gray clouds rolling in. It’s quiet for a moment as he soaks in the view, coming to understand why you like hiding out here from time to time.

            “You don’t have to go to the funeral on Saturday, no one expects you to.” Sam says softly, so softly that you wonder if he actually meant to say it out loud. A tired sigh pushes past your lips and you let your eyes flutter closed, resting your head back against the trunk of the tree.

            “I know.”

            “You could talk to me, you know? I know you haven’t really talked to anyone, and you probably don’t want to, but if you decide that you do, I can be a vault. You could just dump all of your shit on me and I can lock it away.” It’s silent again after he makes his offer, until a loud crack of thunder sounds not too far off in the distance. You turn your head to face him, noting the concern in his eyes at the imminent storm. You know his offer is genuine. He wouldn’t repeat your words to a single living soul, you’re sure of that. And he’s right, you haven’t talked to anyone. What the hell is there to talk about when you barely remember anything? The bits and pieces that you do remember don’t even make much sense. “We should head back to the tower, I don’t trust that thunder.”

            You walk side by side in a comfortable silence for the first thirty seconds, until a light drizzle of rain begins to fall on your shoulders. Sam picks up the pace as soon as he feels it, but you noticeably slow down. He’s just a few steps ahead when you start to remember something, the feeling of dust and debris raining down on you from above. You stop entirely now, squeezing your eyes shut as the rain begins to fall a little harder and your shirt starts to soak through. You hear Sam call your name but it sounds so distant as you fall into a lost memory you want so badly to retrieve.

            You didn’t feel the blast, you barely even felt the impact of your body slamming against the concrete wall. All you felt was the loss of Bucky behind you. He was there one minute, and the next he wasn’t. Even as the walls and ceiling came crashing down all around you, on top of you, he was the only thought on your mind. You were trapped with one hand outstretched and the other cradling his dog tags in an open palm. Dragging your thumb over the inscription on the tags was the only thing you could do. Over and over again you traced his name, telling yourself that if you were still alive in the rubble, then so was he. So was he.

            You’re suddenly aware of the rain pouring down, soaking into your clothes and shoes more and more with each second that you stand still in the woods. Your right hand is pressed against the front of your shirt, feeling the outline of the dog tags hidden underneath. You don’t know when you started wearing them, but ever since you woke up in the hospital, you didn’t feel right taking them off. Sam stands in front of you with widened eyes and his hands on both of your forearms.             “You remembered something.” He says incredulously, staring into your eyes with a mix of hope and concern. His eyes dart down to where your hand is pressed against your chest. He can just barely see the glint of a silver chain peeking out around the neck of your shirt, but he focuses his gaze back on your face, not wanting you to know that he knows exactly what hangs around your neck. He was the one that found you in the ruins of that decimated concrete bunker, the first one who saw the light of the early morning sun glinting off of the metal tags.

            “I remembered something.” You affirm, nodding your head slowly. Your hair is dripping at this point, and a chill spreads throughout your body as the rain begins coming down in sheets. As you and Sam make your way back to the tower, all you can think about is the feeling that came with the memory. Hope. You wanted Bucky to survive, you needed him to survive. Even as you laid there, unsure if you were going to live or die yourself, he was the one you were thinking about.

            Bucky isn’t a very big fan of elevators. He stands in front of one now, watching as the floor number ticks down slowly above the doors. Why the hell did Stark design this tower to be so damn tall? Who really needs this many floors? Bucky’s contemplating taking the stairs when he hears a loud clap of thunder followed by one of the glass doors across the foyer sliding open. He sees you before you see him. Your jeans are thoroughly soaked through, looking a couple of shades darker than they probably were before. Your shirt is wet and clinging to your torso, while your hair looks like you just stepped out of a long shower. Bucky takes in the sight like a punch to the gut. It’s the first time he’s seen you since that night, since he saw you ripped away from him and tossed into a concrete wall.

            “I’m not going to make it all the way upstairs like this, I’m cold as shit.” Sam’s voice rings out, just as he’s stepping into the glass door and coming to stand beside you. “I have clothes in the gym, I’m going to go change. Do you want to borrow a shirt?” Bucky’s jaw clenches at the thought of you wearing someone else’s shirt. He wants to look up and see how far the elevator is, to see how much longer he has to stand here feeling like his heart is about to give out, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. You shake your head and mutter something that Bucky can’t quite make out, but as Sam turns away and heads in the direction of the gym alone, he assumes you told him no.

            Bucky.  You see him as soon as you turn to head for the elevator, and your hand instinctively moves up to brush over the dog tags beneath your shirt. His eyes track the movement even from across the foyer.

            When he realizes you’re still wearing them, he can’t breathe. Bucky can’t fucking breathe because you’re standing there, alive and well, looking at him as you run a thumb over his name, his name that sits right over your fucking heart. Shit. He tears his eyes away from you reluctantly, stealing a glance at the floor counter above the elevator. It’s almost here. He needs to get the fuck out of here now.

            It probably wasn’t your smartest move to rush across the foyer the second the elevator doors opened and Bucky started disappearing from your line of sight. You make it just as the doors are mere inches from closing fully, and you thrust your right arm forward, interrupting the sensors and causing the doors to slide open again. Bucky stands straight ahead with his back against the far wall and his hands gripping the railing on either side of his hips. He doesn’t say a word as you step into the elevator, but he holds your gaze with a steely one of his own. You can tell he wishes you hadn’t hijacked his solo elevator ride, but something in you just wouldn’t let it go.

            It isn’t until the doors close and you’re turning your back to Bucky to press the button for the main living floor that you realize just how stupid your move was. You don’t have to look down to know that you’ve just ripped a few stitches from a deep cut right above your left hipbone. You can feel the warmth of the blood contrasting with the cold rainwater that’s already soaked into the fabric of your clothes. You’re quick to place your left palm over the wound, applying pressure while concealing the fresh blood from Bucky’s sight. You take in a few shaky breaths, wondering what the hell Bucky’s thinking right now. Does he remember everything that happened down there? Would he relay it all to you if you asked?

            Bucky’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard that he questions for a moment if it’s his own blood he smells. It only takes a second, and one swipe of his tongue across his lips, for him to be sure that it’s not. It’s yours, you’re bleeding. You stand a foot in front of him, with your right hand hanging down at your side but your left hand clutching your hip tightly.

            “You’re bleeding.” Bucky says matter-of-factly, like he doesn’t much care if you are or aren’t but he wants to make it known that he’s aware. The fact that he’s speaking at all surprises you, considering he seems to have been going out of his way to avoid you ever since you came home from the hospital a few days ago. You stay still, letting your eyes flit up to the floor counter as you continue applying pressure to your hip with one hand.

            “I’m fine.” You respond through gritted teeth, suddenly finding yourself a little peeved that Bucky wants to speak up now. Another glance up at the floor counter tells you that you’re nearly halfway to the main living floor. A low chuckle sounds from behind you, sending a shiver down your spine, as if you weren’t cold enough already. Bucky watches with veiled amusement as your shoulders tense up in front of him. Leave her alone. Fuck. How can he just leave you alone? Bucky’s pushing away from the wall within a second, taking one big step forward and closing most of the gap between you. He leaves maybe an inch between his chest and your back, but you sense him behind you and instinctively roll tilt your head to the side as your eyes flutter closed. As soon as you’ve made that little movement, you’re wondering why he has that effect on you. You don’t remember ever doing that before, but as far back as you can remember, he wasn’t ever really very close to you before either. Bucky wants to reach up and push your hair away from your neck, to expose the skin there just so he can lay eyes on it one more time, but he won’t.

            “Does it hurt?” The question is tumbling past his lips in a low whisper before he can stop it. That one question is all it takes for your mind to go careening into another forgotten memory. Bucky notices the hand on your bloody hip faltering, so he covers it with his own and applies pressure just like you were doing before. You both stay still like that for a few seconds, with your breaths coming in quicker and quicker as flashes of the past rush through your head. With your eyes closed, you can just barely see the image of your fingertips tracing over the angry scars of his shoulder in a dark room. You squeeze your eyes shut a little tighter and you see your fingertips moving gently down his spine, pressing softly into his warm skin. When you open your eyes again, it’s gone. You’re staring at the closed metal doors of the elevator, almost oblivious to Bucky’s hand over your own on your hip. The elevator slows to a stop and Bucky lets his hand fall away from yours the second the doors start sliding open. He’s gone before you even have a chance to blink. He’s gone and suddenly you’re remembering everything.

            With every up and down motion of the bench presses that Bucky’s doing, he’s slipping further and further into a dark place in his mind. You don’t remember. Just a few hours ago in the elevator, he was sure you were remembering something, but when you didn’t speak up, he knew it was just wishful thinking. Does what hurt? Those were the only three words he wanted to hear from you, and god, he might’ve pressed you against the elevator wall and kissed you right there if you’d said them. But you don’t remember.

            When Bucky switches over to abusing a punching bag, his eyes roam around the empty gym. He switched to an evening workout schedule the day you were discharged from the hospital, not wanting to risk running into you in the gym or the showers every morning like he used to. Still, even when he’s alone, he only sees you everywhere he looks. He sees flashes of everything you’ve forgotten. When he closes his eyes and lies in bed at night, he can almost feel you next to him. He only laid with you for one fucking night and yet, the feeling of you next to him is somehow engrained in his skin.

            “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to work through something with how hard you’re hitting that bag.” Fury’s voice is unexpected, but not surprising when it reaches Bucky’s ears from across the gym. Bucky stills for a moment, steadying the bag with his hands before glancing over his shoulder. He spots Fury instantly, leaning against the wall by the door, typing away on a phone held firmly in both hands.

            “Is watching me workout becoming a hobby of yours?” Bucky asks, turning around fully to face Fury. Fury raises a brow, briefly looking up from his phone screen to make eye contact.

            “Don’t tell me you have performance anxiety. I won’t believe it at all after seeing the video footage from the HYDRA bunker that came across my desk this morning.” Bucky’s frozen in place. Sweat begins to bead across his forehead as his mind races. Fury catches sight of his widened eyes and clenched fists and quickly shoves his phone into the pocket of his jacket, pushing away from the wall to approach Bucky. “Relax.”

            “She doesn’t remember any of it.” Bucky’s voice is tense and edged with frustration as he watches Fury move slowly across the gym.

            “How would you know? You’ve been avoiding her like she has the plague.” Fury points out, crossing his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop in front of Bucky.

            “I know. If she remembered, I would know.”

            “Don’t be so sure.”

            “You think she remembers?” Bucky asks, narrowing his eyes at Fury. They stand only a foot apart now, studying each other carefully.

            “I think you should stop sulking around like she’s forgotten who you are entirely.”

            “I haven’t been sulking.” Bucky scoffs, turning around to leave. He doesn’t have to stand here and listen to Fury’s cryptic advice.

            “You’re singlehandedly the reason it’s been storming almost non-stop since we brought you both home.”

            “That’s dramatic.” Bucky calls out as he rounds the corner, exiting the gym and entering the shower room. Fury mumbles something in response, but Bucky doesn’t strain his ears hard enough to pick it up. Bucky spends far too much time in a steamy shower, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and contemplating ripping the tiles from the shower wall as he thinks about the fact that Fury saw the video footage of everything that happened in the bunker. The fact that Fury saw you at your most vulnerable, you with your legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, only covered by a thin sheet, actually has Bucky wanting to pluck out the one good eye that the man has left. He doesn’t even want to think about what he saw if he watched the footage from the second time you fucked, when the sheet was long forgotten and neither of you gave a shit. Bucky’s possessiveness is flaring as he pulls his flesh hand back, takes a deep breath, and then thrusts is hard against the tiled shower wall. The crack that’s left matches the one he feels deep in his own chest.

            You’re pissed. You’re tired of everyone tiptoeing around you. You’re tired of Bucky doing everything he possibly can to stay the hell away from you. You’re also really fucking tired of your trainer taking it easy on you. You circle around the man on the mat, stealing a glance at the digital clock on the wall across the gym. You’ve been sparring for an hour now and the man hasn’t landed one hit on you. It has nothing to do with your skill, which is what has you so angry right now. He hasn’t landed a hit on you because he’s barely tried to, and the poor attempts he’s made wouldn’t have even tickled if they’d made contact.

            “Stop going easy on me.” You snap, shooting daggers at the man. He shakes his head.

            “I’m not.”

            “I feel like I’m fighting a five-year-old.” You retort, rolling your eyes at his denial. Does he even realize he’s pulling all of his punches and practically only defending himself? Normally, your trainer is always on the offensive, dishing out attacks for you to combat. You used to never leave a session with him without at least a few new bruises and a plethora of sore muscles.

            “Listen, we’ve been going at this for an hour. You have to be tired, you’ve barely even recovered from everything. Let’s call it a day.” There it is. He’s taking it easy on you because he fears you haven’t recovered. Anger bubbles up inside you as you tug your hair out of its ponytail and stalk away from the ring.

            “Yeah, let’s call it. I don’t think I need your services anymore.” You agree, nearing the door to the shower room.

            “You’re really going to take yourself off of my schedule because I care about you too much to compromise your recovery?” He asks incredulously, holding his arms out at his sides in a sort of what-the-fuck gesture. You shrug your shoulders as you round the corner, already tugging your shirt over your head.

            “Let me know when you actually want to try kicking my ass, until then, I’m off your schedule.” You respond flatly. One of the good things about Bucky avoiding you is that he’s stopped using the gym in the mornings, which means you can strip in the open and spend as much time as you fucking please in the shower, without worrying about anyone judging you for wasting water. As the hot water splashes across your skin, steaming up the air around you and soothing your aching muscles, you find yourself diving right back into the newfound memory you’ve been dissecting for the last two days. Your fingers trace the chain around your neck lightly, following it over your collarbone and down to the metal plates that hang between your breasts. You remember telling Bucky to give them to you. You remember the way he kissed you before placing them around your neck. God, you remember the way it felt when he pushed his tongue past your lips and licked into your mouth like you were a fucking dessert. You don’t really understand how you forgot a kiss like that in the first place, how you forgot a moment like that. And everything that came after? That’s why you’ve been so damn moody for the last two days. The memory of Bucky fucking you not once, but twice, came back in full force that day in the elevator. You couldn’t even respond to his little ‘does it hurt?’ How could you respond when you went from thinking about your fingertips tracing his spine to thinking about how good it felt to sit on his cock? And to think that that’s what happened before he started avoiding you. How. Fucking. Dare. He.

            You’ve barely even had time to deal with the trauma of being kidnapped and held hostage because you’ve been dealing with the fact that you had sex with Bucky Barnes and now you can barely even get him to look at you. In this moment, as you run your fingers through your hair and watch the suds wash down the drain at your feet, you think you might actually hate him.

            There are a lot of reasons that you decided against going to the funeral for the tall, thin man with brown eyes. The first reason being that he’s associated with some very unpleasant memories. Anytime his face pops up in your mind, you can almost feel the pain caused by that injection he gave you not once, but twice. He gave it to you without hesitation, and with little warning as to what you’d experience once it entered your bloodstream. For that, you resent him. Knowing that the double agent would likely have family and friends there, even SHIELD coworkers who adored him, really solidified your decision not to go. You’d stick out like a sore thumb being the only one who wasn’t torn up over his passing.

            So, you stand in the ring with your new sparring coach. He’s a bulky, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and unexpectedly kind eyes. He’s simultaneously the kind of man women would flock to in a busy bar on a Friday night and the kind of man women would be terrified of if they saw him in a parking garage any time after dark. Hopefully, he’s also the kind of man who won’t think twice about throwing you around the ring.

            You move in tandem for a while, with him taking one step forward and you taking one step back. When you throw a right hook, he ducks under it with ease. He’s so quick on his feet that you barely manage to land more than three hits on him in the first twenty minutes. But annoyance is blooming in your chest with each passing second, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s faster than you. It has everything to do with the fact that he hasn’t even tried to throw a punch.

            Bucky can hear the commotion in the gym as soon as he steps off the elevator and he pauses right outside the gym door, straining his ears in an attempt to figure out who’s taking up his new evening slot. Everyone went to the funeral as far as he knows, including you. He hears the sound of feet dancing around the sparring mat, two sets of heavy breathing, and then a single sound that he recognizes above any other. A frustrated moan reaches his ears, and in an instant, he knows who it belongs to. He’s shoving the gym door open and stepping in without thinking, his eyes aiming straight for the sparring ring.

            “You let me do that.” You complain, letting go of the man’s arms but continuing to hover over him as you straddle his lower half. The man cocks a brow at you, letting a playful smirk take over his sharp features.

            “I wanted to get a feel for your strength.” He responds coolly, patting your left thigh with the palm of his hand. You roll off of him and tighten your ponytail as he rises to his feet once more. Bucky’s watching the moment unfold as he heads for the punching bags in the opposite corner of the room. He doesn’t normally start a workout with a punching bag, but with how tight he’s clenching his fists right now, he might as well. You haven’t caught sight of him yet, as you stand with your back to the rest of the gym.

            “Let me get a feel for yours, stop holding back.” You bite back. When you turn around to face the man in the sparring ring once more, you catch sight of the lights glinting off of black and gold in the corner of the gym. Bucky. He stands quietly in front of a punching bag, wrapping his flesh hand in a nude-colored wrap as he prepares for his own workout. He meets your gaze just for a second, for one single fleeting second, before he throws a hard punch into the bag, setting it shaking on its hook.

            “I don’t like to dive in full force at the first session with a new client. We can build up to more intense sessions.” The trainer says, drawing your attention away from the brooding super soldier in the corner. You watch as the man runs his fingers through his dark hair and then squares up, expecting you to do the same. You stand still, biting down on your bottom lip as you contemplate his words.

            “So, what are we doing here then? You’re just going to keep letting me take you down and I’m supposed to feel like I had a good workout?” You can’t hide the frustration in your tone, it’s beyond evident. Even Bucky can detect it from across the gym as he throws punch after punch at the bag in front of him. He alternates between watching the bag shimmy on its hook and stealing glances in your direction. The man you’re with looks nothing like the trainer he’s used to seeing you with in the mornings. He heard that you fired the guy, but he didn’t really know that it was true until now.

            “Yeah, and then in our next session I’ll make things a little harder for you.” The trainer answers, circling you in the ring. You stand still, half hoping he’ll swipe your legs right out from under you if you refuse to engage. But of course, he doesn’t. He moves to stand in front of you and grabs both of your wrists, his eyes temporarily zeroing in on the fading bruises you have there, before he places them out in front of you in a defensive position and let’s go. “You’re in your head too much.” It takes you less than two seconds to have the man laid out flat on his back again, with the wind knocked out of his chest and his cheeks flushing pink.

            “Maybe we should give it a rest, and you can come back to kick my ass tomorrow.” You say as you lean over the man and offer him your hand. He grins up at you and pushes your hand away, rolling onto his side before moving to his feet with ease.

            “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t actually going to have me come back tomorrow?” The trainer asks lightheartedly, as he reaches for his water bottle near the edge of the mat. You shrug as you lift the hem of your shirt to dab a bit of sweat from your forehead. Bucky catches sight of the bruises decorating your ribcage and the bandage carefully placed over your left hip, just barely peeking out of the waistband of your leggings. His jaw ticks as he lands an overpowered punch against the bag and hears the sound of the chain snapping above. The bag flies across the room, crashing against the wall before crumpling to the floor. For a split second, Bucky’s right back in that bunker, watching your body fly across the room and come to a screeching halt against a concrete wall. You can tell by the way his muscles tense and his gaze never strays from the bag that he’s having a flashback of some sort. Your trainer is already packing up his bag and stepping out of the ring when Bucky snaps his head back in your direction.

            “If you promise you won’t take it easy on me, I might call.” You assure him, but your eyes stay fixed on Bucky, who looks like he’d happily send you careening into the wall right beside the punching bag if you keep staring at him. The trainer follows your line of sight, noting Bucky’s presence before turning back to you one last time.

            “I can’t promise that.”

            Just like that, the man is gone and you’re sorely disappointed to lose yet another trainer who thinks you’re too fragile to handle even one little hit. You’re tugging your hair out of its ponytail and running your hands through your messy hair as Bucky’s walking across the gym to retrieve the busted punching bag that he sent airborne just a moment ago. You can feel his eyes on your back as you bend over and start scooping up your water bottle and phone from the edge of the ring.

            “It wouldn’t kill you to take it easy, you’re still covered in bruises.” Bucky’s voice is almost unfamiliar to your ears after the way he’s been avoiding you lately. You pause, your hand hovering just over your phone as his words register in your mind. You straighten up and look over to see Bucky dragging that damn busted bag back to the far corner of the gym, not even sparing you a passing glance.

            “I didn’t ask for your advice, and I sure as hell don’t need it.”

            “You don’t know what you need. You’re out here begging a guy nearly twice your size to lay hands on you just to convince yourself that you’re fine.” Bucky spits back, dropping the bag at his feet and finally turning around to face you. His eyes are alight with fire, and the intensity of his stare burns against your face. You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest.

            “I am fine.” You huff, sounding every bit as confident as you’d hoped you would. Bucky hates that you think you can lie to his face and he’ll believe every word. That’s the second time you’ve tried telling him you’re fine, the second time you’ve lied to him. He steps over the punching bag at his feet and takes a few steps closer to the sparring ring.

            “Are you? Because the last time I saw you, you tore your stitches just trying to catch the elevator.” He says coldly, letting his eyes dart down toward your left hip. You roll your eyes, and step forward until you’re leaning over the edge of the sparring ring.

            “And just like I said then, I’m fine.” You smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. It isn’t genuine at all. He can see something else written all over your face.

            “People who are fine don’t beg to be tossed around the sparring ring.” He points out, taking another step closer to the ring. You tilt your head to the side and bite down lightly on your bottom lip. Bucky’s eyes follow every move you make closely. Biting your lip like that almost feels like a personal attack to him.

            “I’m sick of everyone tiptoeing around me like I’ll shatter if I take so much as a deep breath. I can take a few punches, Bucky.” You slip between the ropes around the edge of the ring and carefully lower yourself to the gym floor.

            “I’m sure you can, but that doesn’t mean you need to.” His response is reasonable and it frustrates you further. You’re trying to egg him on and he can see it clearly. It’s why he gives you one last up and down look before shaking his head and turning on his heel. He’s tugging the wrap off of his flesh hand and nearing the door when you decide to come back with a response.

            “So you can encourage me to take your cock but not a few punches from a trainer?”

            He should keep walking. He should be halfway to the elevator right now, leaving you alone in the gym. He should be ignoring your obvious attempt to get him to engage with you, but his entire musculoskeletal system decided to disconnect from his nervous system the moment you said what you just said. You remember. You remember him encouraging you to take his cock. You remember him saying just keep taking my cock as he reached dangerous depths inside you and then praised you immediately after. Heat starts to pool low in your stomach as you realize what you’ve done, as you realize that he knows now. He knows that you remember. Bucky’s demeanor is entirely different when he turns to face you now, the fire behind his eyes burning so bright that you worry the gym might go up in smoke. His next words send a shiver down your spine and a chill coasting over the surface of your skin.

            “Get on the mat.”

            “Tell me what you remember.” Bucky orders, watching you from across the ring as your chest heaves and sweat drips down your temples. You’re hunched over with your hands resting on your knees as you try to catch your breath. He narrows his eyes at you as you shoot him a menacing glare. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did you want me to go easy on you?”

            “You’re fighting dirty.” You accuse, glancing down at your forearms and noting the reddening skin there. He handled you with such a harsh grip that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow morning. Bucky smirks before crossing the ring in two long strides and tangling a hand in the hair at the back of your head. He tugs upward, forcing you to stand up straight, before tightening his grip and using it to tilt your head to the side.

            “Tell me what you remember.” He repeats, letting his eyes settle on the expanse of your neck. Do you remember him kissing, licking, and sucking the skin there? Do you remember the feel of his stubble scratching at it as he worked his mouth over your pulse? The quickening of your breaths as he holds you this way tell him that you do, you fucking remember.

            “Why does it matter what I remember?” You ask stubbornly, not yet attempting to break free from his grasp. Bucky lets his hand fall from your hair before shoving your back a little too hard, sending you stumbling into the center of the ring. He circles you like you’re some kind of prey and that only serves to stoke the fire in the pit of your stomach. How is he going to go from avoiding and practically ignoring you for days, to demanding shit from you now?

            “Because I want to talk about it.” He sweeps a leg out suddenly, aiming for the backs of your knees but you sidestep and he narrowly misses. You mimic his movements, moving in a slow circle around the ring as you face off.

            “You’ve been hiding ever since I was discharged from the hospital, but now you want to talk?” You throw a poorly executed punch that doesn’t even come close to making contact with Bucky’s solid body. He chuckles to himself and starts to formulate a plan in his head. He charges forward and grabs your right wrist before turning you around and hiking it up your back, pulling you against his chest with little to no effort. His scent envelopes you as he holds you there, with his breath tickling your neck and his knee snaking between your thighs.

            “Do you remember the first night they gave you that injection? The first night they let me see you?” He asks in a near-whisper, letting his lips graze against the shell of your ear. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to ignore his questions and focus on getting out of his hold. He tugs your twisted arm higher up your back and you feel the threat of injury building in the muscles of your shoulder. “Do you remember what I did for you?” As if he can sense how close your shoulder is to snapping, Bucky drops your arm in an instant, but he isn’t done with you. He sweeps your legs out from under you before you have a chance to recover. You go tumbling backward, but his fingers snag on the fabric of the front of your shirt and he catches you by it, before lowering you the last couple of inches to the mat. You lie on your back, eyeing his vibranium arm as he circles you on the floor. You remember what he did for you. You remember it in flashes, but still, you remember it.

            “I remember.” You admit, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth and biting down on it. Bucky scowls down at you before averting his gaze. You don’t miss the way he adjusts the front of his sweats, or the way he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before looking down at you again. When he’s composed himself, he steps closer and offers you a hand. You look at him warily, but place your hand in his. He should’ve seen it coming, but you’re yanking him down on top of you the moment your palms collide and he doesn’t have time to stop you. He lands with one leg between your parted knees and his vibranium hand on the mat beside your head, holding up some of his weight. With your faces only inches apart, neither of you moves at first. Bucky’s studying you closely, trying hard as hell to read the look in your eyes, but he can’t. You skate your right hand over his shoulder, moving down to his vibranium bicep until feel the edge of his shirt sleeve. Hooking your thumb in it, you meet Bucky’s intense stare with a playful one of your own, looking up at him through your lashes. You slide that sleeve up further and further until your fingertips are brushing over his scars. “Does it hurt?” You whisper, tilting your chin up as the question leaves your lips. He’s so close that you could barely move and still, you’d be kissing him. You feel him shudder against your touch before quickly shrugging your hand away.

            “Does what hurt?” He asks, moving his hands down to grip your waist before rolling you over. You end up straddling his lower half, but only for a second before he’s shoving you off and scrambling to his feet. As he tangles a hand in your hair again, you’re starting to wonder if he has some kind of kink for it. You’re getting tired of him playing dirty. You’re getting tired of playing this little game at all, honestly. Why is it so important to him that you remember every detail of what happened in that damn bunker?

            Bucky brings you up to your feet by the hold he has on your hair, just like he did earlier, but this time, he lets that hand loosen its grip and then glide down the side of your neck before coming to rest right around your throat.

            “You look so fucking pretty like this.” He says lowly. The mix of his suggestive tone and burning gaze has that heat in your stomach moving lower and lower until it’s pooling between your legs. “With my hand and my name around your neck.” He whispers the last part, leaning in close to your ear as he adds a little pressure to your throat. You can’t let him win this way, you can’t let him have the last word. So, you raise your right hand to his shoulder and with a few calculated movements of your wrist, his vibranium arm clicks and falls to the floor with a solid thud.

            Bucky’s stunned as he lets go of your throat and watches you slip through the ropes around the perimeter of the sparring ring. His eyes dart down to the black and gold arm at his feet and then back over to you as you head for the door, looking so damn content with yourself. He leans down and retrieves the arm, quickly positioning it for reattachment.

            “Can’t finish the job without the vibranium arm, can you?” You ask smugly, daring to steal one last look at him over your shoulder as you near the exit. You watch as he reattaches the arm and then rotates it fully in a circle around its socket. Something about the entire process is undeniably hot.

            “I finished the job without it the first night that HYDRA gave you the injection, twice.”

            You’re frozen in place as the memory floods in again. It’s not in bits and pieces this time, it’s not in flashes. You have a full body experience as you envision your head falling back against Bucky’s shoulder and his flesh fingers dipping between your legs. Two orgasms. He gave you two orgasms without ever lifting a vibranium finger.

            Bucky sees the shift in your demeanor. He can tell you’re lost in the memory when you don’t even track him as he tugs off his shirt and drops it on the mat before climbing through the ropes and making his way over to you, closing the distance quickly. By the time you’re coming back to reality, his flesh hand is sliding against the curve of your jaw while his vibranium arm is wrapping around your waist, tugging you into him. He kisses you desperately, and you feel the same fireworks you felt the first time he did it in that damn bunker.

            When you kiss him back, he can’t fucking control himself. He’s backing you into the closed door of the gym and tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth before slipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting you. Your lungs are burning for air by the time you realize what the hell you’re doing, and you push your palms flat against his bare chest. He sucks in a deep breath when you part, but it’s not enough, oxygen isn’t enough. You’re the only thing that makes him feel like he’s alive and he fucking needs you. If he could just breathe you in, he’d already be doing it.  

            “I’ve wanted to knock on your door every single night since you’ve been back here, just to ask if I can lay next to you for even a minute.” Bucky whispers against your lips, gently tracing the outline of your mouth with his thumb as he peers into your eyes. You look up at him through your lashes as you take in the confession.             “Why?” You ask, matching the quietness of his tone.           

            “Because I got a taste of what it feels like and I haven’t been able to sleep since.”

            “That’s all you want?” You pry, narrowing your eyes at him and letting your hands wander up to the sides of his ribcage. Something about being so close to him feels right, and yet, you hear alarm bells ringing in your head. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be confusing yourself like this. What happened in the bunker, under the influence of whatever was being pumped into your system, is clouding your judgement. You start to pull away from Bucky, but he refuses to drop the arm he has hooked around your back or the hand on the side of your face.

            “I want so much more than that.” He answers thoughtfully as his eyes dart down to your lips. “But that…I could live off of the feeling I get when I lay next to you for the rest of my life.”

            “Bucky, don’t say shit like that.” You tense up, grabbing both of his arms in your hands and pushing him away from you cautiously. He lets it happen, but he sure as hell isn’t planning on letting you walk out that door. Taking one step back, he notes that you haven’t actually made a move to leave yet, you’re just making sure he stays at arm’s length.

            “You’ll moan my name when I talk dirty to you but you can’t stand when I say something real?”

            “Fuck you. That’s not even real that’s just…you just think it’s real because we were under the influence of such a powerful drug. It’s clouding your memory, making you think we had some kind of real connection when we didn’t.”

            “I haven’t been able to sleep since the last night I laid in bed with you. That’s real.”

            “Okay, but you’ve had issues with insomnia for forever. It makes sense that those issues would flare up after what we went through down there.” You point out, trying to be rational.

            “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the moment I woke up in that damn hospital. That’s real.” He’s going to keep listing things out to counter your argument until one of you runs out of responses. He isn’t going to let you diminish the connection that you had long before HYDRA stepped into the picture. It was real, it’s still real, and he’s clinging to it like it’s a lifeline.

            “You also put all of your energy into avoiding me for the past week. That’s real too, Bucky.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the door, tempted to just throw it open and make a run for your room to get out of this conversation.

            “Because I felt guilty.” He finally admits. He breaks eye contact for a moment, turning to the side and reaching up with his flesh hand to massage his temples with his thumb and middle finger. You take the opportunity to run your eyes down his form, taking in his toned torso and flesh arm as he collects himself.

            “We talked about that already.” You say softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “And then…” Bucky looks over at you, waiting for the end of your sentence to come. “And then you let me take advantage of you.” You remind him, not that he needs reminding. His breath hitches in his throat just at the mere fact that you’re the one bringing the memory up. You feel powerful for a fleeting second, so fucking powerful for having a visible effect on a man like Bucky.

            “I don’t feel guilty about that part of it anymore, you remedied that.” He assures you, avoiding your gaze. He goes back to massaging his temples like he has a headache and you let your arms fall away from your chest.

            “What do you feel guilty about then?” Bucky shakes his head before the question has fully left your mouth, and you’re starting to sense that you might not get an answer. “Bucky, please.” Fuck. He actually groans at the small taste of your begging, and that only gives him another reason to feel guilty. He takes a few abrupt steps away from you and glances at the clock, noting how much time has passed since everyone left for the funeral. People should be getting back to the tower soon.

            “HYDRA chose you because of your connection to me.” He’s expecting you to be upset, to blame him forever maybe. How dare he put you in harm’s way? How dare he be the reason that HYDRA snatched you off of the street that night? It’s why your soft chuckle has him whipping his head around to see if it’s really coming from you. That soft chuckle turns into an all-out laugh when you make eye contact with him, and confusion begins spreading across his features.             “What the hell did you think I thought? That they chose me because I’m so special and fertile?” You ask, your laugh breaking through every other word. “Bucky, no shit they chose me because I’m connected to you. They knew you wouldn’t have cooperated with just any woman they locked you in a room with.” He’s dumbfounded as he stares at you, truly not understanding how you’re so calm about this.

            “You should be pissed at me.” He says lowly, turning back toward the sparring ring and heading back for his shirt.

            “I’m pissed at you for avoiding me for days, and pissed that you were one of the ones acting like I was a fragile piece of fine China after I got back here. I’m not pissed at you for HYDRA’s bullshit.”

            Bucky continues moving across the gym, and you watch with bated breath as he scoops up his shirt and pulls it over his head. He reaches for your water bottle and phone at the edge of the mats and takes one item in each hand before heading back in your direction, keeping his eyes down.

            “Nothing was your fault, Bucky.” You say softly, as he hands you your things. The genuine feeling in your words, in your tone, has Bucky’s heart clenching in his chest. He knows you mean it, that you believe it, but he can’t seem to find it within himself to agree with the statement. When he finally looks into your eyes, you can tell he’s waiting for you to move away from the door so he can leave. “You were the only reason I survived down there. That’s real.”

            You can tell your words have struck some kind of nerve inside of him, but you step aside anyway, letting him leave through the gym door without so much as letting out a sigh in response to you. How are you the one who feels like shit after that conversation? After he handed you your ass on the mats and then kissed you out of the fucking blue? Oh, right. You feel like shit because he stood in front of you begging you to see how real your connection is, while you attributed it all to the toxin that HYDRA pumped into you. The man hasn’t been able to sleep since he got a taste of sleeping next to you. When he ruined you for any other man beneath a thin white sheet and the weight of his body, you were inadvertently ruining him for everything. You never once stopped to think about the power you hold over Bucky Barnes, until right now. And now, you feel like shit.

            He needs your scent gone. As Bucky stands in the shower in his private bathroom, scrubbing shampoo so deeply into his scalp that even his brain will emanate a scent of cleanliness, all he can think about is the way his skin smells like you. He got way too fucking close to you in the gym. Not only did he get too close, but he went as far as kissing you. What a fucking ass. He’s beating himself up over it as he rinses the last of the shampoo out of his hair and moves on to washing his body.

            You just think it’s real because we were under the influence of such a powerful drug. Your words swirl around in his head, making his temples ache and his stomach churn. It’s not real to you at all. It’s clouding your memory, making you think we had some kind of real connection when we didn’t. Fuck. Bucky slams his flesh hand against the shower wall just like he did in the gym showers not long ago, but this time, it doesn’t crack. What the hell was he thinking talking to you like that? What did he expect to accomplish? Did he really think you’d fall into his arms and tell him everything was real and that you wanted him long before HYDRA ever walked into your life and stole you away? Fucking idiot. He cuts the water off abruptly, snatching his towel from where it hangs over the glass shower door. Maybe next time, he’ll punch that. It’d be satisfying to see the thousands of pieces of glass rain down onto the floor.

            You’re perched on the foot of the bed, replaying the same words in your own head. You were harsh and you regret it. Though you might’ve convinced yourself that your words ring true, that the HYDRA experiment is clouding both yours and Bucky’s judgement and making you feel a connection where there isn’t one, you didn’t have to rain on his parade in such a villainous way. You glance around the dimly lit room, noting the way it doesn’t look all that much different from yours, aside from the distinct lack of décor and personal items. Bucky’s room is quite monotone and depressing, honestly. Maybe he’d sleep better if he had a soft throw blanket or a white noise machine. When the bathroom door handle starts to turn just a few feet to your right, you stiffen but remain seated on the foot of Bucky’s bed, refusing to chicken out now.

            Bucky’s eyes land on your immediately, and that burning feeling takes up residence in his lungs once more. It’s that undeniable feeling that oxygen doesn’t do him a damn bit of good when you’re around. He stops short in the bathroom doorway, holding onto the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his waist. It dips low enough to show off his v-line and you find it embarrassingly difficult to keep your gaze focused on his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

            “Your room is across the hall.” Bucky says flatly, cocking his head in the direction of the door to the hall. You nod slowly, taking his soft rejection and choosing to ignore it for now.

            “You kept telling me what was real.” You start nervously. Bucky narrows his eyes further and you have to look away from him. His hard gaze is enough to make anyone shake in their damn boots, and you’re not even wearing any. You sit on the foot of his bed in a pair of gray sweats and an oversized t-shirt, avoiding making eye contact, and feeling a bit like a fish out of water. But you’re not going to wimp out, not after busting in here like crazy person and making yourself at home while he was showering. “You kept telling me what was real, and I wasn’t listening.”

            “Not listening is kind of one of your things.” Bucky’s tone is still flat and emotionless, though a hint of humor seems to peek through as he taunts you. You nod again, swallowing hard as he crosses his arms over his chest, letting go of the towel. The poor towel is barely hanging onto his hips, and you wonder if Bucky’s even aware that it might slip off at any given moment.

            “You’re right.” You admit, stealing another look at his face. His expression is unreadable. “Which is why I thought I’d ask you to show me something real, instead of telling me something real.” Bucky stops breathing altogether as the words fall from your lips.

            “What?” He asks, seeking clarification or repetition, he isn’t even sure which. He feels the towel threatening to slip down past his hips, so he grabs the corner of it in his flesh quickly, keeping it in place as he stares you down. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you shift on the bed, turning to face him head-on.

            “Show me something real. Show me that the connection we felt down there wasn’t just adrenaline and chemicals and HYDRA bullshit.” You can feel your cheeks heating up as you lay out the request in front of him. When he stays still in the doorframe, staring at you like you have two heads, you try one last thing to get him to understand you. You grasp the hem of your shirt in both hands and tug it over your head slowly, tossing the piece of fabric onto his bedroom floor. His eyes follow it like he’s afraid it might start a fucking wildfire the second it hits the carpet. But when he looks back at you? When he sees you sitting on the foot of his bed, in a little black bralette that perfectly cups your breasts with his dog tags hanging down the middle of your chest, the wildfire starts inside of him.  “Show me something real, Bucky.” You plead, taking one last deep breath before deciding to shut up. The ball is in his court now, and whatever he decides to say or do is completely out of your control.

            Your breath hitches in your throat as Bucky’s gaze softens and his eyes flit up to meet yours in what feels like a warm embrace. He takes slow steps toward the bed, never breaking eye contact. When he reaches the foot of the bed, he reaches out with his flesh hand and you lean your cheek against his palm almost instinctively. Even then, you feel it. Connection. It’s like electricity sparking between his skin and yours as he glides his hand down to feel the curve of your jaw. Your eyes are closing at the gentle touch, at the light caress of his thumb over your cheekbone.

            “Do you feel that?” His voice is husky as the question swirls around the space between you. He leans down until his lips are brushing against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. “Just touching you like this is enough to help me sleep at night.”

            “Bucky.” You breathe his name out as you relax into his touch, and then he’s kissing you. He’s pressing his lips against yours softly at first, pulling back after two seconds to see how you’ll react, but you’re reaching up and grasping his face in both of your hands. You pull him back in immediately, kissing him like you really believe it’s real. It’s real. He moves over you on the bed, laying you down and pushing his tongue into your mouth while keeping his vibranium hand firmly on his towel. You feel the same fireworks from that first kiss in the bunker, igniting in the pit of your stomach and exploding outward, making your skin tingle and your cheeks flush pink.

            “Kissing you like this is enough to make me forget who I used to be.” He whispers against your lips, pressing his forehead against yours before lowering his body down more. You feel his weight settling over you and all you can hear in your head is a repetitive chorus of your own voice saying it’s real. “What more do you need to see that it’s real?”

            Bucky drags his thumb along your bottom lip, tugging it down as he looks into your eyes and awaits an answer. Your hands rest lightly on the bare skin of his sides, but as you contemplate his question, your right hand starts shifting. You slide it further down his side until you feel the fabric of his towel near his hip, then you follow the seam around his front until you get to where his vibranium hand is fisting the corner of it.

            “I need you.”

            Sex with Bucky Barnes is nothing like it was at the hands of HYDRA. With your clothes and his towel long forgotten on his bedroom floor, there’s nothing between the two of you as he shows you just how real your connection is. As he pushes his length into you, pressing his forehead against yours and staring into your widened eyes, you can’t deny it. When he drags his cock right back out at a torturously slow pace, you’ve never quite felt anything like this. It isn’t just the physical aspect of what he’s doing to you, it’s the intimate emotional part as well. He fucks you like…like he loves you. He fucks you like this was all inevitable, whether HYDRA chose you or not, it was always going to end up being you and him.

            Bucky’s committing every second of this time with you to memory. He’s storing it away, holding onto it so he’ll never forget. Bucky never wants to forget the moment that he watched you fall in love with him, right in front of his damn eyes.

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[houseofanticipation]

You're sitting with your friend Sam at a coffee shop, catching up. She's telling you about an instagram ad she keeps getting for some audiobook streaming service. "It's just crazy," she says, "because I was just telling Lucille I wanted to start reading more books but I never have the time, and then it's like instantly I'm getting these ads all the time."

"So what," you say over your steaming mug, "you think they're listening to you?"

Sam shakes her head. "Honestly I think it's almost scarier than that. They have so much information about us, they don't even need to listen to our conversations. They just know, based on everything they've gathered about me, that I'm probably someone who wants to listen to audiobooks."

"Well they can't be that smart," you say. "Because the only ads I've been getting lately are for something called Slut Cream."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You must know I'm going to need more details."

You take out your phone and find an ad to show her. It's not difficult; literally all of the ads you see on instagram are like this. They're even showing up in other places now, on webpages you visit or apps you use. This one is one you've seen before: a beautiful woman in a crop top that just barely covers her nipples is proudly displaying a squeeze tube of the kind you'd buy sunscreen or toothpaste in. The caption says, "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle! Step up your slut game with Slut Cream! Shop Now"

"I don't even know what slut cream is," you say. "All you get when you look it up is a bunch of porn."

"Well, obviously it's a way to step up your slut game," says Sam sagely. "What does it say on the website?"

"Oh, I'm not clicking the link," you say. "I don't want to encourage them! What I want to know is why suddenly this ad is all I can seem to see!"

Sam shoots you a wink. "Maybe you're just a slut. These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."'

What neither of you know is that it's actually quite easy to buy online ad space, and they let you get pretty specific with your intended audience.

I live in the next apartment over from you. I've been watching you for a long time, studying you, listening to you through our shared wall. We've talked a few times, some terse conversation at the mailboxes or in the hall, which is how I knew enough about you to place those ads, with audience parameters so specific that probably only you and about five other people would see them. I had fun making them; hiring the model to do the photoshoot, dusting off the skills I picked up in that college graphic design course, creating a website for this fake business (though I'm disappointed you still haven't clicked through to see it). If you actually tried to buy slut cream, the website would tell you we're currently closed due to high traffic, and to check back later. Nowhere on the website does it explain what slut cream is.

A number of strange things happen to you over the course of the following day. On your lunch break you walk down the block to the deli by your office. You're in here every weekday, but today the energy here is different. People are staring you, side-eyeing you, having whispered conversations that stop abruptly when you get too close. As you're walking back to work, an old woman spits on the ground as you pass, you'd swear you heard the word "whore!" hissed under her breath. You wonder if you should say something, stand up for yourself, but she's elderly, probably confused, and you decide to be the bigger person.

In the hours after lunch, you're propositioned by no less than seven of your male coworkers. You've had to refuse a few invitations to dinner in your time, but seven in a day is completely out of the ordinary, and the things these men are offering to do to you go way outside the bounds of first date stuff. One guy tells you the conference room is empty, if you want to go for a quick fuck; another guy tells you he hasn't cum in a month, and if you sucked his cock he'd pump so much cum down your throat that you wouldn't need to eat dinner. Your boss even tells you he and his wife are looking for a third and he thought of you first, like he's offering you a big promotion. The strangest thing is that all of these men seem genuinely surprised when you turn them down. Like this sort of thing usually works with girls. One guy even says, "sorry, I was just trying to help."

It was pretty easy to hire actors for the deli and the street. You go to the same place every day, so I knew where they'd have to go and roughly when they'd need to be there. The harder part was getting your coworkers to play along, especially because I was picky about getting people who could sell the act. For a few of them all it took was money. A few of them I had to blackmail. For your boss I had to call in a favor, get his boss to threaten his job. He protested, but I think it made his cock hard, thinking about fucking you alongside his wife.

I keep this up for a few weeks. Anywhere you go I have people watching you, talking about you behind your back. I have people approaching you on the train, at the park, in restaurants, offering to fuck you like they're doing you a favor. You stay firm in your refusal—I wouldn't have expected any less from you—but I can tell it's beginning to eat at you. I watch you try to figure out what you're doing that seems to give all these people the wrong idea about you; you start to dress more modestly, talk less, even walk a little less confidently. But none of this will change anything. All it will do is make you feel more repressed.

After a month, I decide it's time to make my move. I could probably wait longer, but the anticipation is getting too much for me, and besides, you're beginning to get a little wild around the eyes. I'd hate to break you before I've had my fun. One evening, when I know you're home, I unlock your apartment with the duplicate key I had made two months ago. You're in the kitchen, washing dishes with headphones on; you didn't hear me come in. I leave the door open as I approach you, admiring the way you shake your ass to whatever it is you're listening to. I get right up behind you and stay there for a moment, lavishing in your innocence, feeling my cock strain at my belt as I imagine taking it away from you. Then I reach around front of you with both arms and plunge my hand into your panties

You shout in shock, fight back, try to push me off as the headphones fall off your head. But I've got you pinned against the counter, my full body weight against you, one hand down your pants, the other groping your breasts. Once you realize that fighting won't help, you stop struggling and ask me what I want. "Please," you say. Just hearing that quiver in your voice almost makes me delirious with lust. "Please, let me go. I don't want this, please."

I bury my face in your neck, kissing and breathing you in. You smell incredible, like fear and sweat and sex. I bring my lips up to your ear, let them brush against you as I speak. "Of course you want this, baby. You've been trying so hard to hide it, but you don't have to hide with me. Look, you left the door open for me." I let you turn your head enough to see the door hanging open just as my fingers find your clit. I'm rubbing you gently, tenderly, just the way I've watched you touch yourself through the webcam I have in your room. My other hand is under your shirt now and I'm squeezing your breast, rolling your nipple between my fingers, feeling it slowly grow full and erect. You try to stifle a soft moan and I kiss your neck again. "It's okay, baby. You don't have to be ashamed. It's okay to want to feel good. Let me make you feel good."

You clutch your face in your hands and let out a cry of frustration and humiliation and agony and pleasure. You barely know me; I'm the guy next door who sometimes looks at you a little too long. The guy you speed up to avoid in the hall. But that feeling radiating from you clit... You think how exhausting it's been, doing everything you could think of to change people's perception of you, get them to stop looking at you as a slut, how none of it has done you any good anyway. You wonder if you'd have had more fun fucking Jim in the conference room, or swallowing Dylan's cum, or having a threesome with your boss and his wife. And that throbbing in your clit, the agonizing pleasure...You remember that beautiful woman in the ad: "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle!" You think about how happy she looked, how fulfilled. You remember Sam's words: "These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."

It does feel good, doesn't it? To let me touch you, pleasure you, to let go of this act you've been holding on to. Isn't it okay to want to feel good? Why did you ever let anyone make you ashamed of that? You try out another moan, letting the pleasure well up through your chest and out your mouth. It feels good, so you try another, and another, and then you're leaning back into me, grinding up against me, delighting in the feeling of my hard cock against your ass.

"Good," I say. "You're letting go of those silly hang-ups. Now we can have our real fun." My hands still around you, controlling you, I half lead-half carry your trembling body to the bedroom. I throw you on the bed, face up so I can get a good look at your eyes, see what I've done to your mind. Those same eyes that have avoided me in the hall so many times now gaze hungrily up at me, wanting me, needing me.

Who am I do decline?

I pull off your pants and panties as a single unit, letting you take care of your shirt for yourself. I kick of my own bottoms, letting my throbbing cock slap against your leg as it springs from its confinement. Don't think I don't notice the way your whole body shivers when it touches you. I lift your legs and push your knees up towards your ears; you're remarkably flexible. It must be all that yoga I've watched you do at the place downtown. I've greatly enjoyed your visits to that place, so it's nice to see they weren't in vain.

You're afraid of me, all of a sudden. Maybe some part of you is seeing sense, realizing you'd have to be crazy to let a guy like me come into your home and fuck you like this. But what was the alternative? Have me rape you? Let me tell you, darling: I would have raped you. You feel the head of my cock gliding over your skin, exploring your inner thighs and pubic area, and tremble at my touch. I want this, you tell yourself. This is what a slut like me needs.

All the same, you cry a little bit when I penetrate you. It's not because it hurts—it does hurt a bit, but you're wet enough, and it's not entirely a bad pain. It's not because you're afraid—well, maybe in part, but that's not the core of it. You cry because you're finally letting go. Letting go of the person you used to be, or thought you were. It's the relief of knowing you don't have to pretend anymore, wrapped up with the mourning you feel when you lose a potential version of yourself. I lean across you as my cock fills you up, and tenderly, I kiss away your tears. "Hush, my darling. I'm here. I will always be here. I will love you despite what you are, when everyone else turns away in disgust."

My weight on you feels good, comforting. The way I press down on your legs, stretching you out, driving my cock so deep inside you that it brushes your cervix. It hurts a little, but is that any better than you deserve? Could a slut like you really expect to find better than this? Better than unconditional love and a desire to give you the pleasure you need?

I'm speeding up now, my face something like an animal, furious and insistent as I gaze down at you. There's darkness behind my eyes, you think, something cold and cruel. You thank God I'm on your side. My hips are like a hammer on your pelvis now, and with each thrust you feel my cock bulging inside you, throbbing and pulsating with anticipation. When I finally plant my seed in you, groaning and growling and pressing you further into the bed, you find there's something comforting about the warmth of my cum inside you. Maybe my seed will take root, make you swell up with me, make you mine. As I roll off you, huffing and panting, the tears begin to stream down your face again, this time from joy.

What did a slut like you ever do to deserve someone who loves you like I do?

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Hi 👋🏻 are you taking requests for the creators child AU.

Could the child be Alhaitham's or maybe Diluc's.

Thank you

The creator had

Such a smart child

WC: ~900

This feels more like a collection of head cannons but enjoy!

I believe Nahida would be able to dull the hit to the archons enough for them to not have a public outbreak like in other scenarios, so most of the gossip around is from people of sumeru.

“Stop speaking like that of the acting great sage! The matra will get you punished if they hear you talking like that”

“I'm not claiming anything! I'm just saying it's weird how much time he spent around them”

“They were reviewing the structure of the akademiya”

“Sure, and my wife and I were just studying so many years ago”

“Profesor…”

"that is why my daughter was finishing highschool when we both published our thesis. We were 38 but you get the point"

"professor please... Stop..."

It has been a running rumor for a few months, but nobody really believes it, the stone faced great sage and their welcoming grace? No, never, impossible. There are scholars attempting to refute it but their attempts are short-lived as a few months later you settle back in sumeru, and your lazyly hanging robe you wear now is pushed slightly forward around the abdomen, just enough for it to be an untold fact.

“Why am I returning? I guess it just felt right, given everything” slowly after the theory took traction.

On the later months the baby gets calm whenever he is read books, the kicking stopping for as long as anyone recited paragraphs of dense knowledge, it was a common occurrence for you to tag along thesis defenses, something that professors enjoyed the opportunity of chat you up and students suddenly put delays because of sickness on masse.

“I wonder why they are all so nervous to defend their statement! I don't even ask them questions for them to be scared of me!”

“I think regardless of what you did or didn't do any of them would be at ease”

“And I heard they sit through thesis defenses and lectures because the child is calm hearing long speeches”

“I heard that too! I even heard that once they summoned one of the great sages to read a book so they could fall asleep”

“Really! Could it be…” the teen girl looks at her friend mischievously “great sage al haitham?” Making her friend look away feigning not knowing.

°•°

“I'm extremely sorry for calling you so late, Haitham” you lay on your bed, back flush against the wall. The covers on your lap make little to cover the almost watermelon sized bump “I attempted to read to see if he calmed down on his own but when I stop he starts kicking up a storm”

Alhaitham drags your vanity stool to your bedside, a soft creaking sound coming from the friction between the woods. He just hums as he skims the bookshelf “don't fret so much, it's only natural for me to do this” his fingers dance softly caressing the spines of various books ranging from Inazuma novellas to published investigation on bird care “what has been working best? Early language dictionary? Transcripts of old manuscripts?”

“alchemical botany has been doing alright”

“great, it's coming out to be a spantamad or amurta. I'm sure Tighnari and Cyno will be elated with the news” he rolls his eyes and pulls out a leather bound book with vine engraving.

“Aww, is someone jealous?”

“I'm just saying that something like ‘development of runic language during the last 300 years’ might be more interesting” you just snicker “weren't you attempting to sleep? Close your eyes”

You side down the pillows with a smile on your lips “fine, if you don't want to read alchemical botany why don't you use the white book?” as he glances over he read the simple title ‘weight distribution in columns depending on materials’ and sighs heavily.

“Spantamad might not be so bad.”

There is a small whisper in the last few months that the child could be meant to be one of the great sages but the matra keeps it down when someone starts with it.

When he is born Alhaitham reads to his son some of the books he kept from his parents.

The one year old is perched on his lap, leaning against one of his arms while they both look at the book, one of them reading attentively the words and explaining some concepts while the other is attempting to fall asleep.

“I doubt he is truly listening to you”

“You would be surprised by how much the biology faculty showed children can learn before school”

“I believe they meant before the 5 years mark, not 6 months”

Maybe even wants you to do something similar, it could be an essay, thesis or even storybook but he would want it to have some banter between you two or little comments like “it's good that you remembered to spell correctly postganglionic fibers, I don't have to correct you anymore”

He uses kaveh as an underpaid nanny just plopping the toddler on his lap and leaving without saying a word. He does stop when his son's drawings start to feature more houses and structures than people.

“Are we sure he is mine?”

“For the sixth time, yes. He is a carbon copy of you”

When your baby grows he is the smartest of his class, reciting everything his father read to him since before his birth, even if he refuses to acknowledge it al haitham is really proud of his son and his little shelf with math Olympics medals or the certificate he got from the first place in a writing competition.

Even then the moment your son turns 18 and has to decide what branch he wants to go into is the hardest week of his life, dreading the possibility of another architect in his life. He is quite happy when he choses spantamad, even if he would have like him to go for haravatat.

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒉 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒉 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒉 . al haitham x fem reader

warnings ꒱ྀི blowjob. kaveh is hinted to have a crush on you :c ﾉ wc ꒱ 1.5k ﾉ 18+

a string of expletives tumbles from the back of his throat, followed by a deep groan akin to a growl.

there’s a slight pain wracking through his body from his fingernails biting into the hardwood desk — as well as the jagged edge that pokes his back, but he remains still. if he moved even an inch, he’d lose focus.

al haitham felt as if celestia was within his reach, like he could part the clouds himself if he wished. the pleasure elevated him past his ever-thinning threshold of patience— so much that he’s almost able to ignore the week he’s had as the acting grand sage. 

his new title, temporary but nonetheless, his responsibility, and just like that al haitham has to come back down to earth, just for a little.

though his head runs in circles, he has to ground himself. he has to remember where he is, who he is, and that he cannot let his guard down completely. 

after all, it's vastly inappropriate to have his girlfriend on her knees and give in to the blinding warmth generated by the stickiness of her tongue.

but the slow lift and come down of your mouth, each suck pulling him closer to the imaginary edge, made it too simple to drift off far away in the back of his thoughts. 

his balls are warm and plump waiting to be emptied, and when you involuntarily swallow when they tap your chin, al haitham has a full body shudder. his abdomen is tight and tense, preparing for the sudden flash of heat and pleasure that would soon engulf him. 

he’s just a corner away from pumping your throat with his load. just a few more deep and sloppy thrusts of his hips until the chase was over, and then maybe he could get through the rest of the day in higher hopes.

but of course, like the easily distracted creature you are, you unceremoniously paused in the midst of your ministrations. you suckle around him for a brief second and look up in curiosity. 

his hips jerk, trying to find purchase in the back of your throat once more, but you remove that sweet little mouth from his cock.

an audible and wet shlick as you depart from his member, and his dick bobs up and down, spit leaking from his pink head. 

it takes a moment for al haitham to catch himself.

“what is it ?”

he looks down and sees your glittery eyes and a string of spit hanging from your mouth that he can’t ignore—runny drops of his semen dangle from your bottom lip. your dark lashes and eyes big and innocent as a hare could almost dissipate his slight frustration, but your precious fucking face makes him harder. now he misses the warmth of your mouth even more. 

“haithy, don’t we have a reservation for heaven’s night ? what time is it?” you trail off, eyes searching for the grandfather clock tucked in the corner of the wall. 

you squint. half past 4. you gasp.

“oh no, kaveh is gonna be so upset. he doesn’t like it when we’re late.” you shift to rest your bottom on your heels and al haitham sighs.

it’s hard to think when his aching cock was in front of your face, but at the mention of his roommate's name, he grimaces. 

“we have time,” he says coolly, “and kaveh is always aggravated no matter what.”

he rubs your cheek before dragging his hand to the back of your head. licking his lips, he gently pushes you toward his groin. the pants of air on his cock make it twitch from the warm breeze. his eyes twinkle once more at the sight of your plump lips ready to enclose around his shaft. . . until you pull away. again.

“aww. . don’t be mean, haithy. I wouldn’t say that he’s aggravated. I actually find him to be more passionate if anything .”

he huffs. 

al haitham wants you to, just this once, stop talking, but you don’t seem to understand his plight despite it being right in front of you. 

throbbing. 

and wet. 

your mouth moves, but he’s barely listening and still you keep going, rambling about kaveh. all he could think about was using your mouth for something else. 

he had to interject. if he didn’t, he’s more than certain you’d keep going, and he couldn’t have that when you robbed him of his orgasm.

he motions to speak, hoping it will end your little chatters. 

“there’s a thin line between passion and aggression, and he crosses it. every time,” he punctuates.

“and kaveh is infatuated with you. he just wants to go out to dinner with us so he can delude himself into thinking he’s on a date with you, while he just ignores me the entire time.” 

you make a sudden squeal and open your mouth to protest such a claim, but he cuts you off before you even start.

“and I don't care what kaveh thinks. you're my girlfriend, yeah? so stop talking about him.”

your lips stretch into a pout at his bluntness, and your cheeks flare up. the whirs in your brain twist and clank and you feel . . . embarrassed all of a sudden.

infatuation? 

such a strong word, and yet al haitham didn’t seem bothered by that revelation. slightly contemptuous, sure, but not at all upset.

“ w-what do you mean? he’s not infatuated—“ you stutter, and you whisper the last word in utter disbelief but your boyfriend only reaches for you. 

“shhh.” he places a steady palm on your head to urge you closer. molded together like a puzzle piece, you melt into his touch— your fussiness already a thing of the past. 

you open your mouth obediently. your tongue twirls around before flipping out, waiting for him.

“uh-huh. just like that.”

he grabs his cock and strokes it, rotating his hand around the tip with a tight grip. he’s getting off to your dazed and erotic expression, squeezing just under the head. all he needs to do is bring his hips a little forward. more cum beads, a transparent white, and he wants to see dance on your tongue. 

he slowly inches to your awaiting mouth until —

"wait . . .” you whine. 

al haitham lets out a long exhale, cursing silently. his eyes sharpen and the grip on your head tightens, gently pulling on loose strands of your hair that slipped out of your ponytail 

"what is it now, my love?" 

such a delicate choice of praise, but you can feel the frustration through his fingertips 

you giggle at his clear agitation.

"im sorry for being so annoying and. . . i love you.” 

it’s not like you meant to be such a bother, but you can’t help that your brain just wanders and your mouth just babbles. but it’s what he liked the most about you. a mind with boundless thoughts and imagination. there’s just something about an innocent curiosity untainted by the ruins of the world that he found so alluring.

al haitham dryly chuckles and the corner of his lips upturned into a smirk 

“never apologize.”

he traces the outline of your lips with his thumb before pressing on it. “and I love you too.”

you give him a wide and sweet smile and just as you acknowledge his affirmation, your mouth is already pressed against his pelvis, his cock lodged inside your throat.

he humps your mouth—fucks it like he’s using your cunt. your cute and choked gags around him send him into a frenzy. his arm bulges with lean muscle as he drags your head up and down his thick cock like you were a little dolly. your eyes cross at the display of dominance. 

"you're cute like this, you know. “the wetness from his thrusts are nearly deafening. “—with my cock in your mouth.”

his hand strokes your throat, caressing his bulging shaft from the outside as if to say, ‘feel that?’. It's obscene, he’s obscene, and it renders you into nothing but a frilly pliant mess. 

“as much as I love hearing you speak, I like it when you listen too.” 

in between your thighs are sticky as he uses you to his own completion. his tip hits the back of your throat and you were sure you’d feel it tomorrow . “— your mouth — looks so small on my cock.”

he’s enamored by the view. your hands lay flat on your lap and feet tucked under your butt. 

audible sounds of his flesh sliding over your tongue, caressing thin veins and folds of skin fill the office. he rubs your scalp, and you moan, sending vibrations through his body. 

“stay still for me.” 

and you do. you know that’s going to occur. a rush of anxiety came down knowing it was only a matter of seconds before his release.

you straighten your posture and do your best to not move. the scribe’s bottom half twitches against your mouth, and you welcome the thick spurts that warm your throat. you gulp down his cum like it was a sugary milky treat, tasting every drop and a surge of arousal rushes through you.

nose mushed against his tummy, you look up and meet his needy stare. you can smell his scent — sweaty mixed with a vanilla amber, and his eyes flicker between yours and the mouth that swallowed his entire cock. the tension is palpable as he stares at you with a hungry desire that even surprises you.

and as for your reward, he pats your head. 

“good pup.”

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。WONDER — AL-HAITHAM.

contents. fluff, mentions of al-haitham’s grandmother, hints at sensory sensitivities (neurodivergent al-haitham is canon to me), just thinking ab al-haitham perhaps not liking being grand sage at all but nothing is ever that bad as long as he has you, y’know?

“hey,” you murmur, sitting next to al-haitham. he hums, watching from the corner of his eye as you settle down. “kaveh said you’d be here. mind if i join?”

“no,” he mumbles, “never. as long as you didn’t bring kaveh.”

“i didn’t,” you roll your eyes, smiling.

al-haitham has come here since he was young—by the docks of sumeru city at night, feet dangling over the water. the first few times, grandmother had scolded him when he’d return—by the fifth, she’d resigned to letting him run off. it’s quiet—it’s still and peaceful, but not lifeless. for a while, it used to be a spot for him to just read. after some time, it becomes the one place he can relax when even being home is not enough to calm him.

“rough day?” you ask gently, rubbing over goosebumps on his exposed arm. his cloak keeps the other warm, safe from the night breeze as you sit by the water.

“yeah i guess,” he mumbles, “just overwhelming.”

“these didn’t help?” you ask sympathetically, tapping on the ear pieces over his head. he shakes his head, sighing as your fingers slip into his hair, stroking through the locks gently.

“couldn’t turn them on for most of the day anyway,” he mumbles, “had too many people coming up to me.”

“grand sage life’s not treating you well, huh?”

“not in the slightest,” he snorts—but it ends in a scoff, and there’s not much humor in his voice.

“well, you’re doing a good job,” you lean and kiss his jaw, hugging his arm, “for what it’s worth.”

“i didn’t want to take it,” he mumbles, “but no one’s qualified for the position right now. i didn’t….i can’t let anything happen again.”

al-haitham is kind—most people miss it. you can tell from the way he finds remorse in the way life is so complicated in sumeru, in the way most people can’t find peace even when they try. so he takes up the offer, even when he doesn’t want to—just so life doesn’t have to be even more complicated, even if just for a bit.

truthfully, you don’t think there’s anyone more capable of being grand sage than al-haitham. in fact, you think it’d be safest if it was him. but you also don’t think he could do it for too long, not when he hates it—the responsibility, the pressure, the authority. grandmother has always warned al-haitham of people who try to take advantage of the brilliant, of the burdens that come with being different.

it’s a gift, she’d tell him, but all gifts come with a cost. so he keeps a simple life, stays to himself and does nothing more than he needs to. it’s better that way, he realizes—but even so, he could never turn away when he’s needed, especially not when the whole nation is ready to crumble.

“you’ll find someone soon,” you hum, hand rubbing slow circles into his chest, “and then you’ll get demoted to scribe again. don’t worry, i’ll still love you the same.”

“because my salary will remain?” he teases lightly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—the first smile of the day, but not the last.

al-haitham trusts you with that—with making sure he smiles at least once a day, with making sure he falls asleep with a smile at the end of every night.

“well, as much as i love grand sage salary,” you chuckle, “i love you more—at least, i think,” you add the last part with a playful nudge. he laughs softly—the first laugh of the day. even if the laughter comes late, there’s something peaceful about ending the day that way.

maybe it’s not so bad, he thinks, maybe nothing is so bad when he has you to come back to before the moon leaves and takes the stars with her. as long as he ends the night with you, he supposes he doesn’t mind starting a new day all over again, even when it comes with new troubles.

“you only think you love me?” he asks, biting back an amused smile.

you shoot him an easy grin, “well, love is fickle, grand sage,” you tease, “who knows what it is for sure?”

it’s easy, you think quietly—it’s easy to define what it falling in love is like when al-haitham sits next to you, when he drapes his cloak over you, when you feel his heart beat under your palm, when you can see the tension ease from his shoulders the more he sits with you.

it’s always been easy, like it comes and goes as second nature.

“you know,” he says quietly, after a few moments, “when i was young, i asked grandmother what it felt like to be in love.”

you hum, staring at your feet as they dangle over the water, tapping your foot against his. he taps back, making you grin to yourself softly.

“oh really?” you raise a brow, “you thought about other things besides books as a kid?”

“i read all kinds of books,” he defends, “it’s good to be well rounded. i enjoy a romance here and there. besides, everyone wonders at one point,” he adds, “didn’t you?”

you smile at the thought of al-haitham reading something romantic, giggling quietly as your hand grabs his and weaves your fingers together. “i suppose i did wonder, yes. what’d she say?”

“she said i’d figure it out when i do fall in love,” he chuckles, “i wasn’t too happy with that answer.”

“i can imagine,” you say in amusement. “well? have you found your answer yet?”

he thinks for a moment, pondering if he has. he thinks about how he waits to have lunch late every day just to have it with you, how even with an empty stomach, he feels full to the brim when he sits down with you. he thinks about how he walks the long way home just to buy those sweets you like, how even if he’s tired, he’s never felt more alive than when you smile. he thinks about how he’s cold right now, how even when the cool air stings his skin, nothing is as cold as the way your touch is warm.

if love doesn’t feel like you, then al-haitham is inclined to believe he’s not made for love. it must to be you, he thinks, how could it not be?

“i think so,” he nods, squeezing your fingers with his.

“then do share, grand sage al-haitham,” you tap your foot against his again, swinging your legs as you shuffle closer to him. “what does it feel like to be in love?”

he turns, leaning down and stealing a soft, chaste kiss against your lips. “like that,” he grins, “wouldn’t you agree?”

i’m down so horrendously and embarrassingly bad for this guy what the fuck

[phantom-0-writer]

what even is your life danny?

Danny had been shocked awake by Adam practically breaking down the door to Wes’s room as he barged in. “Wake up!” He yelled frantically. 

“What’s wrong?” Danny asked, sitting up at the thought of a ghost attack. 

“Wha-” Wes asked, bleary-eyed from his side of the bed, drool still wet on his mouth. Adam in all his everlasting energy, practically pushed Wes off the bed, making room for himself. 

“Y’know Nightwing’s recent case-” He started excitedly before turning around to face the two of them, his voice more serious, “You know about it, right?” Adam asked. When they both nodded- as if Tucker would have let them go this long not knowing about it- Adam continued in his original energy. “They finally released the names of all the kids that got switched.” Adam started in the same excitement someone would announce they won the lottery in a hallmark movie. “They made this mini-identity check thing, since, y’know it counts as personal medical history, and it legally can’t be free access to the public. It’s actually quite ingenious- yet simple.” Adam’s voice began trailing on the edge of mystification before snapping back to his original energy. “I thought we’d all give it a shot to see if any of us qualify!” He ended happily. 

“Dude, how can you have so much energy so early in the morning,” Wes asked, bundling himself in his blanket, his voice heavy in a sleepy drawl even though he looked much more awake now. 

“It’s 1:30. Regular people like me have been up for hours now,” Adam responded snottily, shoving a hand in his younger brother’s face.  “Also Danny, your phone’s been going crazy all morning. You left it on the couch last night.” Adam said, handing the device to Danny.

“Who was it?” Wes asked, looking over at him. 

“My parents,” Danny put the phone on speaker. Two rings echoed in the still anticipation of the room before the familiar voice of his mom came through the other end. “Hi, sweetie!” She said happily, “Did you just wake up?” 

“Oh, uh Yeah. I did. I was-”

“We got a call this morning and you’d never believe who it was.” Mom started, her voice only marginally louder than the loud work of whatever she was doing. “The FBI! Can you believe it? They said you were one of the children involved with Dr. Kilye’s case-” 

Danny looked up to share a look of shock with Adam and Wes, jaws loose, having pierced the puzzle together. 

“-Apparently the child they swapped you with, mine and Jack’s biological child, had been born with an undiagnosable fatal condition, and hadn’t been able to make it. His name was… Philip. We were quite sad about the news.” The sound of the drill echoed through the room. “But apparently the agent- the FBI agent!- had already talked to your biological parents - you know Jack and I always wondered who it was you took after, and I thought it was my Great Aunt Sally, but Jack always said his late Uncle Bob. Oh right, what was I saying? Oh! Your parents- right! They seemed pretty eager to meet you. Or at least your father, I think -or was it your mother, I can’t remember. The other one went missing a while after you were born. I don’t remember all the details. I sent you the phone number they gave me, I figured you’d want to talk to her.” And before Danny could even get a word out she hung up. 

There was a palpable silence, “I’ll make us some food,” Adam said, being the first to leave his spot. 

Wes jumped up instantly at the declaration, “No!” 

“How about I make us some food.” Danny offered, making his way to the kitchen.

“Yes, that is the better option.” Wes nodded sagely, plopping onto the barstool as Danny took inventory. Adam hauled himself onto the counter, letting his long legs dangle right above the floor as he watched Danny cook. 

“You got your bio mom’s number, right? Are you gonna talk to her?” Adam asked his hyper attitude from the morning replaced with a still-eager yet more restrained and slightly somber one. 

Danny let himself consider it before responding. “I don’t even know her name or anything though. What would I even say?” 

“We could look it up on the thing Adam was tellin’ us about.” Wes offered. “I’ll grab my laptop.”

“Your call,” Adam added. 

“Yeah… I think that’d be good.” Danny looked up from the food he was preparing, “Thanks, guys. I dunno how I would’ve taken this without you.” He smiled softly. 

“You’re the one cooking for us, man. We should thank you.” Adam laughed. Plates wiped clean and in the sink, they all huddled around Wes’s laptop as Danny put his information to the FBI’s server. 

“Dude,” Wes gasped reading the file, placing his hand on Danny’s shoulder as he leaned in closer from behind him.

“Your dad-” Adam spluttered, “Your dad is Bruce Wayne?” He practically yelled, turning to look at Danny for confirmation. As if he had any idea what was going on. “Bruce Wayne.” He said, again amazed. 

“What even is your life Danny?” 

“Did my mom just casually send me Bruce Wayne’s personal phone number?”

“Tucker’s so going to lose his mind.”

except from regular boy: daniel wayne (chap 6)

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Kirishima gives Todoroki S*x Tips | Todoroki x Reader Fic

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋, Shoto Todoroki x Eijiro Kirishima Friendship

Genre: Fluff, Sex, Friendship, NSFW

CW: MDNI!, discussing sex, foreplay, p*rn, hickies

Shoto Todoroki doesn’t really get sex until he gets it.

He loves you and knows you want to do it…so naturally he does research. If there’s one thing Shoto is good at, it’s mastering a subject

When Kirishima loses his virginity, he lets Shoto ask him questions. They sit late into the night at the library, reviewing and analyzing Kirishima’s 30 minutes of action. Shoto takes notes and in that straightforward way of his, asks for Eijro’s opinions on positions, foreplay and hickies.

“Did you perform oral sex on her? Is the female anatomy confusing?” He asks, causing Eijiro to go red in the face. Eijiro nods yes to both. “It took a few minutes, but once I got into it, I figured it out pretty quickly!” He says earnestly. Shoto scribbles down a reminder to Google some detailed diagrams of the female body when he gets home.

 “Foreplay is super important, because girls need to, like, warm up before they’re ready to bone.” Eijiro adds, motioning for Shoto to keep taking notes.

“I didn’t know that.” Shoto blinks, surprised. To be fair, he had never really thought much about sex until you’d brought it up a few months earlier. He knew the rudimentary mechanics from middle school health class, but had never wondered what went into the act beyond the basics of reproduction.

“Shoto. My dude. This is going to be harder than I thought.” Eijiro puts his face in his hands. “How does someone our age have little to no knowledge about sex?”

“I wasn’t interested in it until now.” Shoto says flatly. “But now that Y/N wants to do it, I want to, too.”

Eijiro stares at Shoto thoughtfully through his fingers. “That was a pretty chivalrous response.” He admits, lifting his head from his hands. “You just want to make your girl happy, I can get behind that. But Shoto – if you don’t want to have sex, you don’t have to. Enthusiastic consent is key to solid intimacy.”

“I really want to do this.” Shoto says insistently. “I don’t really understand what all the hype is about, but I want to try it with y/n. I want to feel close to her that way. And maybe once I do it, I’ll understand.”

“Alright, man. Then I’ll help you. Consider me your Sex Expert. Your Sexpert!” Kirishima grins at his witty wordplay.

Shoto looks at him skeptically. “Haven’t you only had sex once, though? How much of an expert can you possibly be?”

Kirishima deflates. “I don’t see anyone else out in the library at 11pm giving you sex advice!”

“True.”

“So let me teach you what I know.” He says sagely. “Just call me your Sex Sensei!”

Shoto snorts out a laugh. “Pass.”

“Fine, be like that. Regardless, you are now my student. I will shepherd you into the next phase of your sex life with chivalry and grace.” Eijiro is really getting into the bit now. One look down at Shoto’s nervous face pulls him back down to Earth. “What’s wrong?”

“This is a lot. What if I’m bad at it? And what if y/n hates it?” Shoto closes his notebook and looks pleadingly at Kirishima with his mismatched eyes. “You’ve got to help me.”

“Calm down, man. It’s really not as big a deal as you think! And I’ve already committed to being your Sex Sensei, so we’re going to see this through together.” He motions for Shoto to open up his notebook again. “Now let’s start with the basics – have you ever watched porn?”

--------------- FIN for now! ------------------------------------------------

I'm working on a longer fic to really dig into this exploration for Shoto! I love the idea of Kirishima being such a bro and trying to help his friends however he can. I also LOVE the idea of Kirishima fucking someone once and believing that makes him the resident expert on sex.

[wukong-s-only-wife5000]

Hi there if possible could we get a Monkey reborn where he is Jealous please?<3

I think that Reborn Wukong is the most easily jealous out of the four Wukongs that I'm going to write. Make this before the movie. Definitely will be making a fluff taking place after the movie and involving Fruitie. Enjoy!

___________________________________________________

He couldn't help it. He was just… naturally territorial, especially when it came to you. In his defence, though… How dare that bastard even look at you like that? How exactly? With his eyes. That punk that ran the Inn you all were resting at for the past three days had no right to look at his goddess or have the audacity to openly flirt with you in front of him. 

Since you all checked in, whatever his name was had continuously given you the sweet eye, but you either didn't notice it or didn't care. In Wukong’s mind, your innocently pure soul didn't see it, since you didn't.stop.talking to what's his face. He wasn't anything to look at really, Wukong was taller than him and compared to the Monkey King, the human was a twig, and that was saying something.

I could take him out easily. He thought to himself as he watched with narrowed eyes as you spoke with the male with Wujing. His punishments would be limited considering his master already went to bed, so the only thing he had to worry about was your wrath. Sun Wukong, The Great Sage Equal To Heaven, the Monkey King, the Demon King… couldn't stop himself from boiling over with pure jealousy at the fact of human male audacity.

“(Y/n), can I talk to you for a second?” He asked through gritted teeth as he tried to remain calm. 

“In a sec,” 

You should've taken this as a sign, but the conversation with the mysterious stranger was too exciting, you didn't see the signs. The poor Demon King was seething and on the verge of dragging you away by force, but he knew better than to do that. 

“(Y/n),” he once again tried to get your attention. 

“Can't you see we’re talking?” the male looked at Wukong in slight annoyance, yet you still didn't see the red flags… not till it was too late. 

“Wukong!” you scolded and were about to run over to check on the poor guy who was kicked through three trees, but Wukong grabbed you by the arm and dragged you away. “Wukong, listen to me!”

“No, you listen!” he finally snapped as he turned to look at you. “I don't know if you realized this, (Y/n), but you're mine,”

“I know that,” you always got so flustered when he reminded you of that fact, especially when he said it in that growl that gave you goosebumps.

“That punk was flirting with you, and you let him!”

“What are you talking about? He wasn't flirting with me,” You were kinda oblivious to others flirting, getting used to Wukong being the only one to flirt with you. He sighed heavily and turned away from her. 

I should've known… He thought to himself. 

“It was obvious to everyone that he’s been flirting with you since we got to this piece of shit temple.”

“C'mon, Sunny, that's not nice,” you said and got him to release you.

That wasn't true… was it? You really did think he got a bit too comfortable with you, but you just thought he was being hospitable to a travelling guest… apparently, not everyone saw it that way.

In all honesty, since you started dating Wukong a little over a year ago, the advances of other men seemed to naturally filter out of your head. You only saw Wukong in that light, there was only him for you and you for him. Of course, he knew this, but he has had too many restless nights about some human man taking you away from him.

“What the hell was that for?!” The human looked at the Demon King with narrowed eyes as he stormed back over holding his arm. 

“You're getting too comfortable with my woman,” he snarled as he got in the male’s face. “So I gave you a light warning.”

“Light? You almost killed me!”

“But I didn't,” he tilted his head slightly. “Is that little body so weak it can't withstand a little kick?” he raised a brow slightly.

“Okay,” you immediately got between the two to avoid your boyfriend giving the male any more ‘gentle warnings’. “That's enough.”

“I'm just talking,” he looked at you with a much gentler expression. He turned back to the human male with a glare when he scoffed in disgust at the new information. Wukong’s manly instinct was right, the bastard was just trying his hand to bed you. 

“You're actually with this hairy demon?” he looked at you in scorn. 

“Pardon?” you couldn't help but question him. 

“I didn't think a beautiful girl like you would degrade yourself being with an unwanted mongrel-” Wukong's mouth opened slightly in shock as he looked from the male you'd just punched to you. 

“You better not dare speak ill of him ever again,” you warned, giving the man a menacing glare that pleased and made the Monkey King smirk at you. He could kiss you at that very moment. “Unwanted mongrel? He's mine. He may be a demon, but he is more wanted and loved than you could ever dream, and with a personality like yours, I understand why you're single.”

He'd never thought it possible, but he was immediately more in love with you at that moment than before. Yes, he was yours, all yours. Unaware, Wukong straightened up while his prideful expression turned to the man holding his now swollen cheek. He knew how it felt to be hit by you because he had been hit many times before. Even though you would feel bad and apologize when you hit him too hard, treat him like your little baby afterwards.   

“Whatever,” the male scoffed and walked away, not wanting to risk either of you hurting him more. 

“Big jerk,” you grumbled and puffed your cheeks slightly in frustration. He smiled slightly at your display before he took the hand you punched the guy with and kissed each knuckle softly… which not only calmed you down but made you extremely flustered.

“That's my girl,” he smirked a bit at you before he intertwined your fingers with his. He couldn't help that he was protective, he just didn't want to lose you. You were his everything, his anchor, his peace, and his love. 

“Wukong~” 

Oh, no… He knew that tone and, as he looked at her, that smirk. 

“What is it?” he questioned, as if he didn't already know what you were going to ask.

“You wouldn't happen to be… jealous, would you?”

“No,” he huffed and folded his arms. “I just don't like that some bastard thinks that he can flirt with you in front of me.”

“That's jealousy,” she chuckled, but hugged his torso and buried your face into his chest. “Foolish Monkey King. Don't you know that you're the only person I’ll ever love?”

“Yeah… but I'm not a person” he mumbled stubbornly, trying to ignore you, but his blush gave him away. He found comfort in both your words and your embrace. You could tell that the demon king was starved for touch and affection. He was weak against your simplest advances.

“Wukong, look at me. Come here,” you said as you reached for his face. Instead of lowering himself as you wanted, he picked you up by your thighs and brought you to his level.

“Hm?” He tilted his head, smug as ever to see your expression as he held you in his arms.

“Look, I don't care if you think you're just a devious demon that only does wrong… I know that you have the purest heart and soul. I love you, you stupid demon, nothing and no one will ever change that,”

You hugged him tightly, making him tense, but quickly relaxed and buried his face into your neck. You always knew just what to say to warm and make his stone heart, which he swore he didn't have, race and have him weak to you, just puddy in your hands. 

“I love you too, peach.”

“You don't need to be jealous, especially not of someone like him,” she assured, and though you doubted mere words soothed his worries, they did. 

“Good.” he tightened his grip a bit. Because you're mine.

“I am…” You smiled and held his face as you pulled back. “And you're mine.” That made him smirk at you before he carried you to bed to get some… sleep, and cuddle… a lot.

[thedivineden]

Bible Study

pairing: tomura shigaraki x reader

Genre: smut

Tags: Fem!, Dubcon, religious themes, manipulation, sexual themes, age gap, no quirk, breeding, unprotected sex, dumbification

“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other.” Matthew 6:24

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Over and over, you could hear the man in your ear. Whispers of the Lord’s Prayer embedded on your brain, you must think of something else, anything else. “Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” you could hardly contain yourself as you opened your eyes, the from the stained glass windows seem to illuminate the indiscernible halo perched on his head. “and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” He had you hooked, “Amen.”.

“Amen.”

You could hardly contain your excitement as you marched out the door towards your parents. Your session with Minister Shigaraki had you on cloud nine. Even if you couldn’t interact with him for more than 10 seconds before someone else is running up to him, being in his presence is a blessing. Despite the initial annoyance, you understand the effect he has on the congregation. Not only is he incredibly handsome, but his words have a way of touching people.

“Come on sweetheart, we need to get home. We can’t be late to dinner.” responding with a quiet yes ma’am you trail behind you family. Shuffling down the corridor and out the door you could feel the July heat swell around you. Even with the barge of people you still manage to catch a familiar smell of spice and soft sage. He’s nearby. Whipping your head around you see priest shigaraki a few feet behind you with that dazzling smile plastered on his face.

His movements are so smooth, the way he weaves through the crowd halts you. It felt like time was moving slow, In a few strides he was in front of you, smiling from eye to ear. It didn’t matter what it was, you were always available to talk to Father Tomura. In a few strides he was in front of you. It felt like time stopped for you two, there was an undeniable connection and you know he felt it too.

“I’m glad I caught you, it seems like you leave something every Sunday. It’s almost a routine” he says with a light chuckle, you knew he would come running after you. He’s the reason this doltish crush continues. If he allows it, then the lord is truly on your side. “Apologies minister, I am rather forgetful.” Laying your hand upon the scarf you brush his hand lightly pulling away. “I do have a rather important matter to discuss with you. Can you meet me in my office after Tuesday night bible study.” Immediately a smile stretches across your face replying with a sheepish yes, “I knew I could count on you, have a blessed darling and stay out of trouble!” The moment he turns from you the world seems dull.

Sunday dinner came and went as normal, it was nice to spend time with family but draining when it comes to your older cousins. They made it very evident that the Priest is only reason to attend church. “I bet you he’s never even fucked someone before, he screams virgin.” Your cousin jasmine says passing the phone to your cousin Brianna. “ No girl, he’s definitely fucked before. You should see what he looks like under the robe.”

That statement alone makes you ears hot. How the fuck does she know what he looks like under his robe. As if she knew you were looking at her, she whipped around to face you smirking. “What’s wrong cuz? Got something you want to ask?” Flustered wasn’t even the word for you right now, you wanted to know. “H-How do you know what he looks like under his robe?” Without another word, jasmine is closing her room door turning the lock. “You have to promise to keep this a secret, we didn’t know he was getting undressed.” They were watching him get undressed?

Would God punish you for this? The pure terror you felt is all the conformation you need but the heat swelling below beckoned for more. “I only want to see because I don’t believe you.” Eyes rolling jasmine pulls out her phone, scrolling through her photos she throws her phone across the room at you. Landing next to you is a photo of the man himself.

Minister Tomura in the back room of the church, cerulean hair pulled back with his robe draped around his waist revealing his large carven chest. Your eyes were glued to the screen. Looking up at your cousin, cheek hot, you ask “can you send this to me?” Giggles and laughs erupt from the two as your throw the phone back to her.

The moment you arrived home you set to finish your chores and participate in night prayer. “Sweetie, can you lead the prayer tonight?” A feeling of shame seem to wave over you and disappear once the intercession began. “Now I lay me down to sleep” you can hear a voice in the back of your head. “I pray the Lord my soul to keep” maybe it’s a spirit trying to send a message. “Watch and guard me through the night” the voice whispering how they will watch over you fills you with warmth. “And wake me with the morning light.” Implicitly wishing father tomura would bless you with his presence, the image of his rope hanging off his waist fresh in your mind. “Father, you know my worries and care for my troubles.” Opening your eyes you can see your mother in front of you, eyes closed reciting the word unaware of your sickly desires.“So I give these heavy concerns to you, Amen.”

“Amen. Thank you sweetie, I love you. Goodnight”

Your night was far from over. It seems as if your knees are bolted to the floor, your ill feeling can only compare to shame and guilt. What would mother say if she knew I was calling out to our pastor instead of the lord. When you heard a ding come from your phone all shame null in your mind, you knew what it was and your mind was racing.

Getting up from the floor you close your bedroom door triple checking the lock before running over to your desk. Phone in hand you make your way over to your bed climbing under the covers. Your heart is racing the sound of it thumping in your ears.

Opening your cousin message eyes landing on the fatal image you saw earlier. Just the thought of him made you immoral, sinful thoughts plague your mind asking the lord for forgiveness before you’re rolling up your nightgown. You swear you can smell spice and sage as you trace shallow small circles around your clit. God, please forgive me.

What would he think if he saw you like this? Your finger speed up whimpering for the man craving for release. Chest heaving you can imagine him over you, praising you, fondling you. The thought of it all sends you over an intense orgasm strikes through you. Sitting up in your bed throwing your legs to the side you slide down to the floor on your knees and pray for your transgression.

Waking up on Monday morning was dreadful for you. Your body felt heavy and your mind is racing, thoughts of last nights dallying has you shaking you head. I need to get it together. Minister Tomura was a background thought as you went to class. Your day is as normal as it can be taking your exams, thinking about priest tomura, attending office hours with your professors, masturbating in the bathroom to his picture again, volunteering at the homeless shelter, and begging god for forgiveness in your driveway.

Mentally you were falling apart. Laying back in the seat you recount your day. The photo of your very own priest has plagued your mind. You were beyond forgiveness, there is no way you’ll be able to look him in the eye on Sunday. He would call you a pervert. What if your mother found out? The buzzing in your ears seems to increase with every thought. Your chest felt tight breathing becoming ragged and shallow. How could you be so disgusting?

Before you have a chance to spiral again a knock on your window startles you. Reclining your seat forward you see an all familiar cerulean head of hair. The universe seems to be playing a practical joke on you, why would your pastor be in your driveway. “Why are you sitting in the car?” Nope, this is definitely him, and you could hardly stop the disgusting abstractions from popping up. Punishment is due soon for you.

After having a short and awkward conversation with Minister Tomura in the driveway, you both made your way through the front door and towards the dining room. You didn’t even have a chance to ask what he was doing here. What if he knows about the picture? “Oh! Minister! I’m so glad you were able to stop by! Go wash up sweetie, dinner is almost ready.”

Palms sweaty you head up the stairs to your room. Your stomach has a mix of butterflies and ill. After freshening up you put on some comfortable clothes and head downstairs. your ears were practically on fire trying to hear the conversation from the steps. Rounding around the corner met with the eyes of your mother, father, and pastor seated at the dining table. “Hope the party didn’t start without me” letting out a nervous chuckle you take a seat next to Tomura.

The smell of spice and sage dance at the tip of you nose, his smell is intoxicating sitting so close to him makes you want to pounce. Who cares if your parents see. You’d suffer through the embarrassment if it means you can having him buried inside of you. “Did you hear your mother?” snapped out of your daze your eyes dart across the table. “Aah apologies Minister, my child has a tendency to daydream.” you can hear a small chuckle come from the man. It sent chills down your spine.

“This is the first time I’ve seen her like this. She’s so vocal in study, I don’t know what I would do without her.” in that moment you felt like your heart would jump out your chest. There is no way Father Tomura hand is resting on your thigh. You immediately put your hand on top of his offering a small smile. This is the best night ever. Once dinner is over you start clearing the table retreating to the kitchen placing the plates and pots into the soapy water.

The sound of the clanging pots drowns out the sound of your parents and guest laughing. You didn’t even notice a presence behind you until you felt hands on your shoulders. Tilting your head up you’re greeted with a toothy smile. “H-Hello Minister, is there anything you need?” disappointment crashed on you when his hand left your shoulder. “I just wanted to know if you need any help? It would be rude of me not to help my favorite congregant.” You were his favorite? It fell so smooth out of his mouth it made your knees weak

“Of course Father, I would never deny your help. You’re a good man.” You can hardly think straight. Why is he so silent? What if he thinks you’re gross or trying to hit on him? You can feel his slender finger under your chin lifting your head up to meet his eyes. “You think I’m a good man?” small shocks flow through your body, you were hot under his touch. “I do! I think you’re a good man. I’ve seen how you connect with people it’s like you get them not only physically but spiritually an-“ his lips on yours send you into overdrive.

“Thank you for your hospitality and the lovely dinner. I’ll see you at tomorrow night bible study?” turning to you, offering him a small nod, he wishes you and your family a good night. Heading to your room you close and lock the door. You can still feel his lips on yours, you would give everything to him if he asked. Tuesday morning came faster than you thought soon you were out the bed and on your way to work. Tomura being the first and only thing on your mind. Was he thinking about you too? Of course not. He has better things to worry about than some kiss.

It wasn’t just some kiss to you, thoughts about how soft his lips were and how your tongues dances with each other. Recalling how his hand slid around your waist holding the small of your back. His finger no longer under your chin but sliding through your braids. You were on cloud nine. How could he not feel the spark between you two, you belong together. Once you arrived at work your mind shifts between holding meetings and filling complaints out you had no time for distractions.

Only when your workload is complete and you’re in the car the excitement hits you. You have to know what the kiss meant. Your unwavering devotion and desire for him expands beyond the holy gates. He’s all you can dream of, who you touch yourself to — he is truly deserving of worship and praise. Upon arriving to the church you sat in the parking lot for ten minutes asking and pleading with God to lead you on the right path to guide you with strength and compassion.

The horde of teens and kids comes into view once you lift your head up, you were going to need to head in at some point. Exiting the car you make your way to the double oak doors, the moment you step in you notice the empty pews making your way to the back room.

Past the open doorway you have a clear view of an angel. Everything about him is heaven sent, from his slender jawline to his scarred lips. Every inch of him is perfect. “Good evening Minister” it’s so sweet and natural in your mouth your excitement dissipates the moment he opens his mouth. “We’re holding independent group sessions, you have your own. Good luck.” he didn’t even give you a chance to respond leaving you stunned as he sits at the opposite end of the room.

He avoided you the whole night, it felt like your heart was shattering. It’s infuriating. You actually thought he would be interested in you? Now you’re watching him laugh with members of the church. The quicker you can leave the better. Making your way out you exchange pleasantries with familiar faces. Standing right by the door is tomura, greeting him with a smile you ask “Is there something I can help you with father?”

“I hope you’re not leaving we having had our discussion yet.” his unwavering smile made you feel delicate, you didn’t even notice how he stepped forward backing you away from the door. All you want is for him to hold you in his arms and never let go. “No, I was just stepping out for some fresh air.” with a reassuring smile he steps aside holding the door open for you. “Head into my office when you get back, I’ll be done soon.” softly nodding you make your way outside.

Your mind is reeling the only thing that keeps you sane is praying. ‘Heavenly Father, thank You for Your great faithfulness in my life. I choose to flee from lust, because I know You will empower me to follow righteousness, faith, love, and peace with all who call on you out of a pure heart. Amen.’ once your mind is at peace you head inside gunning for the ministers’ office.

You hear the large double doors slam shut and lock the sound of his footsteps down the corridor. The hair on the back of your neck is raising your hands bunching the ends of your dress out of nervousness. Once the door opens he’s apologizing “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Taking a seat in the leather brown chair his arms immediately crossover his chest. “What we did last night was inappropriate. I have to apologize for my transgression” your heart is thumping so hard, if you don’t say something now you’re going to lose him.

“I have a confession father.” lifting his head up to look at you made you neurotic, “I-I haven’t thought about anything else since last night, if I must be frank, I think about you a lot even in the most shameless ways.”. Eyes bouncing between the floor and his gaze, his expression is unreadable a sigh leaving his lips he says “Confess your sins child and I can set you free.” Patting his lap you get out of you seat circling around the amber desk swiveling the massive chair around you find purchase on his thighs. You can feel his slender fingers snaking around your waist palming at your sides breath hot on your ear he whispers “what thoughts have been tormenting your pretty little head?”

All confidence went out the window the moment he spoke those words into your ear, “It’s too embarrassing to say, I don’t want you to think less of me.” The grip he had around your waist tightened “my sweet flower, I could never think ill of you.” planting a kiss behind your ear you body involuntary jolts forward. The friction between his pants and your cotton panties made you melt. God has answered your prayers.

“I touch myself whenever I think about you.” No words left his mouth he only hummed bouncing you on his thigh. Small whines escape you lips, your bodies were so close. He sighed at your naivety “Is that all, those th-“. “Even now as I sit here I can only think about your touch.” your mind is blank the only thing you can focus on is grinding. release is your only concern. The grip he had around your waist tightened halting your climax.

Tears fall from your eyes “I’m so sorry father, I-I didn’t mean to!” overwhelmed with shame and arousal trying to squirm out of his grip. “Don’t be disobedient. Let me take care of you, get rid of impure thoughts” picking you up bridal style he sits you down on his desk. “Lay back for me sweetheart” obeying his command you lay back on the desk holding the end of your dress over your panties.

A low chuckle follows this action your hand jerked away from your dress. “Don’t get shy on me sweetheart. You were just riding my thigh, confessing your sins. You feel no shame.” His words were harsh, but he only spoke the truth. Father Tomura is never wrong. His words were harsh but you knew he would never steer you wrong. “Be a good girl and I’ll make sure these thoughts go away.” standing in between your thighs you can feel his hands sliding up your legs.

Slowly he trailed caressing and massaging every inch of you. His touch is so soft and soothing the butterflies in your stomach, it made you feel loved. Working his way up your panties sliding your underwear off. You don’t see him bundle them up in his pocket as he brings your legs to his shoulders. Tomura bent down swiping his tongue through your slit without warning. Your thighs snapped around his head — your hands attempt to push him off, as the grip he had around your legs tightened he forces your legs open.

“Tomura~ please.” your pleas were null to him. “It’s Father Tomura, if you can’t get it right you won’t get anything at all.” pouting you relax your legs allowing him to dive in between you legs. He was gentle and reassuring at first. Tracing small circle on your clit teasing your hole with his tongue. Whimpers and prayers fall off your tongue fingers tangled in his hair. Tomura could hardly contain himself sucking and pulling at your clit. Tomura wants to see how far you can go, how much he can make you cum.

You were so sensitive, his actions were beyond making you cum. He wants to feel you around his dick moaning and screaming his name. Deciding to speed up the process his finger ghost over your hole trying to get his fingers wet with your slick before easing his fingers into your sopping cunt. His eyes are zoomed on you — he’s watching the way you grab the desk, the spit spilling out the corner of your mouth “Ahh~ Tomura, slow down.”. Completely disregarding your request he continued to pump his finger curling them to hit your sweet spots.

The pressure in you stomach is unbearable you were practically begging him to slow down. Just looking at you made hard. He wants to fuck you into the table, tears rising in your eyes he takes this moment to slide is fingers out and unlatch from your clit. Eyes wide you try to make an escape before he slaps your clit hard. “No! Please!!” all of your tension and shame is washed away letting the pleasure surge through you. You were soaking, wetting the minister and his robe pathetically covering your face with your arms.

The best part about this is he has full view of your cunt clenching around nothing.You’re practically begging for it. Untying his robe let’s it fall to his ankles pulling you to the edge of the desk. His juice soaked hand came up to you face slightly caressing it as he teases your entrance with his tip. His movements were so smooth — one moment he’s leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, next he’s bullying your cunt with his cock. “Repeat after me, Lord, forgive me for I have sinned before you. Wash away my sin, purify me, and help me to turn from this sin.”

Your eyelids were heavy you reaching for something maybe some solace from his dick kissing you cervix. Eyes fluttering open you can see the furrow of his, the stern look he is giving you reminds you that silence wasn’t an option. His hand rose again coming down on your clit with force. A squeal erupts from you as your hips jolt forward, breathlessly you recite the prayer “Lord, f-forgive me for I have sinned before you. Aah~ wash away my sin, purify me, and help me to turn from this sin.”. The way your cunt is convulsing around his dick makes him feel invincible. The sounds you’re making alone sends him over. He’s only focused on release.

His dick jumped at the thought of desperate inexperienced girls opening their legs for him. You were the perfect vision of sin. “Father Tomura~ I can’t hand-“ you words cut off by his lips smashing onto yours. “Just push a little hard for me sweetheart, I know you can do it. Look at how easy you’re taking me right now” you response were incoherent and thats exactly how he wants you. His groans made the tensity in your womb crack. You wrap your arms around his shoulder and tighten your legs around his waist.

His kisses and stormed become messy and deep, it felt his smell is suffocating you. He wants to absorb everything you have. Feeling the way your cunt is fluttering and gushing around him it’s begging to be filled and defiled. “You’re such a good girl, I’m going give you a reward. A present from god.” Burying his head in the crook of your neck satisfaction is all you felt. Your orgasm takes a new form within you, nails digging into his back your hips are fucking into him chasing, pleading for relief.

His pace is brutal the thought of filling your lewd cunt made his mouth water. Drool coaxing the side of your neck a low growl causing your body to shake “cum f’me sweetheart~”. Fireworks exploded through your body, you can hardly formulate words as squirt cover both your abdomens. The corners of your eyes succumb to darkness as Father Tomura restlessly pounds into you. His teeth engrave your neck, praises and apologies fall off his tongue, “M’gonna fill you up. You’re such a good girl, squeezing my dick like this. M’gonna give you what you want”.

His grip is shaky the twitch of his dick is evident, he’s hooked your legs around his arms deepening the position. Tomura felt pure bliss being buried in you, his mind was hazy, the once relentless pace faltering as he fills you up. The only sounds in the room were shallow breaths, lifting his head you expecting pure joy across his face. Disgust. “You’re so disappointing. I thought you were better than this.” As he let your legs sliding out of you, he continued his verbal assault. “You seduced a holy man and allow a man who isn’t your husband taint you.”

The room feels cold. You rose quickly reaching out for him catching his arm. “I’m sorry father! I am disappointing! I-I can be better, I can do better! Snatching away from you he rounds his desk sitting in his chair, almost instinctively you were in front of him on your knees. One of his hands gently grasp the side of your face. Wiping the tears from your eyes. “Show me.”.

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 11 - Cover up the blank spots

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, nobody really having a great time.

Me again! Thanks for the wonderful response to last chapter. Bucky is still an idiot I’m sorry to say…but he’s getting there.

As always thank-you for the lovely reblogs and comments, it makes my day reading them!

As the door slammed loudly behind you, the group stood in silence looking at Bucky as he just stared back at the exit where you’d just been. The many sets of eyes on him seemed to snap him out of it, he snarled and turned to them.

“Well? We’re closed. Why are you all still here?”

The group blanched but glanced at each other. They seemed to be battling with obeying an order from their President but also wanting to speak up. Amber and the girls took that as their cue, grabbing their things and scattering out of the bar. Amber scowled at Bucky as she left, which he pointedly ignored.

Bucky continued to glare questioningly at the group before Steve finally cleared his throat and spoke, “I don’t think she did it, Buck”.

Steve crouched down and began to pick up the discarded notes you had flung at Bucky. He gathered them all into a pile and shuffled them against the bar to straighten them into a neat bundle.

“I don’t think she did either,” Nat spat as she pointed an accusatory, manicured finger at Bucky. “And that was really fucked up, reading her the riot act in front of everybody like that. At least confront her privately”.

There was a quiet murmur from the others, seemingly in agreement.

Bucky glowered at Nat, “Watch your tone, Romanoff” he warned. He didn’t like to pull rank but he didn’t like his authority being disrespected by members, either.

She held up her hands defensively, but her voice softened, “Okay – I’m sorry. I’m not trying to disrespect you here, but you always say we can speak freely, and that this isn’t a dictatorship. Right?”

He frowned but nodded reluctantly.

“Well…I don’t think she did it,” Nat continued. “I don’t think she’s so hard up for money that she needs to steal 170 bucks or whatever. I’ve seen her make that in tips on a big night! And even if she was stealing, she’s not dumb enough to take it all outta the register at once. And then leave it in her purse! She’s worked in bars for years, she knows receipts are checked against takings. She knows you count the cash every night and it would’ve immediately shown up”.

Bucky put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair. His tone was still firm, but he looked visibly stressed, “So, what, she just happens to be carrying around a wad of bills that are about the same amount that we’re missing?”

Steve sighed. “I agree with Nat, she looked genuinely shocked to be accused. And she’s not stupid. If she was gonna steal I think she’d skim small amounts off the top so we don’t notice. And this,” he held up the cash, “I think she was telling the truth about it being her grandma’s money, its kinda musty and old, like it’s been stored somewhere a while, it doesn’t feel or smell like the rest of the bills in the register. It tracks that she found it in her stashed in her nanna’s house or whatever”.

“Old lady money,” Peter nodded sagely.

The others all looked at him for a second.

Bucky rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright…everybody out, now, except Steve and Sam”.

They followed his lead and dispersed as they mumbled their goodbyes, the thundering roar of motorcycles ringing out as they peeled out of the parking lot just moments later. Bucky could feel their disapproving gazes on him as they left, the guilt swimming in his stomach as he started to think about what he’d done. 

“Fuck…” muttered Bucky. He frowned and rubbed his temples with his thumb and little finger.

“Why’d you check her bag in the first place, man?” Sam asked, “clearly you had suspicions about her if you went through her stuff”.

Bucky frowned, “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I wasn’t even thinking that the money was stolen…or that she would’ve stolen it…I just saw her purse in the office and…just sort of found myself picking it up without even really knowing why. And just as I was feeling like a total asshole and about to put it back, I saw the cash. And I saw red…I was so angry, so…hurt…that she could do something like that to me…to all of us when we’ve accepted her into the group…I didn’t really think I just-”

He winced, his head falling into his hands.

“Fuck”, was all he said.

“That was messed up,” Sam told him firmly.

“I know…fuck…I fucked up, bad”.

Steve clamped a hand onto his old friend’s back, giving him a reassuring pat. “Do you think part of the reason you had such a strong reaction is because you’re sleeping together, and when you thought she’d done that, it felt more personal?”

Bucky blanched, “wait, we’re not…”

“C’mon man, we’re not blind,” Sam chuckled.

Bucky looked guiltily between his two friends, immediately dropping the charade, “is it that obvious?”

Sam just grinned, “It wasn’t. But I saw you grab her ass earlier”.

Bucky groaned.

“You’re not that obvious. Mostly,” Steve explained matter-of-factly, “but I’ve seen the secret looks. The way you’re always touching her. The weird vibe the two of you have, with your little fights and what-not. There’s clear chemistry there. I don’t think the others have caught up yet, though”.

Bucky grimaced then rolled his eyes.

“You’re too damn good at your job…” he growled, but then softened as he considered Steve’s words.

“And yeah…I guess I felt…betrayed…when I thought she’d stolen. It was like she’d stolen from me. I just got so mad thinking about how she could be so sweet to my face but do that to me…but I shouldn’t have gone through her bag…I shouldn’t have yelled at her like that…in front of everyone…shouldn’t have been an asshole”.

Sam and Steve nodded in agreement.

He groaned, “fuck. What a fucking mess. What’s going on? I’m falling apart here…this isn’t like me at all”.

Steve and Sam shared a heavy look.

“You need to fix it,” Steve told him.

“I don’t know if I can…I really hurt her”.

“You need to try, at least. And you owe her a grovelling apology”, said Sam.

“Yeah. She’s a nice gal. And she’s also the best bartender we got,” Steve advised pragmatically as he pulled out his phone and began tapping away at it.

“And we need to figure out what happened to that money,” Sam added.

“Maybe we did fuck up the numbers somehow and we weren’t light? But I checked…so did Steve-,” Bucky pondered.

Steve suddenly started to wave his phone in the air.

“Mm. Well, just call me Poirot I guess…” he said without looking up from his screen.

Bucky and Sam exchanged a puzzled look before leaning over to see what Steve was looking at.

He was logged into the bar’s Instagram page, flicking through the stories that customers had tagged the bar in that night. Between the drunken selfies and silly filters, Steve stopped on a video of the bachelor party from earlier – the men singing tunelessly and belly laughing as they swayed in front of the bar, their knees buckling as they leaned against it.

“Drunk guys. So what? What am I looking at here?” Bucky muttered.

Steve held his finger on the screen as Sam and Bucky leaned closer. Behind the partygoers, clear as day, the cameraperson had inadvertently caught Tom the bartender quite literally with his hand in the register – quickly shovelling a wad of bills into his pocket before turning to pick up some discarded glasses. It was fast, but unmistakeable.

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides.

“That sonofa…”

*

You had managed to drive home without crashing the car, which was no mean feat considering what a mess your head was currently in. But you were also weirdly numb, driving almost on autopilot as muscle memory got you back home.

You were humiliated. Embarrassed. Angry. Devastated. You felt too many things to count, your emotions so overwhelming that you’d short circuited. You couldn’t believe Bucky would do that to you, in front of everyone, that he thought so little of you that he assumed you were a thief – even digging through your private things without a moment’s hesitation.

At least, thank God, you hadn’t already shared your true feelings for him. How stupid you were! You were gearing yourself for your big movie moment while he’d written you off as a lying crook! You felt ashamed you’d allowed yourself to be so caught up in him, to let your body be enjoyed by a man who clearly had so little respect for you. You must’ve been an easy mark for him, the stupid temp bartender who was so easily bedded with a few nice words.

You trudged inside, methodically changing into your pyjamas and getting ready for bed. You kept replaying the MC’s pitying eyes in your head over and over, screwing up your face as you re-lived in the embarrassment in real time. You could see the rage on Bucky’s face, the face of the intimidating MC President, not the tender man who kissed your forehead when he thought you’d fallen asleep on the couch.

Tomorrow, you would allow yourself exactly one day to wallow: a day of take-out, crying and bad movies. And then that would be it. After tomorrow you’d get going again. You’d drop off Granny’s donation to the shelter (well…your donation now). You’d finish the DIY. Fix the damn fence. You’d call the realtor and get the house valued, get it on the market and start taking viewings. You’d start making plans for your next move, call up some old job leads, start looking at apartment listings in new cities. Or maybe you’d take a chunk of the money from the house sale and go on a fancy ass vacation like Granny would’ve wanted.

As you get into bed, you close your eyes and visualise a brief fantasy…

…boarding everything up and leaving early in the morning, zipping away in Sally to your next adventure as you look back wistfully at the house. Mere seconds later, Bucky turns up to your door, flowers in hand, when he’s learned the truth about the money. He falls to his knees as he realises you’re gone forever, he’s too late! Sobbing and wailing, crying out your name as it begins to pour with rain and-

Okay. Maybe a little dramatic. But it was your fantasy.

A loud knock at the door tears you from your thoughts. You frown, having a good idea who it might be…

“Sugar…open up, it’s me,” Bucky calls through your door, his tone sheepish and contrite. “Please…”

Part of you is tempted to stay in bed and let him stew, but you’re unable to contain how angry you feel, so you stomp down the stairs and swing open the front door.

He looks surprised, then relieved, that you actually answered. Standing on the doorstep in his kutte, he somehow appears drastically more tired and weary than he did just an hour ago, there’s an expression anguish on his face you’ve never seen before – and the beginnings of bags tease under his wide eyes.

No flowers though.

“Sugar…thank god…look, I’m so sorry, I fucked up, I really fucked up…”, he babbles as he reaches for you, “I know it wasn’t you. It was Tom. We’re dealing with him now. Oh Jesus, Sug, I messed up, I don’t know what I was thinking…I shouldn’t have touched your bag. I shouldn’t have yelled. I shouldn’t have accused you…”

Part of your resolve wobbles at his direct display of vulnerability. This is what you wanted, an apology, vindication, and humility.

But it’s all too fresh. And your pain is so raw.

 You step away from him, and he visibly wilts. You are unmoved.

“Save it,” you spit.

He pales but stays quiet.

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of it. Just like you didn’t want to hear it at the bar. You said everything you needed to back there. And of course it was Tom, only an idiot couldn’t see that,” you sneer angrily. “Now, get the fuck away from my property, or I’ll call the police”.

You go to slam the door, pausing at the last second as you meet his gaze.

“I just…I can’t believe you’d think that of me,” you tell him, your voice cracking slightly, “that you would think…that I’d do that to you”.

He tries to speak but the door slams in his face, and you’re grateful your tears wait until you get upstairs before they shed. You hear a small thud and his motorcycle roaring to life just a few moments later.

You sigh, picking up your phone. You scroll through to messages and bring up the one from Peter you received earlier.

As you compose a response, an envelope has been slid under your front door. It lays on the doormat at an angle. $175 sits inside, along with your final paycheck and tips. Scribbled on the front reads a single phrase.

I’m sorry.

*

[strangersatellites]

AU where eddie is a witch but he’s bad at it

(part idk several)

eddie’s practicing his magic and accidentally messes up an ingredient in the potion he’s supposed to be drinking.

he’s testing a short-term truth serum to use as a (mildly unethical) party trick after he was accused of lying during the last round of truth or dare.

he wasn’t. thank you very much.

the potion calls for sage, which eddie proudly knows steve grows in their kitchen window. he loves to cook with fresh herbs.

problem is, steve also grows thyme. and basil. and rosemary.

eddie thinks he knows the difference.

it’s not until he’s finished the potion and tries to tell a lie that he learns of his mistake.

not only does no lie come out of eddie’s mouth, but neither does any sound. at all.

he yells, or tries to, until his lungs give out. their cat, ozzy never even lifts her head.

he tries to sing: nothing.

to whisper: nothing.

to tell an absolute truth: nothing.

he flips through his spell book and finds the potion he accidentally made, one for temporarily quieting a screaming toddler, mind you, and finds that its effects will last only an hour.

he’s pouting on the couch when steve comes back from work.

“hey babe! how was your day?”

crickets and a withering glare.

“oooookay so don’t tell me.” steve puts his hands on his hips and eddie would tease him. you know, if he could.

they have a stare off for a second before eddie sighs. he kicks at the coffee table where his book is still open and taunting him.

steve walks around to look at it and barks out a laugh when he figures it out.

“oh my god you stole your own voice!” he’s wiping tears from his eyes and his shoulders shake with laughter. “what were you even trying to do?”

eddie flips to the page for his original potion, taps at the book and then points and accusatory finger at the kitchen.

steve slims the page before he looks at eddie incredulously.

“baby this calls for sage. the one you made used thyme how did you get those confused? they look nothing alike!”

eddie levels him with a deadpan stare and steve breaks into giggles again.

“maybe i should be the witch. i think i’d be better at it.”

eddie’s too busy rolling his eyes to notice steve picking up his glass and taking a long sip until it’s too late.

his eyes go wide and he smacks steve’s arm with enough force into send steve sputtering.

well, as close as he can get with no sound coming out.

he tries to yell at eddie and is met with nothing.

eddie waves his hands around in what he hopes reads as “yeah, you’d be so much better as a witch than me.”

steve clearly gets it because he rolls his eyes and makes a chatterbox motion with his hand.

they sit in silence for a few seconds before they make eye contact again and it’s over.

it takes the full hour for the potion to wear off before their silent hysteria calms down. even then it’s back as soon as they can hear each other laugh again.

au august day 14: wizards & witches

[sorcererofsolitude]

Yoko secretly changes Wednesday's message notification sound to the Roblox oof. She then proceeds to spam message her at random times of day from an unknown number.

Wednesday, storming up to the Nightshades lunch table: Enid, either you fix this damnable device or it goes into orbit.

"Oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof."

Enid: Yikes, babe. What happened?

Wednesday, glaring: If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you to fix it.

Yoko, barely holding together a neutral face as she spam texts Wednesday’s phone from under the table: Gee, Wednesday. I think someone cursed your phone.

Wednesday, raising an eyebrow: That's possible?

"Oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof, oof."

Yoko, smirking: Oh yeah, have you pissed off any warlocks lately?

Wednesday, flatly: Nine in the past week.

Yoko, nodding sagely: Oh yeah. Definitely a phone ghost. You better get it exercised before it gets worse.

Before Enid can correct Yoko, Wednesday marches off in search of her spellbook.

Divina looks casually up from her magazine, noting her girlfriend’s mischievous grin. She makes a mental note to stock up the first aid kit for when Wednesday inevitably finds out what her fang has been up to.

Divina: You know, for someone over 80 years old, you have a totally broken sense of self-preservation.

Yoko, flashing a fanged smile and shooting finger guns at her girlfriend: That's part of the fun, baby.

AO3: SorcererOfSolitude

[zethwritesss]

‘good morning babe’; a morning with your girlfriend, ellie; a very fluffy drabble/fic thingy

warnings: cursing, FLUFF!!! (idk why this is there oh well), established relationship, cuddles, mention of nsfw content.

synopsis: ellie helps get you up in the morning (+ some cuddles)

a/n: dedicated to y’all who hate mornings, figured i’d write this because i’ve been thinking abt it non stop- also i hope that the audio helps this little fic come to life a bit more!! i’ve done the audio to be read alongside the fic, or it can be just as a stand alone thing. ALSO reader is gender neutral!!

word count: 0.8 k

you heard your curtains get thrown to the side, allowing the way-too-bright sunlight to stream into your room. you decided to shove your face into some pillows and groaned.

you felt a hand lightly rub circles on your back. it took a few seconds for your senses to kick in. and fully register what’s going on around you.

you were lying on your stomach, your girlfriend sat down on your bedside.

“good morning babe-”

“elsss- ‘s too earlyyy…” you groaned, voice raspy, barely understandable as you had shoved your face into some pillows.

“i know i know… i’m not a morning person either so i get it. you were up pretty late last night huh?” ellie said, still rubbing your back.

you nod your head in response. you were indeed up late last night, sometime in-between 3-4 am. you didn’t even register ellie coming into your room, opening your curtains and sitting at your bedside.

”mhm wannagobacktobeddd” you mumbled incomprehensibly.

“hmm? what on earth did you just say?” ellie chuckled at your statement. you groaned in frustration, it was too early for you to deal with ellie’s shenanigans.

“can i have twenty more minutes of my fucking beauty sleep?”

“oh! now that gets the point across. i say ten more minutes.” ellie said, hoping you’d take her offer of an extra ten more minutes of rest.

“ten? els it’s too early for your shit. ” you protest.

“ten.” ellie said remaining firm on her stance.

“twenty.”

“what about fifteen? and i’ll join you-”

‘thank fucking god finally a viable option’ you thought to yourself.

“fine.” you grumbled.

“then move over so i have some room.”

ellie chuckled.

“but- im soooo comfyyy-“

“babe.”

“ellieee.” you cooed, your were extremely comfy in your bed, buried in your sage coloured duvet.

“well i’m making room for myself since someone‘s too stubborn to do it themselves!”

ellie shoved you over a little bit and climbed into bed, lying on her side, making sure she was able to see her sleepy partner. you were now face to face with her.

“hi!” ellie said with a slight smile.

“hi!” you reply, making eye contact with your beloved els. her sparkling green eyes, and freckled face mesmerizing you.

“how was your sleep?” she asks you, as you feel her hand come up to stroke your cheek. your felt your cheeks turn warm in response to her gesture.

“was good, needed more though.”

“don’t stay up too late then…”

ellie had a point, your sleep schedule had been all over the place.

“ellieee i know you are noooo better than me…”

ellie looked down at your statement, ashamed that you called her out.

“okay okay… yeah i think we both need to sort our sleep schedules out…”

you nod in response. you loved mornings with your girlfriend, she made them a lot more tolerable than before. ellie did have a point though!

“anddd how was yours?” you ask her.

“mine was good, glad to hear yours was good too! soo what were you up to so late?” ellie asked you.

“i just couldn’t fall asleep, your sleep talking didn’t help me… it was almost sleep yelling!” you say, giggling to yourself as you remember what ellie said in her sleep.

“well, what was i sleep talking about?”

“it was something about a horse, i think you were riding it, you kept telling it to giddy up”

ellie chuckled in response to you telling her about her sleep talking shenanigans.

“i do remember dreaming about being a cowboy- that’s probably it! didn’t think i’d be sleep talking though!”

“on this topic of riding, when can i ride you?”

you smirked, you liked to mess around with ellie. it was fun making her flustered and speechless.

“i- i- wow- wasn’t expecting that one at 11:32 in the morning… maybe later tonight-” ellie said, biting her bottom lip as her face went bright red at your comment.

“yeehaw!” you exclaim with a smirk on your face.

“up you get now-“

“but… ellie it hasn’t-”

“nuh uh- no buts. come on babe…” ellie tutted, with a grin on her face.

“whatcha-” you ask, followed by a squeal as ellie hits you with a pillow. then she quickly hops out of the bed, in case you were to retaliate.

“OKAY- OKAY. I’M UP!” you exclaim, sitting up on your bed.

“there we go- okay so now that you’re up i’ll leave you be. if you’re ready in fifteen, breakfast is on me!” ellie teased, before heading out of your bedroom.

you used to hate mornings, they were slow and draining at times. but with ellie they’re much more manageable, minus ellie’s tactics with a pillow.

“ALSO I’LL GET YOU BACK FOR HITTING ME WITH A PILLOW” you yell at your girlfriend, whose light chuckles could be heard from down the hall.

taglist: @elliessknife @little-star-bun @no-nameno-face @anchoeritic @solaceocean @winfleurs