Latest Posts by norwegian-dreams - Page 9

buck x reader where bucky is sad cuz he can't date nat and when frnd!reader asks him out he says yes even tho hes still in love/has a crush on nat, but when r asks he lies n says tht he's not n that hes just "protectivE" of her. later he gets drunk or maybe hes jus rly pissed off after something happens n when r tries to help him he gets angry and tells her that she's clingy n annoying n that he only dated her cuz he couldn't be w nat n that he almost says her name durin sex smtimes. you can escalate from there!1 love ur works sm btw, hope u hav a good dayy!!

okay, I'm hoping this is good! If not, I do apologise.

summary - bucky agrees to date you because natasha is already taken, how long can he pretend before he snaps?

warning - angst, swearing, unrequited love, near abuse but is stopped.

the gif I use isn't mine, dividers by @firefly-graphics

You smiled as Natasha encouraged you to ask out your long-time crush Bucky Barnes. You always thought he was into her, but then he started paying more attention to you. You decided to head over to Bucky when Sam came to collect Nat, his arms wrapped around her waist as he kissed softly on her temple. You smiled at the affection and love the two have for each other, hoping you’ll have that.

“Hi, Bucky!” You grin, waving slightly as you stop in front of him. You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat when he looked up at you.

“Oh, hi, Y/n” He gives you a tight smile, watching as he continues to look back at Sam and Nat. You feel your nerves get the best of you as you fiddle with your fingers.

“I wanted to ask… Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure.” You’re too happy to see how uninterested he is, wishing him goodbye before skipping away to your room. 

It’s been a few months since you and Bucky started dating. At first, you were ecstatic. You thought he was really into you until you noticed how he acted around Nat. You walked into the room and watched him watch her and Sam for a while.

Walking closer, you sit next to him. Feeling your heart crack a bit when he scoots away from you. “Buck…” He hums, not even taking his eyes off her. “Do you still have feelings for Nat?” 

Bucky’s head whips around, looking at you like you grew three heads. “What? No! What kind of question is that?”

You look down as you play with the end of your shirt. “It’s just… You’re always talking about her or looking at her, and I just thought….”

“Jesus Christ, Y/n! I’m just protective of her. Stop being so insecure.” And with that, he stands and walks off. Leaving you to feel like shit, not noticing Nat and Sam looking at you with pity from across the room.

It had been a few days since Bucky snapped at you, and he’s become distant. You're currently sitting on your bed, feeling tired. You flip through a book you’ve been meaning to read but can never find the time. You’re interrupted by a knock at the door causing you to get up and head over.

When you open it, you’re met with Steve holding a very drunk Bucky. “I didn’t know where else to take him… Please be careful. He’s acting a bit off today.” Steve looks at you sheepishly. You smile softly, taking your drunken boyfriend off his hands, thanking him and closing the door.

“C’mon, Bucky, let’s get you to bed.” A whimper leaves you as Bucky pushes you off him, turning around and glaring at you.

“Jesus fuck! Why the fuck are you always so fucking clingy? Do you know how fucking annoying it is to always have you near me or talking to me?!” You blink, too shocked to move as he explodes. “Fucking hell! I didn’t even want to fucking be with you! Why would I want someone like you when someone like Natasha exists?!” Bucky stalks closer to you, and you quickly take steps back until you are pushed against the wall. “I only fucking said yes to you because Sam fucking took her from me!” 

“B–but”

“But what?! Did you think that I could love you, YOU?!” Bucky’s metal fist flies to the wall beside your head, causing a dent. “You’ve never even questioned me, always requesting to fuck you from behind! Is it because deep down you knew that I secretly wished it was her?! That her name nearly slips from my mouth when I’m balls deep inside you!”

You take a shaky breath, feeling tears roll down your face, but you’re too numb to move. Bucky's fist lifts, and you flinch, thinking he will hit you. You squeeze your eyes shut, only opening them when you hear someone yelling. 

Your eyes widen when you see Steve tackling Bucky, holding him down as he screams to let him go and how much he hates you. Steve turns to you and feels his heartbreak at the terrified look in your eyes. “I got him. Go to my room. I’ll be there soon.” 

You take off, heading straight to Steve’s room and throwing yourself into his bed. You bury your face into his pillows, crying into it before falling asleep. 

Steve enters his room, looking at you sadly before he crawls in behind you. His heart skips as your body curls into him. He wraps his arm around you and holds you close as he falls asleep.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

when worlds collide

Joel Miller: Birthday Boy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: He was so golden, so smooth yet smothered in moles that you’d kissed and purple marks from your teeth. So perfect. So yours. Your lips parted, craving the taste of his skin once again. You recalled his statement from the night before.

“Wake me up with your mouth, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “Drown me with it.”

How could you say no to the birthday boy?

You set both coffee mugs on the side table, rubbing your hands together to keep the leftover heat from the steam alive, and slid your way back to the position you were in before. His breaths remained steady and a big part of you just wanted to let him sleep. He never got enough, with money and providing for Sarah always on his mind, and maybe that would be the best thing for him.

Drown me with it.

Maybe not.

Warnings: SMUTTT, oral sex female receiving, joel has a giving kink @ me, mentions of Sarah (RIP), allusions to the end of the world.

A/N: So much Joel Miller content, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I hope you enjoy.

2.3k

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF credit to owner, please let me know if it’s yours)

You awoke to the taste of him still on your tongue—it was practically still drooling down your chin—and the warmth of his naked body draped across your frame. Your eyes were puffed and cloudy and your hips felt yellowed and sore, giving you flashbacks of the night previous.

Open your pretty mouth, darlin’.

Fuckin’ shit, this wet already?

Easy now, we got all night.

Ride me till I’m numb, baby.

You closed your eyes in bliss and whispered to yourself in a sing-song tone, “happy birthday.”

Keep reading

My heart ached for more after the ending, it deserves another part where they truly claim each other!!!

Fondle Me || Neteyam x fem!Omaticaya reader

Summary: Your friendship with Neteyam came with a little benefit of fondling and sharing steamy kisses from time to time. Now, you are ready to take your relationship to another level

Warnings: smut & sweetness ❤🔥

Word count: 3390

Author: Rouge

A/N: prior to reading, it’s important to know that: the reader is female Omaticaya ✤ characters are aged up (Neteyam is 20, reader is 19) ✤ a few things are in Na'vi language ✤ despite being seriously injured during Skirmish at the Three Brothers, Neteyam survives ✤ you'll find a glossary underneath the fic

Divider by wonderful firefly-graphics

My first kiss is still fresh in my mind. The spring afternoon was steamy, and a deserted hut was muggy, despite the lack of doors that allowed the air to circulate. Sitting on the cot, I pondered who I would like to become in the future. In some cases, I needed time for myself, time I could spend thinking and losing myself in distant thoughts. After peeking inside, Neteyam sat next to me to ensure that I would not be alone. His prowess at finding me everywhere made it impossible for me to stay alone for too long.

As we sat and talked, we discussed everything, including our hunting classes and our teachers. Our friendship began at an early age, since his family was well known in the neighborhood. Neteyam was the first boy who truly became a friend to me. The tease he gave me was not aimed at hurting me, but rather at making me laugh or blush. His jokes suddenly came to a halt, and he looked at me in a completely different way he had never done before. Suddenly he leaned over and kissed me, just like that. It was a gentle, sweet, hesitant kiss at first, but once he was sure there was no resistance within me, his lips brushed more firmly against mine. In a soft, brushing motion, he kissed me again; Neteyam's tongue flickered over his lips and onto mine. After I sighed, he embraced me and we kissed again. Although we were both so young, only fifteen at the time, we were extremely curious about everything, especially corporeality. My mouth parted soon after, and his tongue snaked in and ran along mine. It was the first time I'd kissed anyone, and I felt my body reacting, even though I was slightly afraid. As I ran my hand through his dark hair, I felt a sense of comfort. The kiss deepened as we shifted. His hand reached down and rubbed along my breast, teasing the nipple through my clothing as I felt myself becoming wet. It was no secret to me that Neteyam's hands and mouth were turning me on. When Neteyam drew back and gazed at me intently, he traced my face with his hands before touching my lips with his slender fingers. When he stuck one in, I suckled it, and I realized I had made the right choice when I saw the look on his face: so blissful and primal. In no time at all, the finger was gone from my mouth and Neteyam kissed me once more, this time more hungrily, and I moaned into his mouth. A raised voice from his parents searching for him tore us apart faster than if someone had walked into the hut. As I jumped off my previous position, I cupped my cheeks as if I were cooling them down and wiping them off blush. As our eyes locked, we began a new chapter in our lives. We grabbed each other's hands and walked out of the abandoned hut. As we got outside, he squeezed my hand before releasing it; it was obvious that he wanted to keep a poker face so as not to draw unnecessary attention and questions, and I fully agreed with him. While waving at his mother, he walked away, somehow managing to hide his flushed expression from her. The first kiss I ever had was that one.

My memory of that moment is still vivid years later. The few moments we shared over the next few years - never extending beyond kissing and cuddling - proved that we were better as friends, regardless of how hot we felt together. Yet the more time passed, the less hesitant Neteyam became in showing his affection towards me; he wanted more, I was certain.

Neteyam pays me an unannounced visit one day and stands near my cot, watching me, completely silent. 

My focus is on making arrows and I do not notice anything around me, humming a soft song my mother used to sing for me when I was a toddler.

“Y/N,” Neteyam whispers and only his tone breaks my state of thoughtfulness.

Looking up at him over my shoulder, I whimper, "Dear Eywa, you scared the hell out of me. Please don't do that again. What do you want, Net? You were on patrol with your parents, I thought.” As he places both of his hands on my shoulders, gently rubbing me with his long fingers, I stiffen. "I missed you, Y/N," he replies simply, but his voice has a dark quality to it.

I put the arrow down; my eyes are closed and I am enjoying his warmth and firmness of his touch - it is a feeling I have yearned for. I can hear a small shift behind me, and then, suddenly, I feel a hot sensation spill over the crook of my neck - his lips brush gently against my skin, leaving me breathless. “Neteyam,” I whisper, barely moving my lips.

As he bites my ear shell, he asks simply, "Don't you want to try?"

Turning my face toward him, I place one of my hands on his already flushed cheek - all I see in his eyes is an unfulfilled, primal longing. My voice is no more than a whisper as I ask, "Are you certain nobody will bust in here on us?"

"Yeah," he replies, nibbling on my earlobe once again, and I sigh profusely.

While I want to tell him this is not a good idea, the other side is far stronger - I crave him, and this craving cannot be silenced anymore. Oh shit, I think to myself after the contractions in my lower abdomen that are the pure sign of arousal building in. 

It's clear that Neteyam knows exactly what he is doing to me, and his expressions make me confident he will not stop; that cocky grin of his dancing in the corners of his lips.

After resting my forehead against his for a few moments, I nod in approval. My waiting has been long, but I wanted to make sure Neteyam felt the same way about me as I did about him. On the cot, I let him lay me down; my eyes never left his.

A much-longed kiss is a real beatitude when he leans forward and starts making out with me. His hands move to the piece of clothing covering my breasts, and within the blink of an eye, he removes the piece of clothing covering them, leaving my chest bare, exposed to his hungry eyes. After undoing the strings of my loincloth, he throws it aside - now I'm completely naked in front of him and blush covers my cheeks even more. Neteyam watches my hips flexing in tiny circles as pleasure builds. As his palm brushes against my engorged clit, he cups my pussy with his hand, and I moan as my hips jerk. My soaking entrance is rimmed by his finger for a brief moment as he chuckles. I spread my legs for him as he dips his finger inside me, teasing me while my hands knead my breasts slowly. Neteyam's finger slips out soon, and he removes his hand, bringing it to his face so he can lick my juice from it before bringing it down to my mouth. Taking in a mouthful greedily, I enjoy the taste while pleasing him with my tongue and mouth.

As I cup him boldly between his legs, Neteyam's cock throbs under my hands. It feels larger than I remember, but I caress it lovingly and his eyes close as he enjoys the sensations I am bringing. His finger is finally removed from my mouth and he steps back.

I lay down, as Neteyam slowly undoes his loincloth and slips out of it, and I run my fingers along my inner thighs, caressing the outer lips of my pussy, watching him carefully. When I see his semi-hard cock, I lick my lips, and he smiles, knowing what I want.

Neteyam strokes my hair as I sit up and reach out and caress the hot velvet skin as I improve my position on the cot. It twitches and I watch it lengthens. I lick the head of his dick and he gasps. Just as I'd heard other women speak about those matters before, I swipe my tongue along his shaft while cupping one of his balls lightly in my hand. Neteyam gasps heavily.

I can't completely wrap my fingers around Neteyam's thick base as I finally suck the head fully into my mouth. Saliva runs down my chin as I fondle his balls with one hand and rub his dick with the other. I feel his hands on my head as I move my mouth back and forth, my tongue rubbing against the sensitive skin on his shaft. Before dipping down to lick his balls, I pull back and run my mouth and tongue down one side, then back up the other side of his shaft, earning a deep, animalistic grunt from him.

Grasping at my hair, Neteyam pulls me away from his balls and back to his cock.

My hands and tongue ran along his shaft, making him moan again as I sucked him in greedily. I take him in deep and suck him as I slowly pull my mouth back. I slip one of my hands down to play with my pussy, I am able to relieve the burning sensation built there already.

"Not yet," he orders firmly, taking my hand away. As I moan sadly around him in my mouth, he gasps, "Do it again, Y/N."

Neteyam's hips start to fuck at my mouth as I moan and hum for him. As my hand rubs faster and faster along the shaft, his balls begin to tighten up. I pull my mouth back to concentrate on the blood-engorged head of his cock.

He clenches his fingers around my head as he tenses up, grunting.

After the first stream of cum hits my back of the mouth, I choke for a moment, yet I swallow and continue to jack him into my mouth. My tongue pools with warm cum as he releases a few more streams. My cum-coated tongue runs along the highly sensitive head of Neteyam's dick while he moans and shakes, just for me. A few more spurts and he finishes cumming. Before I pull away, I lick his cum from my mouth and scoop up a few drops of it with one of my fingers as I doe-eye him, smiling innocently.

Using his finger, he wipes off the last drop of cum from the corner of my mouth and smears it across my lips. In the same way he kissed me the first time, Neteyam bends down and pulls me to my feet, licking my lips with his tongue.

Suddenly, my pussy twitches as his tongue licks up his own cum and dives into my mouth, slowly dancing with mine.

He gently pushes me back to the cot, murmuring, "Sit down." When I follow his command, he kneels down in front of me.

As his hands sweep down my legs, they are lifted up and thrown over his shoulders. My labia were lightly skimmed by his fingertips as they traced along the inside of my thighs. His breath runs through the sticky wetness of my arousal as he leans forward and breathes in deeply. I feel my hips buck slightly as his breath triggers my senses.

As Neteyam holds my hips still, he says lowly, "Easy. Mmmm, I love your scent, oeyä 'eve."

My senses are set ablaze by his words, so I whimper. I feel and hear him inhale the scent of my arousal, as if savoring it. Neteyam's tongue snakes out to scoop up the moisture gathered on the outer lips of my pussy before I can catch my breath. As he continues to lap, he hits all of my sensitive spots except the one I want him to lick; I moan loudly, closing my eyes. The pulse in my head, heart and clit is pounding as his tongue works its way between my folds and rim along the outer edge of my hot pussy, pushing in. Neteyam's nose barely brushes my clit, and I whimper as his tongue licks up inside me. I writhe on the cot as he giggles and pulls back. "Rutxe," I beg.

I can feel a tremor running through me as Neteyam asks, "Please what?" His voice is rough from arousal. "I want your tongue to fondle my cunt," I moan helplessly, grasping my nipples and pinching them hard.

Again, he chuckles as he presses his face back to my hot pussy, attacking my clit and making me shriek and moan as his teeth gently nibble it before he begins to suck on it, then I feel him inserting two fingers into me, stroking my velvety inner walls. He moves his mouth lower and his thumb strokes the highly sensitive nubbin as his tongue enters me again and again.

My orgasm peaks as Neteyam takes my hot clit into his mouth and sucks on it again, then begins to hum, sending shivers throughout my body - then I start to shudder. While my hips lift off the cot and I cry, I can feel my eyes roll back from the unbearable pleasure. It takes a few minutes for me to recover from that, as he lightly licks and nibbles at my pussy still, his eyes never leave my flushed face. As I finally stop shaking, he kisses his way up my slender body, nestling himself at the apex of my legs. I reach down and take Neteyam's cock in my hand - he's hot and hard again.

It's Neteyam's turn to moan as I rub the head of his cock along my slick clit; my body shivers in response, my lips parted as I watch his blissful expression. He takes my hand away and replaces it with his own when my juices coat the head of his cock. My legs wrap around Neteyam’s waist and help him slide deeper in as he guides his dick deep into me. Upon reaching the end, he lets out a husky grunt.

There has never been anyone who has filled me with as much as he does. The pulse of his body throbs in tangent to mine. My hips flex and Neteyam smiles before pulling out slowly. When his penis slips out, he bites his lower lip a little, then pushes in all the way back in with one powerful move.

As he continues pushing in followed by slowly, agonizingly pulling out, the feeling and sensation within me grow more intense.

My voice is breathy, "Nì'ul, Neteyam!"

A look of concern crosses his face as he looks down at me, stopping.

I doe-eye him while running the tip of my tongue along the bottom of my parted lips as my hair is spilled on the cot, my nipples are dark and hard, and my body is flushed with desire.

Even though he's already aware of the answer, Neteyam asks, "What do you want me to do, little one?"

"Fuck me," I plead, "I want you to fuck me, to possess me, to claim me yours."

With a dark chuckle, Neteyam picks up the pace, soon pounding into me hard; the cot is rocking back and forth with the rhythm of Neteyam's powerful thrusts. Upon hearing my moan, he dips his head down to bite and lick my nipples. Neteyam gasps and takes one of them into his mouth, sucking hard; I cry out and rake my nails along his back, leaving red marks on his sweaty skin. He shudders and moans. In order to grind his hipbone against my clit, Neteyam pushes into me as hard as he can, grunting sharply. As my hips twitch towards his, I pull him down for a hot, tongue-filled kiss. Once again, Neteyam picks up his pace; he rubs my calf with the free hand as he leans into the other one, frowning at the painful throbbing on his cock. “Y/N… Fuck, I-I can’t any longer…” With one arm around his neck, I pull him closer, and the other I wrap around his waist. I whisper, "Cum for me," directly into his ear. "Your seed in me is what I want, yawntutsyìp."

I watch Neteyam's facial expression changes as he begins to come. "Ma Eywa! Sran!" “Neteyam! ” I yell as my fingers work on my clit, rubbing it viciously and bringing the most intense orgasm to me. The first spurt of his cum lands inside my hot, clenching pussy and milks my inner walls. Neteyam pulls out of me quickly and he lands another one on my abdomen. More cum spurts and oozes out as he straightens up and strokes himself rapidly.

Watching me lean over for a soft kiss, he lies on his side. "It was fucking amazing," Neteyam murmurs. As his breath still needs to be calmed, he allows me to rest my head against his chest that rises and falls rapidly.

I lightly trace the edges of the old bullet wound left on his chest with one finger. "I'm glad you're with me, and that you're safe. I thought I had lost you then..."

Neteyam grabs the blanket situated nearby and covers us both. Taking my palm in his hands, he places a kiss on its surface. "Don't think about it anymore, Y/N. Nga yawne lu oer.” In the end, he turns me onto my side and spoons up behind me, and we fall asleep together; his warm breath bathing the back of my neck, sending some shivers down my spine.

I woke up some time later, alone. Taking a slow look around my hut, I find no sign of Neteyam; the only thing that reminds me of him is the sex scent filling the air. Whenever I think of Neteyam, I either smile or just sigh, feeling the warmth spreading throughout my body.

All of a sudden, my attention is drawn to something neatly wrapped in a piece of cloth lying beside my bed. A slight frown crosses my forehead as I slowly stand, tightening the blanket around my figure and picking the thing up to examine it closely. It is a handmade necklace decorated with lortsyal's wings - it's a fine piece of craftsmanship. My lips part slowly, and I exhale deeply, covering them with my curled hand. Gifting clothing or jewelry to someone means keeping them close to one's heart; it is a widely practiced act. Therefore, Neteyam has the same feelings for me as I do for him, I think to myself as I cradle the necklace close to my chest. I have never received a gift as beautiful as this one. With a smile I look in the darkest corner of my hut. A waytelem I made for myself gleams in the dim light of the eclipse while hanging on the wall. As I think about adding a bead to it, the bead telling the story of my relationship with Neteyam, a smile spreads across my lips. Although we aren't officially mated, I know Neteyam treats me genuinely and seriously. “Ma Eywa, please hear me out,” I whisper to myself, offering my sincerest prayers to our Great Mother. “The depths of my heart are filled with love for him. Please, please allow me to become his other half, Great Mother.” While I pray quietly, at the gleaming stars above, I don't realize curious eyes are watching me the entire time. I come quiet when I hear my cot cracking, and I smile to myself as I recognize the smell as my nose twitches - it's Neteyam's strong scent feeling my nostrils.

Curling my lips in a tiny smile, I turn to him slowly.

A warm smile spreads across his face as he silently invites me to join him, and I am delighted to do so. After wrapping me in his strong arms, he rubs my back and shoulders in long-lasting strokes. “Oeyä narlor ‘eve,” Neteyam whispers, kissing all over my face.

There is only one thing I know at that moment: I never want to part with him. For that, I'm willing to sell my soul.

Glossary:

oeyä narlor ‘eve - my beautiful girl

oeyä ‘eve - my girl

yawntutsyìp - darling

Ma Eywa - o Eywa

nga yawne lu oer - I love you

nì'ul - more

sran - yes (colloquial)

rutxe - please

lortsyal - shimmyfly

waytelem - songcord

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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THE THING 1982 | dir. John Carpenter

ceph got a chibi too of course! opening commissions in this style later this week. 

Everyone's Watching Him (But He's Looking At Her) (4)

Actor!Bucky Barnes × Assistant!Fem!Reader

< < PART 3 | Series Masterlist

Summary: Bucky begrudgingly undertakes his press tour and PR relationship with Sharon as you question if you can continue your job whilst watching him fall in love with someone else.

Warnings: shy & insecure reader, angst, idiots in love, miscommunication, soft fluff and an extremely happy ending 👀

Word count: 4.0k

A/N: photo credit by @bwsebastianstan, dividers by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

You can’t even look at him.

That’s what destroys Bucky the most.

The past week he’s been completely deprived of the soothing comfort he feels when your eyes meet his in a crowded room.

You’re seemingly so disgusted that he would stoop so low as to fake an entire relationship to promote some stupid movie that you can’t even look at him.

Between all the cameramen, producers, make up artists and rotating allotment of interviewers, whose eyes are all focussed on him, you’re the only person in the room who isn’t gazing in his direction, when your attention is the only one he cares about.

Each time he looks up, eyes instinctively searching for you, it feels like a dagger twisting in his heart to find you’re still acting as if he’s not there. Bucky’s found himself perpetually stuck in your blind spot, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as alone and desperate for someone to notice him whilst simultaneously being the centre of attention, in all his life.

No one’s interested in the movie, the intricate plot, the dynamic between the characters or even the difficult stunts he performed himself, all anyones asking questions about is Bucky and Sharon’s supposed relationship and the manner in which they got together after months of filming.

He can’t blame Sharon for playing the part perfectly, like the extraordinary actress she is, this is her chance to create a name for herself in this ruthless business and she’s pulling out all stops to make it count.

But Bucky hates it.

This is not why he became an actor and it would mortify his younger self to think this is all his career boils down to.

“And cut!” Someone yells and all of a sudden the room bursts to life again. He’s barely focussed on the questions being thrown at him, opting to let Sharon take most of them because it feels less dishonest that way. The fewer words he says, the less lies come out of his mouth and it makes him feel ever so slightly less guilty lying to the entire world.

Sharon squeezes his hand to grab his attention and gives him a look which screams ‘try harder’, but because they’re surrounded by a hoard of people she can’t actually say it aloud.

Maria’s on the phone beside one of the cameramen, and even through all the bustling noise, he can hear the distinct sound of her making arrangements for ‘the happy couple’. Dread settles in his stomach which sinks beneath the floor like an anvil.

To top it all off, he looks beyond where Maria is standing to find you busy discussing something which much be exceedingly important with some other crew members. Normally you’d be watching on with a reassuring smile, and when his gaze would meet yours, everyone else would melt away and it would seem like you were the only two people in the whole world. But he can’t exactly blame you for doing your job.

Bucky suddenly feels extremely claustrophobic, caged in by the bright lights, cameras and people working in the limited space provided by the set. It’s like his body is viscerally holding in his last breath until you turn around and look at him, and he’s suffocating waiting for something he intrinsically knows won’t happen.

He stands up, waving off the make-up artists who are rushing over from their station to ensure Sharon and himself look perfect for the next interview.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He mumbles, not waiting for permission he knows he wouldn’t receive before trudging away to his dressing room.

Bucky relishes the moment alone, away from the mayhem, having the space to take a breath and calm the swarming anxiety in his chest. It’s not as effective as the comfort you provide whenever you are in his presence, but he knows it’ll have to do for now.

At that moment Becks’ name flashes on his phone and guilt pangs in his stomach that he’s forgotten about until now. He’s been ignoring her calls all week - his excuse is that he’s been insanely busy since the premiere, but he knows the real reason is because she’ll be disappointed he hasn’t told you what she could so plainly read on his features when the three of you were in the same room.

He hits ignore once again with the internal promise that once he summons enough courage to disclose his feelings for you, he’ll return her call. Ringing with either fantastic news, or in need of consoling a broken heart.

“Bucky?” He hears your voice call his name and he immediately turns around to the source, heart skipping a beat seeing your eyes land on him for what feels like the first time since under the dim light outside the premiere venue a week ago. He takes a couple seconds to commit your features to memory, knowing burning the image in the back of his mind will help him gather the strength he needs to return to the monotonous stream of interviews.

“Yes?” Bucky enquires to break the silence, something that even now, when he’s positive you’re avoiding him because you’re opposed to his promotional methods, has never been awkward between the two of you.

“They need you back out there.” Before he can even so much as thank you for the instruction, you’ve closed the door and he’s all alone again.

He can barely function only seeing glimpses of you. There’s a certain quality about you that no matter how tired he is of answering questions and interacting with people, he’s never too fatigued to be around you. Time spent with you allows him to recharge, and without that it feels like he’s running on empty.

Bucky takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and picturing how he felt the night after the infamous Alexander Pierce interview when you stayed up with him until the early hours of the morning, laughing at old movies and throwing popcorn in each others mouths, before he carried you to bed and seriously considered climbing in next to you.

Those are the memories with you he cherishes, even more so now that you’re giving him the cold shoulder, and is what will keep him going for the rest of the day. Probably even the rest of his life.

And with that happy thought, he’s ready to take on the next interview.

* * *

You feel your heart sink below your stomach for what feels like the thousandth time this week.

Each interviewer is asking the same damn question, ‘how did the two of you get together?’, which of course prompts Sharon to deliver the same damn response each time. You could recite her answer word for word at this point, but it doesn’t make hearing it yet again any less painful.

It’s a recurring nightmare you’re unable to wake from.

You do your best to keep busy, which isn’t all that difficult when there’s a million different interviewers rotating through who you need to provide copies of Bucky’s ‘no go’ list in an attempt to prevent a repeat of what happened on Alexander Pierce’s late night show.

But Bucky and Sharon are the eye of the storm, everything revolves around them, so it’s impossible to avoid their relationship altogether, nor the hollow, sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach when you catch a glance of them lovingly smiling at each other.

With each rotation of interviewers your resilience dwindles further. It’s only been a week, but you’re just about ready to break. The doting glances, the constant stroking of his arm, the intertwined fingers, adoring hand kisses, are each an additional stab to the heart which brings you closer to your demise.

You really would think of them to be such a cute and affectionate couple if one half of the pair wasn’t the beginning and end of your whole world.

You want to go home and cry your eyes out until the headache you get from being dehydrated is worse than the ache in your chest from your breaking heart.

As someone yells ‘cut’, the room coming to life with a frenzy, you do your best to fight the urge to look at the main stage where Bucky is currently sitting. All your instincts tell you to sneak a glance, but you know deep down seeing them together will bring about a heartache you’re sure you’ll never recover from.

So as arduous as it is to avoid staring at the same eyes that bring you a never ending supply of comfort and reassurance, and that seem to soften each and every time they notice you, without fail, you choose not to. Because at this point, the fear of more agony outweighs the morsel of solace you might find.

Why are you subjecting yourself to this?

To him, you’re just an assistant. Someone to do the organisational tasks that he either doesn’t have time for or purely doesn’t want to. A job multiple people who aren’t life shatteringly in love with him are qualified for.

You’re positive there will not be a day that goes by in which you will not be in love with James Buchanan Barnes, but quitting as his assistant would allow you a small fragment of peace that constantly being around him and Sharon will never allow.

That even if he isn’t yours, you wouldn’t have to watch him be someone else’s.

Perhaps that’s the most tranquillity this cruel world can grant you now.

Are you really about to do this?

In your moment of reservation you make the mistake of looking over to Bucky, in hope that seeing the handsome face which never fails to give life to butterflies in your stomach, will remind you why you do this job, but what you see instead does the exact opposite.

Sharon leans over the minimal space between the two chairs and kisses him, lingering for a few agonising seconds before pulling away, all toothy smiles as they intertwine hands.

Your heart crumbles into irreparably small pieces and you have to force yourself to heave a shaky breath.

It is unfortunately not the first time you’ve seen the two share a kiss, but you determine to yourself it will be the last.

You’ve made your mind up. You can’t endure this any more. You’re done.

After the last interview tonight, you’ll hand in your resignation.

* * *

As you knock on the door and twist the handle in response to Bucky’s mumbled ‘come in’, you feel yourself approaching the bottom of the seemingly eternal abyss you’ve been falling into since learning that Bucky is dating Sharon.

When you feel the sensation while sleeping, you get the relief of waking up, but the past week has been a nonstop, agonising plunge.

Though you’re nervous about how he’ll react, and petrified that in a moment of weakness you’ll disclose romantic feelings you want to keep secret in order to justify your departure, you’re certain this is the right decision, and that provides you the drop of courage you need.

“Hi.” Even in just the single syllable you can tell he’s completely worn out, but there’s a hope and longing in his eyes at the recognition it’s you who’s entered his dressing room that even his exhaustion can’t quell.

He hasn’t even put up a defence to what you’re about to do, but even just by looking at him, at those damn steel blue eyes which shine bright enough to illuminate even your darkest days, you question if you can go through with it.

Bucky looks at you expectantly, knowing you must have come in for something. There’s a small part of you, despite what you’re about to do, that makes your stomach clench at the thought that even though you’ve been avoiding him the last week, he still smiles when he sees you.

“I’m handing in my two weeks.” You manage to say, but your voice is weak and lacking any kind of conviction. It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“What?” His smile turns into an expression of shock in the time it takes you to blink. He stands, knocking his chair backwards, but his eyes are wide and only focussed on you. “I don’t accept your resignation.”

“Well then it’s a good thing it’s technically Maria’s management company that employs me. I just came here as a professional courtesy.” You turn to leave, unable to look at the undeniable hurt in his eyes and on his features you’ve caused. That will be your legacy to him, your last action in his life will be wrought with the agony of abandoning him.

“Is that all I am to you? A formality?” His words make you pause. As much as you need to move on from your own heartache of watching him in a relationship with someone else, you can’t leave knowing he believes he means so little to you.

You turn back to look at him and it feels like you’ve been shot in the chest, seeing desperation and hopelessness brimming in his eyes. You’re the cause of that.

“Not even close, Bucky. You mean so much more to me, that’s the whole point.” You put all your effort into making your voice level and believable. You might be leaving him but the reasoning behind it is because you care too much about him, not too little. With time, you hope he can understand that.

“The whole point of what?”

“Why I’m quitting - do you really think I’d be leaving if you meant nothing to me?” There’s a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes that you can’t quite place, perhaps something of a revelation, but so much more profound.

“Then why are you leaving?” You can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You are dangerously close to revealing deeper feelings you promised you’d keep to yourself, that you wouldn’t divulge to Bucky and put him in the awkward position of having to turn you down because he’s already in love with another woman.

The searing pain of vocalising your devotion, the inevitability of being rejected by him overcomes you and you find your heart won’t let the words of affection leave your lips.

You take a deep, steadying breath and find yourself staring at the floor merely because you don’t have the strength to look into his bewitching eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Is what you say halfheartedly, though you do believe it. Surely it’s too late now to be of any consequence. He’s fallen for another woman, you’re just the expendable assistant, nothing can change that now.

“Yes it does! You matter to me, so why you’re choosing to leave my life matters to me.” Your heart aches. You might matter to him, but not in the way your heart needs. Not in the all consuming, life changing, inescapable way that plagues every second of his life as he does yours.

You can feel your heart beating in your throat as you respond to him.

“All I want is for you to be happy, Buck, and you’re happy with her. I’m not going to jeapordise that, but it doesn’t mean I need to torture myself by having a front row seat to your love story.”

“Doll, you are my happiness!” You try to ignore the way your stomach flips and heart clenches as a result of his words. He’s just trying to make you stay… he doesn’t truly mean that. But then he continues and your world comes to a complete standstill. “If you’re referring to Sharon and I, that’s all fake! I’m not dating her, I’ve never been interested in her like that, it’s all for PR.”

Your hands start shaking and knees feel weak as your mind works to process his words. This can’t be happening. It was all fake? But then your mind flashes back to the fondness in Bucky’s eyes as he looked at Sharon at the premiere, as well as the way your heart ruptured when Maria confirmed their relationship and you can’t give your heart permission to believe him.

“No… no, that’s not what Maria said.” You stammer, replaying her words in your mind as you had done continuously since that infamous night to ensure you hadn’t misinterpreted them.

“What did Maria say?” Bucky’s voice has an edge of irritation which is hard to miss.

“She said Sharon was your girlfriend, real girlfriend… that you’d started dating while filming together.” Maria had been sure, unwavering, almost clinically so. She left no room for doubt.

“I’m gonna kill her.” Bucky mutters, almost to himself. “Doll, none of it was real, purely written into the contracts for promoting the movie. I think Maria saw how I feel about you and for her own twisted reasons wanted to push us apart.” You have to remind yourself to breathe because every single cell in your body is so overwhelmingly focussed on Bucky’s words that even your vital functions have stopped.

“How you feel about me?” You repeat his words breathlessly, unable to process their true connotation for if you’re wrong, it would surely end your entire existence.

Bucky’s eyes stare into your soul in a way that they never have before. He looks resolute, but somehow simultaneously vulnerable. Though you’ve seen him at his lowest, the fragility he’s openly displaying makes you suspect that there was always one last wall he kept part of himself concealed behind, shielding himself from one last heartbreak he just couldn’t bare to endure.

You observe in his eyes he’s pulled that wall down, and it’s like you’re seeing him, all of him, for the first time. And you’ve never been more in love.

“I was gonna tell you last week, after the premiere, but then you left and…” He shakes his head as he gathers his thoughts. When he looks up his eyes are filled with intent and don’t leave your gaze as he steps closer. You allow him to grasp your hands in his, his thumbs swiping over the backs of your hands affectionately and it takes every ounce of strength in you not to melt into his warm, musky scented embrace. When Bucky speaks there’s a crack in his voice. “The thought of you leaving takes away all my air, I can’t fucking breathe thinking that in two weeks you’re going to walk out of my life and never look back. I need you. You are absolutely everything to me. You are in every moment of my life, regardless of if you’re actually present for it. It’s you I will always search for in a crowded room. Whose eyes I find solace in and whose smile gives my life purpose. I live to be the reason for that beautiful smile. You are who I want to tell every good piece of news to first. Whose hand I instinctively reach for when I need the reminder I’m not alone in this isolating spotlight. Every moment of my life revolves around you. You are the nucleus of my world that I cannot live without.”

“Bucky…” You feel like you’re about to collapse. Your mind is racing too fast for any coherent thoughts to form, but warmth and adoration fills your entire body like a sugar high.

“Doll, please, you are it for me. There is no one else, even if you do choose to leave. You are my definition of love. You will be the person who I compare everyone else to, and I can already tell you with absolute certainty that none of them will even come close. There will never be anyone else for me, because it always has been and always will be you.”

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud, euphoria flowing in your veins and a warmth blooming in your chest so fiercely it almost feels like an ache. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you compel yourself to not let them blur your vision. You want to remember the pure love and devotion in Bucky’s eyes, how he’s looking at you like you truly are the only one in the world for him. As if, when he looks at you, everything else becomes hazy and you’re the only thing he sees.

All those moments, all the shared tender glances and lingering touches, all the generously sweet words you hope implied more than a simple boss-assistant relationship, it wasn’t just your imagination wishing he reciprocated your feelings.

Bucky had felt it too.

It was all real. So earnestly real.

“Bucky…” You reach up and cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear which gently trickles from the corner of his eye with your thumb. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the care in your contact. His prosthetic hand, which is still holding yours, gives you an encouraging squeeze, and when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is overflowing with adoration. “You are my home. The only reason I was going to leave was because I didn’t want to watch you fall in love with someone else. Loving you comes as easy as breathing for me. There is no one else in the entire world that I will ever love in that way, only you.”

You don’t even have time to breathe, for when those words leave your lips Bucky decides he simply cannot wait a second longer before kissing you. Though, you’re not complaining, it’s an urge you’ve been supressing constantly since you started working for him.

This kiss starts fast and frantic, you’ve both waited entirely far too long to express your love that you’re eager to feel as much of each other as possible. Bucky’s hands roam around your back, pulling you flush with him as yours start by cupping his face, before tangling in the long strands of his hair.

But when the realisation hits you both that you don’t need rush, that in fact you’ve got the rest of your lives to explore and memorise the intricacies of each other, the kiss slows to a sensual make out, taking your time to enjoy each other and what you’ve been longing for since the moment you met.

“Bucky?” You mumble his name against his lips, but he doesn’t allow you to say more then a single word and take a quick breath before his lips have covered yours again. You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing him, but he’s clearly not done with you yet.

“Mhmm.” He hums into your mouth, hands slipping below the hem of your shirt, gliding over the smooth, bare skin of your back, sending shivers down your spine. He touches you gently, like you’re a precious flower he doesn’t want to crush, but rather preserve and admire for years to come.

“Take me home.” He pulls back, and your lips already miss being connected to his. You’ll never get enough of him, even if you were to kiss him for the remainder of your days.

He looks at you with a fondness and amazement that makes you think he can’t quite believe you’re his, even though your heart has belonged to him for as long as you’ve known him.

You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear so you can have an unobstructed view of how he’s looking at you, soaking up the confidence which inflates in your chest when he gazes at you as if you hang the moon and stars in the night sky.

“As you wish, my love.” Bucky affirms, the twinkle in his eye makes excitement surge in your stomach - the night is far from over. He kisses you once more, savouring the feeling and to tide you both over until you make it back to his place.

Bucky takes your hand and refuses to let go as he proudly walks with you by his side through the studio, not giving a damn who sees the two of you together.

If you’d like to see more of these two, make sure to let me know ♥️

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Everyone’s Watching Him (But He’s Looking At Her) [Actor!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @sunnyjane4 @valhalla-kristin @learisa @crispysublimecupcake @iamfandomwasted @blackwidownat2814 @hailey-holt @rosepetalsinwinter @wifeofbarnes @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @vicmc624 @oliviagreen99 @gabshouse @raging-panda @priya212 @highlyintelligentblonde @buckyseddie @erynnnn @endless-summer-soldier @one-shot-plus-size @takeabreathdearh @its703pm @nefelibatansoul @theweekndhistorybook @albinotigerpython @goldenharrysworld @buckyslove1917 @supersanelyromantic @gothkitteh @ahrahrahraha @hopelessromantic423 @misshale21 @happeevacationday @farfromjustordinary @blackgirlbydna @mrsgweasley @readreblogfics @ashenc-blog @redbarn1995 @thewackywriter @missvelvetsstuff @broadwaybabe18 @buckys2lut @arny-montana @calirindo @justfic @crazyunsexycool @helpishouldstudy @alluringsirensworld @sarahyk27 @aya-daydreams @hotleaf-juice @kareish @yukio369 @hjzmwoodz @sabbbsstuff @vespercarmichael @fanfic-freak-cevans @marygoddessofmischief @cevansswhore

Imagine dry humping with Bucky and he’s begging you to stop because he’s going to cum in his pants if you keep going, the both of you on the living room couch. Imagine you’re too lost in grinding yourself on him, rubbing your soaked panties all over him, letting your clit bump right on where the tip of this cock rests. Imagine he cries out, throwing his head back, cum soaking his jeans, his sensitive cock throbbing, practically squirting.

He’s moaning and nearly sobbing, trying to hold your hips still but you just grind down on him harder overstimulating him. His skin is flushed, sweat beading at his forehead, chest heaving as you press down onto his softening cock, forcing every bit of cum out of his cock as you reach your high.

Imagine he has to bury his face into your boobs, muffling his desperate whimpers, begging you to stop because his cock is too sensitive, arms wrapped around and clinging onto you, a prominent wet patch on his jeans from his load. 

Imagine he has tears streaking his cheeks but you can feel his hips rocking onto you from underneath, trying to rub himself onto you more because he’s a desperate little fuck - 

A rekindled jealousy || Neteyam & Ao’nung & Tuk x fem!Omaticaya reader

Summary: When you leave the Omaticaya clan behind, your entire life changes. You may have a hard time adjusting to Metkayina's ways, but you use the opportunity to wake some jealousy in Neteyam

Warnings: fluff & a little bit of angst  ( ✓ Tuk being a little naughty, inquisitive shit  ✓ Ao'nung being visibly into the reader  ✓ jealous Neteyam) ♥

Word count: 3490

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

A/N: Divider by wonderful firefly-graphics

We will adapt, his father said. Adaptation is inevitable, it's not like we have a choice. Adaptation had multiple meanings, and the Sully siblings defined it in their own way. For Kiri, adaptation required finding an inner peace that would make day-to-day tasks much easier. As for Tuk, it meant leaving everything she used to know behind and learning anew how to function among the other clan. In Lo'ak's case, the process was about discovering his inner self - knowing your fears was the path to becoming one with the water. Accordingly, for Neteyam adaptation meant being obedient and following his parents' orders. As the oldest, he knew that getting into trouble was the last thing they needed right now; he would again be punished by his father and grounded, for life this time, there was no doubt.

Despite not being a part of Neytiri's family, you became close to her as her friends' daughter, and Neyam was delighted that his parents had taken you along with them - after your parents died in yet another battle against RDA, Jake Sully's wife decided to care for their daughter. You became his best friend after many years spent together, and the fact that you were female didn't change anything - the eldest son of Jake and Neytiri was treating you like the best buddy, hanging out with you as much as possible. Despite moving to a brand-new location because of Quaritch and his buddies, Neteyam still preferred to spend time with you, diligently learning new things from Metkayina.

As you sat on a large rock, frowning, you tried your finest to weave nets. As you tapped your tail angrily against the hard surface, your fingers continued to work on your latest yet unsuccessful attempt; at least this was slightly better than the previous one. As each second passed, you grew more and more annoyed.

Little did you know that Ao'nung and his friends were observing you from a distance. Following a brief exchange of glances with his friends, he approached you. Even though he wasn't a big fan of the Sully family, you seemed so different from them, which made you more appealing. In addition, you had four fingers, so you weren't as strange as those Sullys' demon kids. "Y/N, right? I see you're struggling with weaving," he smiled at you and offered, "Why don't you join my friends and me in the water instead?"

You looked at your messed up work and then at him; maybe continuing wasn't necessary at the moment - your fingers hurt and you were getting frustrated, so you decided a small break was needed. Also, that could be very interesting. You smiled back and nodded, "I'd love to." Rotxo nodded his head in agreement as Ao'nung looked at him. "Let's go, it would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day weaving," Ao'nung encouraged you to leave your work behind.

Tuk, the youngest Sully, saw the entire situation and then decided to inform her older brother about what she had seen.

One last look at your nets convinced you that there was no point in trying. Your curiosity led you to follow Ao'nung after leaving your work behind.

"So, how do you like it here?" Ao'nung asked, glancing at you with a certain amount of curiosity. 

"It's completely different," you replied, your tail flicking from side to side. "There's a lot of water. It's a little unusual for me."

Rotxo laughed a bit at your words. "You tree people can only cling to your lianas, right?" 

Ao'nung glanced coldly at Rotxo, conveying his anger towards him. Tonowari's son told you, "Forgive my friend, he's a little crude. Have you already interacted with ilu?" He asked, trying to change the topic.

Your arms crossed over your chest as you hissed offendedly, "Well, he isn't really funny. Well, we can do a lot more than that. And about your question, I'm sorry but I'm not even sure what ilu is," you admitted a bit embarrassed.

Another Ao'nung's friend commented, "She doesn't even know what ilu is, that's ridiculous," but was instantly hit in the back of the head by Tonowari's son.

"An ilu is intelligent, sociable, and easily domesticated animal serves the reef clans, including our clan, as direhorses serve the Na'vi clans of the forests and jungles," Ao'nung explained softly, looking at you. "Do you feel afraid?"

Your interest was piqued by the description of the animal. With your tail moving equally eagerly, you enthusiastically shook your head. "Me? Afraid? No! That sounds fascinating! I'd love to see it." Ao'nung slowly stepped into the water until it reached his muscular calves, then he turned his head to see if you were following. As soon as he was sure you were right behind him, he offered you his hand.

Smiling softly, you took his hand and followed him into the water. Compared to what you were doing moments ago, this was much better, you thought to yourself. The two of you were watched from a distance by Ao'nung's friends, who stayed on the shore. They had no idea that they weren't the only ones watching...

The sound Ao'nung made was like whistling after he clicked his tongue several times. A loud chirping ilu emerged from the water shortly afterward.

"It's loud!" you giggled, feeling even more captivated by the creature. "Are you sure I or you won't be eaten by it?"

"Ilu? Don't worry, they won't bite if they're not bothered. Come, pet it slowly," he advised. 

As you nodded slowly, you drew a little closer and gently petted the animal.

Ilu turned his head to you and chirped loudly in anticipation, blinking both pairs of its eyes. A gentle, inviting touch was evidently enjoyed by the animal, whose skin was soft to the touch.

In response to your very first interaction with the ilu, Ao'nung smiled. "You see? No biting."

A giggle escaped your lips, and you nodded in agreement. "I really like how soft and cute it is, and there is no biting at all. I didn’t know they’re so friendly!”

After seeing a small wave coming, he took a step closer to you and put his hand on your waist, supporting you from falling to your back due to the strong drift. "I told you it was worth trying." 

"It would be appreciated if the waves were not so strong," you joked and politely thanked him for the support he provided. "In fact, it was well worth trying. This creature is so sweet and soft. If I weren't scared, I'd cuddle it."

"There's nothing stopping you from doing so," he said as his hand stayed on your waist. "First, I would suggest creating a bond, it's safer that way."

Meanwhile, Neteyam joined Ao'nung's friends on the shore. Watching you cooperate with the ilu while sitting under the warm sun was a cute way to spend his spare time. Everything would have been perfect if Ao'nung hadn't been doing everything he could to get closer to you. In the end, Neteyam let out a deep sigh - it seemed you were more interested in Metkayina lately, and he was helpless about it; his only concern was your widely understood happiness.

Your eyes widened when you noticed Neteyam with the corner of your eye. You hummed, pretending to think about Ao'nung's offer. This could make things even more interesting. Immediately, you became more flirtatious with Ao'nung. "Are you really bringing me here just to show me the ilu?"

A cheerful smile was given to you by Tonowari's son, who also petted ilu's head. "Why are you asking, Y/N? I was simply trying to relieve you of the unneeded job you were assigned."

With a soft smile, you teased, "Oh, I'm sorry. I was hoping for more from you, but apparently I was mistaken..."

With a bold move, he touched your shoulder with his palm as he asked, "More like? You know how much I value your friendship more than Sullys', so I'm willing to lend a helping hand whenever I can."

"Friendship may always evolve into something more," you shrugged, still petting the ilu's head.

While chirping loudly, ilu poked you in the side with its velvety muzzle. "We could always give it a chance, Y/N. What do you think?" Ao'nung asked as his hand climbed up your shoulder and landed in your crook of the neck.

"Maybe?" You purred as if you were considering it. Of course, you didn't care about any of this, all you cared about was Neteyam's reaction. Although you felt disappointed with the lack of response so far, you decided to keep trying and maybe coax it out of him.

You were so skilled at pretending that Ao'nung leaned forward, closed his eyes, and attempted to kiss you.

It was enough for Neteyam. When he got up to his feet, he got as close to the water as possible without getting in. Neteyam shouted, "What the hell are you doing, Ao'nung?"

Gasping, you took two small steps away from Ao'nung before looking at Neteyam. Oh, he was angry! "Neteyam, what's wrong?" You asked innocently, tilting your head to the side.

The grunt grew louder as Ao'nung opened his eyes and stared at Neteyam as well. "What's your problem, bro?"

"You're acting a bit too brazen, bro, and that's my problem. Leave Y/N alone," Neteyam said after issuing a warning; his eyes were then fixed on you. "Come on, Y/N, I think you still need to finish some things."

Your lips were softly curled into a smile as you whispered, "Yes, I believe I do."

Ao'nung was the first to exit the water, leaving ilu behind. "Well, well, well, look at that, Sully's into our sweet, little Y/N," he mocked, rolling his eyes.

Once you had given the ilu one last pet, you followed Ao'nung towards the shore, thinking how the situation would unfold.

Once Ao'nung got onto the shore, he pushed Neteyam's shoulder strongly with wry words followed by a snort, "Shall I remind you about your position here, Sully? You better be on your best behaviour, as your father suggested."

A frown could be seen on Neteyam's face, but he tried hard to maintain his composure. "Y/N, let's go."

"What's your problem, Net? We didn't do anything wrong, he was just showing me what ilu is." 

Tuk, who was partially hidden behind Neteyam's legs, peered out and frowned at you. "We've been here for a while, and you still don't know anything about ilu? Eywa, please hold me tight, I can't deal with Y/N."

Neteyam ruffled his sister's hair and stared at you before saying, "I heard Ronal asked you to help with nets, and you heard what my parents said about us being guests here? We need to adapt and do whatever it takes to avoid being considered useless."

Putting yourself behind Ao'nung, you frowned. "I try to be useful, but making nets is boring and not meant for me? This just seems more fun."

Tuk stuck her tongue out at you, her glance full of concern. "Mom won't be happy."

"Hush," Neteyam whispered to Tuktirey while looking at Ao'nung. "As the chief's son, you should be more reasonable and help Y/N with the tasks she's assigned to."

Your head rested on Ao'nung's shoulder as you gazed at Neteyam. You teased, "Is it your only concern? Or are you simply jealous?"

Neteyam had already had enough of your behaviour - he thought he had shown you many times that you were more valuable to him, yet you seemed more interested in that thick piece of a man, called Ao'nung. "Maybe."

Ao'nung smiled even wider as you patted his shoulder before walking up to Neteyam to take his hand. "Maybe? Just maybe?"

From nowhere, the argument grew into a tornado. The intensity of Neteyam's rage blinded him to your heart and soul. His hand snatched back from your grasp as he snapped at you, "Don't. It seems that Ao'nung has nothing but hots for you, and since you seem to be more than interested, we won't bother you anymore in spending your time with our host. Tuk, come."

The little girl followed her brother enthusiastically, but of course she couldn't help but glance back at you, laying her ears and hissing, showing her perfect, sharp fangs.

It didn't work out as you thought it would; you laid your ears down and hissed back at her, crossing your arms over your chest. A deep sigh was heard from you as you excused yourselves and followed them quickly.

The fact that you followed Sullys was mocked by Ao'nung. "Come on, Y/N! We still might have some fun!”

"Apparently Y/N is more into the eldest of the Sully brothers," Rotxo replied to his friend, and Tonowari's son punched him hard in the side, giving him the coldest look he has ever given to anyone as a warning.

"Neteyam! Tuk! Wait for me!” You shouted after them, attempting to line up with the siblings.

Meanwhile, Neteyam sat on the rock where you had left your unfinished nets.

Since she was angry that you were playing with her beloved brother in such a cruel way, Tuk ignored you perfectly.

After softly sighing, you decided to sit right next to him. "Neteyam... Talk to me. I am sorry for angering you so much."

He answered, "I'm not furious," and continued to work on the weave with his long fingers.

While playing with the sand, Tuk giggled, "He's not angry, he's mad."

"Could you play somewhere else? I want to talk to him alone," you hissed at her.

Tuk stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "Don't order me, you're not my mother."

With a sigh, Neteyam told his younger sister to return to their hut and assist Kiri and mother with whatever they were doing.

The young girl complied with her brother's instructions while grunting loudly in annoyance.

You looked at him and sighed, "At least she listens to you. So, will you talk to me?”

"About?"

Then you moved closer to help him weave the net and whispered quietly, "About what happened. I didn't mean to anger you. I'm sorry for leaving my job. It just seemed like a nice offer and I was super flustered."

Without even glancing at you, he asked bitterly, "The offer or Ao'nung?"

Chuckling, you gently pinched his finger and continued to work. "The offer, as I mentioned earlier."

"Yeah. I bet."

"Neteyam," you said, taking his hand in your palm, "Why did you get so angry about me hanging out with him?"

"Hanging out with him, that's the clue," he said angrily, pulling his hand out of your grasp, weaving angry until his fingertips began to hurt - only then Neteyam threw the net away and after letting out a deep sigh, he massaged his temples. "Is he that interesting? Apparently, you were the one who said reef people were strange and unappealing."

"It wasn't because of him, but because I wanted to see an ilu," you explained, rolling your eyes. "There was a chance it would eat him rather than me in the event of an accident."

Neteyam was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but your comment made him giggle. "If only ilus could be as vicious as akulas, Ao'nung's issue might have been resolved long ago."

A smile spread across your face as you raised an eyebrow at him and asked, "You'd like that, huh?"

Prior to replying, Neteyam improved his necklace and waved his tail. "Maybe."

Your tail wiggled happily as you placed your chin on his shoulder with a mischievous smile. "I'm sure you would love that, hm? You wouldn't have to worry about someone stealing me from you."

"It's not like that, Y/N. We're just friends, you and I."

"Well..." you sighed deeply, "I'm disappointed to hear that, because I really wanted something more."

You were given a serious look as he asked, "Just like with Ao'nung, huh?"

As you gasped, you smacked his back with your tail. "I tried to get your attention by making you jealous. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He grinned widely as he asked, "So you tried to make me jealous? Well, it appears you are interested in me, and I am flattered by that."

You whined, "Yes! I'm interested in you, but you're only paying attention to me in a friendly manner."

"And how do you know that, smartass?"

Blinking, you shrugged lightly. "That's how I felt."

"Then you must be blind."

You turned away and crossed your arms over your chest, pretending to be offended. "I'm not, it's just that your signs weren't clear enough." 

In this case, Neteyam rested his chin against the crook of your neck, looking at you from your profile. "How many times did I accidentally catch your hand? How many times did I say there was no one but you? How many times did I skip my duties just to spend time by your side?"

You leaned against him, "I just thought it was because I was an orphan who your mother had taken care of and you took care of me because this was what your parents expected you to do."

With you by his side, Neteyam was able to relax his nerves as he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. "How wrong you were, Y/N."

"Now I know. What should we do about it?"

"Have you thought of anything in particular?"

Shrugging, you replied, "No. How about you?"

"My guess is that it's the part when you kiss her, Neteyam," tiny tone suggested. Nobody else but Tuk observed the entire situation while hiding among nearby bushes.

While eldest Sully facepalmed for not expecting his little sister to spy on him, he knew deep down she was right. In barely a second, he placed a hand on your cheek and rubbed you there with his thumb, before leaning forward to rub his nose against yours and briefly kiss your lips.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you giggled quietly and kissed him back. The happiness made your tail move like crazy.

A small Omaticaya girl shook her head and kept quiet during the scene.

As your taste spilled over Neteyam's tongue, he murmured in pleasure.

With a mischievous smile, you pulled away and rubbed your noses together. "It was worth it to piss you off."

"Prove it."

"I love you, not Ao'nung," you rolled your eyes and kissed him once more.

Tuk's tone was filled with happiness as she chanted, "I feel love in the air! Y/N and Neteyam, Neteyam and Y/N! Nanana! Love is oh so in the air!"

When Neteyam returned the kiss, he felt all his angst and anger disappear quickly, having been eased by your words and feeling that they came from the depths of your heart.

After letting him kiss you for a moment, you pulled away when you needed to breathe deeply. "Is this proof enough for you, my love?"

"Yes."

"What did our little spy think of what she saw?" You asked Tuk loudly.

With a stick she found in the bushes, Tuk emerged from her hiding spot and approached the two of you. "It was pretty cute, but still eww, just like mom kissing dad. Just remember I will keep a close eye on you, Y/N, and I won't hesitate to inform Neteyam if I see you hanging out with those beefy, turquoise fellas again," she warned, getting on her brother's lap. "And now tell me: will you two eventually tie the knot?"

You rolled your eyes and ruffled her hair. "One day, maybe, when we decide we want to be together forever."

"Tuk, please," Neteyam poked Tuktirey's shoulder. "Little one, that is none of your business."

"What? I have to be ready," Tuk looked at you while shrugging her shoulders. "I believe you'd make a stunning bride! I could look after your future kids! I would play with them!"

"TUK!" Neteyam paled a little, pulling on his sister's braid. "That’s enough."

A smug smile appeared on your face. "I would like to have kids, so long as they aren't like their future aunt."

Neteyam laughed, shoving Tuk off his lap and returning to weaving. "Please, don't encourage her, Y/N."

Tuk initially nodded joyfully in response to your comments, but when she realised what you were saying, she crossed her arms over her chest, which, unfortunately, was the same moment she slipped from Neteyam's lap. She snarled at you while sitting on her butt in the sand. "I'll keep it in mind, Y/N, and I'll tell mom!"

Laughing, you took Neteyam's hand. "I guess we'll see about that. Right?"

As he stroked your palm, he smiled at you brightly. "Yes. The feelings I have for you are something I am looking forward to discovering and exploring."

small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. What you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.

Disillusioned

Summary: Every time I tried to take a step closer, he took a step back. Falling in love with Bucky Barnes was easy, but the distance he kept between us was torture.

Pairing: Bucky x female!Reader

Genre: Angst, happy ending(?)

Warnings: Smut! And minor character death

Length: 3.5k

A/N: My love for Bucky/Sebastian Stan has inspired me to write again 💕 Enjoy (I hope)!

He was having a nightmare.

Bucky didn't often agree to stay the night - I suspected this was part of the reason why. I woke up to sounds of grunting and the loud grinding of his jaw, my bleary eyes adjusting to the view in front of me.

Moonlight illuminated his profile, his eyes shut and brow furrowed, a thin sheen of sweat on his face. He was still asleep, his fists clenching the sheets as I slowly extended a hand.

"Bucky," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat, touching his naked shoulder gingerly. "Bucky," I repeated louder.

He stirred then, eyes snapping open. He almost looked shocked to see me in bed with him, as if he'd forgotten where he was. He pushed himself to sit upright with a sharp inhale, jaw still clenched.

"Are you okay?" I asked, propping myself up with one elbow, concern laced through my voice despite the exhaustion.

"M'fine," Bucky replied in a tone that told me he was most definitely not fine. He wasn't even looking at me, his blue eyes looking at the wall, distant, as if he was recalling an unpleasant memory. Or as if he just didn't want to look at my face. "I gotta go."

"Now?" I glanced at my alarm clock. It wasn't even 4am.

"Yeah." Bucky stood up, and I blushed despite myself at his naked form. My cheeks burned further as I recalled the particularly heated session we had just a few hours ago, both of us collapsing into a sweaty mess. I had whispered a Please, can you stay? to him before I was lulled into sleep, surprised when he had simply grunted and stayed by my side.

"Wait, Bucky - " I reached out instinctively and held onto his right hand, which felt colder than his vibranium one when he almost instantly snatched it away. I faltered, biting down onto my lower lip. "Can we - what's the rush?"

This happened all the time. Whenever I was lucky enough to have Bucky fall asleep by my side, more often than not, he would wake up from the nightmares and just leave, no matter what the hour was. We had never even slept through a sunrise together.

"I have things to do," was his response, his eyes never once meeting mine.

I clutched the sheets against my torso, feeling the all-too familiar cold, creeping feeling in my chest. That feeling of rejection, the feeling of unhappiness when I remembered that Bucky and I weren't really anything, not really. Not quite friends, not quite lovers, and definitely not a couple. He had made that clear.

"Can we just talk for five minutes?" I asked quietly as Bucky hurried to get dressed, his clothes flung haphazardly around my bedroom.

"About what?"

Anything, I wanted to scream. What do you call it when you are so unbelievably in love with someone, so desperate to keep them in your life that you are willing to just be someone that they came to whenever they wanted some casual company, a warm body, some fun? The word I was searching for was "pathetic", probably.

"Do you want to talk about your nightmares?" I asked, picking my nails nervously. I watched as Bucky paused pulling on his shirt for just a millisecond, almost as if he was caught off guard by my query.

"I don't talk about them," Bucky said after a moment, shaking his head.

"Don't you think you might feel better if you -"

"Look," Bucky said sharply, turning to face me. His stern expression softened ever so slightly at the sight of my face, which no doubt looked as torn and pitiful as I felt in that moment. I knew that I had no place to act as if I could help him in any way - what could I possibly do for him?

Bucky's lips formed a tight smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I appreciate the concern. But there's nothing you can do to help me."

Right. Just as I thought.

For some reason, this statement almost made me want to cry. It was another subtle reminder of that tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I had some small weighting to Bucky's life. Maybe I wasn't just a girl that Bucky came to when he wanted to let off some steam. A spark that was always being snuffed out like a candle.

Bucky left quietly and without so much as a goodbye. The room felt so much emptier without him in it.

------ x ------

Sometimes, I felt that Bucky might genuinely care for me.

Whenever he came to see me, it wasn't always just sex. Sometimes we would spend time together doing things like a normal couple might do - he would help me with random errands, have dinner with me, sometimes even tell me stories from his past, a glimpse into his history.

But it was hot and cold with him. Whenever I dared to let myself believe that Bucky was opening up to me, he would suddenly slam the door shut and leave me out in the cold again.

Bucky Barnes made me weak. I was so willing to give my heart to this man who didn't even know what to do with it.

We were in my apartment on a Sunday afternoon as he tinkered about with the plumbing in my bathroom, offering to help me fix it when he saw that it was leaking. I watched with a small smile on my face as I handed him various tools, watching his face scrunched up in concentration.

My phone lit-up, chiming suddenly with six consecutive notifications. Bucky saw my grimace as I glanced at the screen and switched it to silent.

"What's that?" He asked, grunting as he inspected the bathroom pipes, turning his back to me.

"Um." I paused, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "This guy that my sister is trying to set me up with. She gave him my number and he's been pestering me." I tried to keep my voice light hearted, but the words fell out like lead. My statement was true, but I couldn't care less about this guy - I couldn't even remember his name. I was just playing the childish tactic of trying to make Bucky feel jealous.

Bucky's hands stilled, just for a second, before they resumed their movement. He couldn't have sounded less interested if he tried when he responded, "Give it a go."

I blinked, my gut twisting.

"What?"

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe dating someone will do you some good."

My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I didn't know why I was always so keen to self-inflict this pain. It was as if I needed to constantly remind myself that Bucky just didn't want me in that way, until I would get the message.

"Yeah. Maybe."

------ x ------

When Bucky fucked me that night, he held me tighter than usual.

His forehead pressed against mine, our lips pressed together in an angry kiss, his tongue wet and hot in my mouth. He thrust inside me again and again and again, hips snapping as his hands circled themselves around my wrists, holding them above my head.

His mouth opened and he gasped, my back arching with pleasure as his cock continued to slide in and out of me, searching for release.

He came inside me with a moan, his mouth latching onto my neck to leave a hickey, marking my skin, his chest shuddering on top of mine as he came down from his high.

As usual, he left shortly after despite my quiet request for him to stay.

------ x ------

When my friends asked me how I would be spending my birthday, I lied and said I just wanted to spend it alone. Alone with Bucky.

I was delighted when I asked Bucky if he would have dinner with me on my birthday. He nodded and promised he would be there.

I sat in my apartment, clothed in a little red dress that I was sure Bucky would like. I was bouncing on my feet in excitement when he finally knocked on the door, and I beamed at him when I answered.

He was dressed in dark jeans, navy shirt and my favourite leather jacket of his. He looked me up and down, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile.

"You look pretty," he said unexpectedly, his voice sincere.

I blushed, my cheeks on fire. "Thank you."

This was exactly how I wanted to spend my day. With Bucky, having dinner in a tiny little French restaurant that we had both discovered one day months ago, walking along the river afterwards as the sun set. I wanted to hold his hand so much, wanted to cling onto his arm, but I knew better than to do so.

"I need to tell you something," Bucky said solemnly as I smiled. I felt so unbelievably happy with him in this moment. This was one of those moments I managed to tell myself that I could accept being his not-quite-a-lover-and-not-quite-a-friend as long as he was by my side.

"What is it?" My smile faded slowly as he met my eyes, his expression stoic.

"I want you to be happy," he said carefully. "You deserve it." The words hung in the air as I waited for him to continue, not even daring to guess what he really wanted to say. "I know how you feel about me."

"How do I feel about you?" I challenged softly. I had never said the words out loud, but I knew that he knew. I just wanted to hear him say it.

"I know you love me," he said after a long pause. The sound of the water filled the silence as I looked at him, unsure of what he would say next. "I want you to be happy, but you know I can't give that to you."

There was a long, strained silence. "Why not?" I asked, my chest tightening. I knew I was being stupid, pathetic even, just by asking the question. "You never even gave us a chance."

I don't deserve one.

"You knew from the beginning that this could never be anything more than what it is," Bucky said, his tone gentle but his eyes hard.

"Why?" I repeated, frustration bubbling.

"Because I don't do relationships," Bucky retorted, voice now sharp. His words stuck themselves into me like needles. "I want you to be happy, really. Truly. But I can't give you a happy ending."

Why did it feel like he was breaking up with me when there was no relationship to break in the first place?

"So now what?" I whispered, trying desperately not to cry. Not in front of him, please. I wanted to know if he ever felt anything for me. I wanted to know if there was ever a time where he might have considered loving me back.

"I'll be leaving the city tomorrow. For good."

I had no right to ask him to stay. Bucky Barnes was his own person, and he would do what he wanted to. I was inconsequential, a nothing. I had let myself become so caught up in this fantasy and my stupid hope, setting myself up for failure.

"Okay."

------ x ------

Love was such a fucking trap. Bucky had tried the whole dating thing in the past, naively thinking that maybe, he could actually find someone and get a taste of normalcy. Before he met her, he had dated a few different girls, but something never felt quite right.

And then she exploded into his life, all smiles and positivity and everything that Bucky might actually need and want.

It fucking terrified him.

He fell in love so quickly with her. It felt so easy, so right. But as soon as he made that realisation, he also knew - love was dangerous. She was so delicate, so trusting, Bucky felt like he wanted to be around her to protect her always.

But having her meant that she would always be in danger. There would always be a threat, lying dormant, until one day something would happen to her. As long as Bucky cared about her, she would always be something to lose.

Sam said he was being dumb. That he was hurting her by teasing her with Bucky's presence and yet always being just out of her reach.

Bucky was selfish. He just didn't want to let her go, even if it meant that every time she took a step forward, he would take a step back and watch her heart get crushed.

But it wasn't sustainable. He knew he had to bite the bullet and leave eventually.

He just told himself that he would do it the day after. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

He just always wanted one more day with her.

------ x ------

Bucky had left two months ago.

Those two months passed by like my own personal hell. The calls left unanswered, the texts left unread. I felt so pathetic as I stared at our WhatsApp conversation, my words being fired off despite telling myself that I shouldn't.

Wed 7 Dec - How are you?

Fri 9 Dec - Where are you right now? Thinking about you.

Mon 19 Dec - I know you won't answer. I don't even know why I bother you text you these. I just want to know if I ever meant anything to you.

Sat 24 Dec - I think I was so stupid to love you.

I don't know what else I expected. He was the famous Bucky Barnes, one of Earth's mightiest heroes. He was busy saving lives and doing dangerous shit, and I was - what? Some random girl who just happened to be there at one point in his life. If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else who had ended up as his fuck-buddy.

The realisation was heart-wrenching. He could easily take off and leave, never answer the phone or my messages, because I was never anything important to him. He could write me out of his life, because I was just a page in his novel. To be forgotten about.

------ x ------

I heard about Sam's death half a year after Bucky had left.

It was plastered across the newspaper headlines. Sam had been killed on a mission in Siberia, a mission headed by himself and Bucky. The moment I heard the breaking news on the radio, my heart stopped, the grief threatening to crush me.

There was a public memorial in Washington, D.C., near the National Mall. I attended alone, travelling there alongside hundreds of thousands of other people, strangers, all wishing to pay their respects to the Falcon.

I didn't expect to see him there. I was so confident that he would be mourning him privately, away from the public eye, away from all the people.

I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the dark figure leaning against the passenger side of my door, cap on his head, leather gloves tight around his hands. I didn't even need to meet his eyes to know it was him.

There were no words exchanged. He got into my car silently as I did the same, barely daring to breathe lest he suddenly dissipate into the air like an illusion, as I was convinced he couldn't be real.

It wasn't until we got back to my hotel that he snapped. The door closed and he was there, crumpling into my arms, his own wrapped around me tightly, his face buried into my shoulder.

His tears wet my skin, ragged breathing loud and in agony.

"I'm so sorry," he moaned in a pained voice, his arms squeezing me so hard that I could barely breathe. "I am so sorry."

"Bucky," I whispered, feeling his warmth against me as I finally dared to accept that he was really here. He was really, truly here. "I got you. It's okay."

"No," he gasped, his tears soaking my shirt. I had never seen him cry before, and the vulnerability broke my heart. "I can't lose you too. I can't lose you."

His knees buckled, dragging me onto the floor with him as he cried, his arms never once letting go of me. My hands lifted to stroke his hair as his chest heaved with painful sobs.

This was the sound of a broken man. The sound of someone who had lost Steve, and now Sam, and the floodgates had finally broke.

He lifted his head to look at me, eyes bloodshot and his hands raised to cradle my face. I felt so overwhelmed by all the emotions in my heart - grief, confusion, love, relief, sadness. Everything all at once, crushing my ability to think straight. Everything felt surreal, happening at a pace that I couldn't keep up with.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered. "I wanted to keep you safe, wanted to keep you - keep you alive, want you to have a normal life, and I ruined everything. I ruined everything." The words streamed out nonsensically to me. "I had to leave, had to go before things got too bad, but I was so stupid. Being so fucking stupid. I can't lose you too. I can't lose you."

"James, breathe," I said gently, staring back at him and trying not to reveal just how worried and perplexed I was.

"You knew, right? You had to know how I felt about you, deep down," Bucky asked, pleading. I didn't answer as he continued to sob - I simply held him, letting him cry against me.

------ x ------

Nightfall came, and Bucky had quietened. You were both lying on the bed, fully clothed, his hand clutching yours tightly. The feeling felt unfamiliar and right at the same time.

"I have always loved you," Bucky said quietly, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

My breath hitched. He's lying, the voice of doubt said, loudly and clearly in your mind.

"I fell in love with you. How could not?" He continued, his voice pained. "But it terrified me. The feeling of being in love, of having something to lose. The knowledge that I am what I am - someone with a history, with blood on my hands, knowing I've done unspeakable things that I am so afraid for you to find out about."

I turned my head to look at him, not quite daring to believe what he was saying.

"You have no idea." He looked at me finally, his eyes still wet and tortured. "I wanted to let you know how much I loved you. I wanted to be happy with you. But I couldn't."

"Bucky..."

"But I'm tired of running away," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Leaving you was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I don't think I can survive without you." He laughed suddenly, humorlessly. "Is that selfish?"

"No," I replied instantly. My stomach swirled, and I knew he could see the doubt in my eyes with just one look.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

I remained silent for a long minute before I finally answered. "I just don't understand how you could love me."

I flinched at the rage that flashed across his face. Not quite anger at me, I realised, but fury at himself.

"I made you think that I didn't love you back," he said tersely, fists balling up. "And I will never forgive myself for that. I was playing hero but actually I was just being stubborn. Being so unbelievably stupid."

He rolled over to position himself on top of me suddenly, eyes fixed on mine. He propped himself up above me with his hands on either side of my head, eyes pleading.

"When I met you, I had no idea I could feel this way for anyone. The way you smiled at me, the way you understood me, the way you made me laugh and the way you cared. When you fell in love with me, I could feel it. I felt so special to be the one you chose.

I told myself that I couldn't let you in. I couldn't let it get too far. I couldn't tell you about myself, about my childhood, about the terrible things I've done, about the good things I've done, about the hopes and dreams I had for the future. I told myself that if I let you in, it would be too real. You would be someone that I could lose, and if i lost you, it would kill me."

"So you would rather just leave me?" I whispered, my eyes welling up at the memory of the long six months I'd endured without him.

"I thought I was keeping you safe," he replied, eyes closing briefly as he gritted his teeth.

"You broke my heart," I said simply. The statement wasn't made to hurt him, but rather just a declaration of the truth.

"I don't know what to do," Bucky said, shaking his head as his eyes revealed the conflict in his mind. "I don't want to be apart from you anymore. But I don't want to risk putting you in danger. As long as you're with me, you will always be in danger. I don't know what to do," he repeated, looking so anguished that I wanted to cry all over again.

"Please just stay," I pleaded. "Please stay with me."

Bucky kissed you finally, his chapped lips against yours, melting into you as soon as they met. He sighed shakily, as if he was finally home after a long day.

"I'll stay. I'll protect you with everything I have. I promise."

Hush

Bucky x femreader

Fluff, sweetness,

Tw: trauma

A/N: I just wanted a sweet little scene where the reader reassures Bucky. 🥹

Enjoy 🤘🏼

You were awoken to the sound of Bucky gasping. Your eyes flew open, expecting to see danger looming just over your face, but instead you were met with darkness.

“Bucky?” Your voice called in the emptiness.

You felt the presence of him beside you. The bed you two shared rattled a bit as Bucky tried to catch his breath.

“I’m here doll,” he finally choked out.

You reached over and flicked on the beside lamp. A soft yellow light illuminated the room as you sat up in bed. Bucky was hunched over the side of the mattress, his bare back glistened in sweat as he took deep breaths to steady himself. You leaned towards him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Nightmares again?”

He shook his head weakly.

“Memories.” He whispered in a broken voice.

Your heart broke for him, as it had a million times when it came to Bucky. It was going to be a bad night. You slipped out of bed, taking care to wrap your robe around your body. He didn’t question you as you made your way from the bedroom down the hallway into the kitchen.

Your new apartment was bare, and boxes still littered the floor, some half opened and some still full of random stuff. You dug around one of the boxes until you found a couple of clean mugs and placed them on the counter. You found a pot from the drying rack and filled it with water and set it to boil.

You found the tea easily enough. You had used it only a few nights ago for the same occasion. Once the water was not enough you sifted the tea and arranged the mugs, making sure to add lemon and honey to both. It was not a certain fix, but making tea seemed like a better alternative than doing nothing at all.

As you re-entered the bedroom, mugs in hand, Bucky was sitting upright, leaning against the headboard. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted up against the wood. You paused for a moment, wondering what horrible images flashed behind his eyes. What memories had caused that sort of disturbed awakening. You carefully sat down beside him, placing the mugs on his nightstand table.

His eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a small smile.

“Thanks doll.”

You placed a hand on his cheek, and used your thumb to stroke his stubbled chin. He began to raise his arm to hold your hand closer to him, but the sight of his metal arm made him stop in his tracks. His arm returned to his side and he looked away from you. You felt your heart deflate a bit in your chest.

“Would talking about it help?” You asked gently.

“It’s nothing you don’t already know,” he murmured. It had taken time, a long and strenuous time for Bucky to open up about his past. The Winter Soldier loomed over his conscious like a dark shadow that no amount of light seemed to be able to erase. “Just go back to sleep doll, I’ll be fine.”

You eyed him, knowing better than to listen to him. But you grabbed your tea and made your way to your side of the bed. You made yourself comfortable under the covers, taking a few sips of the warm tea that filled your belly. You returned the mug to the night stand and laid down next to Bucky, scooting yourself as close to him as possible, until your head was by his thigh. He was wearing sweatpants that were soft against your skin.

Bucky gave you an amused look, and a smile threatened to tip the edges of his lips. You stretched out like a cat, extending your arms and legs dramatically, letting your fingers graze his bare chest and claw their way gently down until they returned to your side. Bucky seemed to enjoy this. He used his right arm, his arm, to gently stroke your face. It was a soft gesture, sweet and simple, but even that was enough to bring heat to your face.

“This reminds me of Spain,” you murmured, basking in the gentle heat of the moment.

“Does it?” He asked. His fingers found themselves in your hair, mindlessly twirling strands around.

“Well, not the first half of that trip, but definitely the second. Remember, after the beach?”

Bucky snorted, his movement rattled you a bit.

“I remember you taking on a hydra ship single handed in the dead of night. You were nearly killed.”

“See, again the first half of the trip wasn’t very fun, although I quite enjoyed sinking that ship.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He slid further underneath the covers and curled up next to you. You scooted yourself closer, using his arm as a pillow.

“And after that?” Bucky asked softly.

You let your hand trail his bare chest. Your fingertips moved across his upper half, drawing mindless designs on his body until you reached the seam of where metal met skin. You slowly retracted your hand, out of fear of pushing him away.

“Don’t you remember?” You teased.

Bucky gave a wicked grin. “I remember being quite angry with you, for being so reckless. I reprimanded you back at the hideaway house while also bandaging your wounds.”

"Wounds sounds so dramatic. I remember it as a simple scratch."

"Simple, huh?" he challenged.

His fingers tugged at the collar of your robe, exposing your bare shoulder to the night air. There was a long jagged scar that ran up the length of your collarbone. It was dangerously close to your neck.

His trailed the scar with the tips of his fingers, sending chills up your spine.

“I remember being scared that day,” he admitted. His eyes bore into yours, his expression turning sad as he scanned your face. “I thought I might lose you, without ever being able to tell you how I felt. I thought I would lose the chance…”

You tipped your head to his and placed a hand on his face. “But you didn’t,” you whispered. It had taken years for Bucky to admit the feelings he had for you. Not because he didn’t love you in that time, but because he felt as if he didn’t deserve you.

He had wanted to make amends. To settle his soul and his peace with the life he had been forced to live for so long. He wanted to start his life with you as one without guilt, one without shame. But even after finding solace, the past still haunted him.

He gave you a soft smile as he kissed the top of your forehead. “No, I didn’t.”

“Do you know what I remember from that mission?”

“Aside from almost dying?”

"Yes, aside from that."

Bucky just gave a small laugh and a sigh.

"Tell me then," Bucky murmured against your forehead. His lips began to travel down as he kissed a trail from your head to your cheek and then the edge of your jaw. Your eyes fluttered at the touch, and your hand gripped his head gently as your fingers ran up to his hair, wanting him to continue.

“That’s when I realized I loved you.” You said a bit breathlessly.

He stopped kissing you, his lips hovered in the base of your neck. Bucky returned his gaze to meet yours, his expression unbelievably soft. “That was the day you realized?” He let out a soft laugh.

You nodded. “I think it was when you were yelling at me, that vein at the top of your head looked like it was close to bursting.”

The two of you laughed. It was nice to hear him laugh. You let your hands continue to explore his chest.

“You were angry, and rightly so, but even then you were so gentle with me. Your hands shook when you wrapped the bandage around my shoulder, almost as if you were too afraid that you might hurt me. You stayed up talking with me all night when the pain was too much for me to sleep. It was... tenderness that I had never expected from you."

You flattened your hand over Bucky's heart, feeling the soft beat emminate from within.

"I had never been cared for like that before. I never realized how much my existence mattered until you.”

Bucky chuckled. “So me playing doctor won over your heart?”

You smiled at him and flicked his nose.

“No, silly. You were there for me when I needed you most. You loved me, in your own wonderful little way, before you even realized you were telling me. You made me fall in love with you that day, it tends to overshadow everything else, even the scars."

Bucky looked thoughtful for a moment. His eyes softened as he looked you over. “I never knew that moment was so special for you,” he said.

You smiled. “I wanted to give you a new memory,” you said gently. “One that brings you as much happiness as it does to me. It can be a moment we share together now. Forever. And I promise, no matter how long it takes, I will remind you everyday of all the moments that you've made special in my life. I have enough memories to chase away a thousand sleepless nights.”

Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes. In that instant you knew the nightmare would no longer haunt him that night. There would be other nights, sure. Nights where the past threatened to encroach on the further, but you were un afraid. You would be there to fight that battle with him, and any other battle that came your way.

“How I love you, y/n,” Bucky murmured. He leaned his body on his side, using both of his hands to grip your face. His cool metallic arm sent chills down your spine, but you held his hands there to prevent him from pulling away. You love him. All of him.

“And I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. With all of my heart.”

A small smile spread across his face. His eyes seemed weary, as if sleep had finally begun to win its battle for the night. It would win, he knew it as well as you, but before it did, Bucky leaned closer until his lips met yours. He was soft and gentle, the movement of him was sweet like a lullaby. He murmured your name against your mouth, and he stroked the side of your face with unbearable tenderness.

You lazily reached across the bed until your hand found the light switch to the lamp. Once the light was off, Bucky pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly as his chest heaved even, long peaceful breaths as he fell into a calm slumber.

Fan Fictions inspired by my art

You’ll find below fan fictions inspired by some of my artworks. This list doesn’t include Big Bang, Reverse Bang or Fandom Trumps Hate collaborations. All the stories below were written kindly and spontaneously by the authors. ❤ Of course, this list is incomplete, it only includes the most recent fan fictions.

Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever wrote something inspired by one of my artworks (the ones posted at Petite-Madame, not my side accounts)

List under the cut…

Keep reading

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small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. What you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.

Painted a little chibi of Naji! He’s missing some piercings but they didn’t look right in this style. Choosing shaders will be the death of me I tell ya. 

Candle Magick

Photos by Pascal Müller, Niklas Ohlrogge, and Claudia Ramírez

until his last breath

pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x reader

summary: when your best friend finds you destroying all the stuffed animals your cheater boyfriend gave you, he comforts you and buys you a new one.

warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, reader is cheated on by male oc, possessive bucky, pet names (bunny), violence committed against stuffed animals

word count: 1.7k

a/n: day 8 of my 30 day writing trope challenge was heartbreak and uhhhh this is probably not what anyone was expecting. i just don't like writing angst/sad things!! hurt/comfort was as close as i could get, but i hope y'all enjoy it all the same!!

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When your best friend Bucky Barnes walked into your room—having let himself into your apartment with the spare key you’d given him for emergencies—he found you sitting on the floor surrounded by the fluff and carcasses of multiple stuffed animals. Your tear-stained face was twisted into a look somewhere between devastation and righteous anger. 

Not noticing the presence of your best friend right away, you stabbed the stuffed walrus in your hand with a pair of scissors, tearing a hole in its soft outer layer as white fuzz erupted from the fake animal’s stomach. You ripped the fluffy stuffing out with a wild zeal, tears still tracking down your face. 

With smooth, deft movements, Bucky plucked the scissors from your hands and tossed them out of reach onto your bed before hunkering down beside you. “Wanna tell me what this massacre is all about, bunny?” he asked gently, dragging your hands away from the now destroyed walrus and pulling them up to his mouth so he could kiss each of your fingers—and ensure you hadn’t cut yourself with the scissors.

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at your best friend, and it took you a couple tries before you could get the words out. “T-tyler cheated on me,” you mumbled, all the fight going out of you. Your body sagged against Bucky’s shoulder, and he wound an arm around your back, holding you tight against him. “He admitted it to me.”

Rage like nothing he’d ever known burned through Bucky’s chest and it took a moment for him to get it under control, otherwise he’d storm out of your apartment and track down that son of a bitch and beat him bloody. “I’m so sorry, bunny,” Bucky murmured when he’d leashed his anger. He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, taking comfort in how you smelled so sweet. “You can do better than that asshole,” he promised. You can have me, Bucky thought, but he kept that to himself. He knew the time wasn’t right.

“I just can’t believe I wasted four fucking years with him,” you admitted on a sigh. “I feel like such an idiot.” You snuggled closer to Bucky and he grinned into your hair, pulling you into his lap so you could press yourself as close as you wanted. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your hands fisting in the front of his t-shirt like you were afraid he’d try to pull away. “And the worst part…” you started to say but trailed off as a fresh sob wracked your body and new tears fell.

Bucky, who’d started rubbing your back, murmured soothingly into your ear, “It’s okay, bunny, let it out, cry as much as you want, sweet girl, you can tell me when you’re ready.” His heart broke for you. He felt like, with every sob, you opened up his chest and strangled his heart bit by bit. You were his best friend and he loved you—he was in love with you—and he hated seeing you like this, especially over some dickhead like Tyler. 

“And the worst part,” you said, sniffling and wiping at your eyes with your fingers. Bucky reached for the tissues on your bedside table and handed one to you. You blew your nose before continuing. “Is that he told me it was my fault.” Your voice was a little indignant, but more defeated—and Bucky didn’t like that at all.

“How the fuck could his wandering dick be your fault, bunny?” Bucky demanded in as gentle a tone as he could manage. You turned your face into Bucky’s shirt, and he gave you the moment to collect yourself, squeezing you tight to his chest to let you know he had you. 

“He said I spend too much time with you, that I love you more than I ever loved him, and so it was my fault that he had to fuck other people,” you explained, before devolving into sobs that made your shoulders shake and your whole body tremble. 

“Oh bunny,” Bucky murmured comfortingly, even as his heart pounded with a wicked satisfaction. He was secretly glad that Tyler knew who you truly belonged to, though he would’ve preferred if the shithead had just bowed out gracefully instead of hurting you. “Tyler is the only one responsible for cheating,” Bucky said firmly. He cupped your face in his hand and tilted it up until he could look down into your eyes. “You’re perfect, there’s something wrong with him if he can’t see that.” 

A few more tears fell from the corners of your eyes and Bucky brushed them away gently with his thumb. He couldn’t help but notice the way your lips were swollen. He knew it was from all the crying, but his body warmed at the thought of seeing your lips swollen for an entirely different reason—one that had something to do with him kissing you senseless. But Bucky hid that thought, and tried not to stare at your mouth too long, though you didn’t seem to notice.

“Now,” Bucky rasped as he cleared his mind of all the dirty things he wanted to do to your mouth. “You still haven’t told me what led to the great stuffie massacre?” he said, picking up the soft outside of a no-longer-stuffed cow. 

A heavy sigh fell from your lips, your warm breath ghosting over Bucky’s chest through his thin t-shirt. “They were all from Tyler,” you explained, looking around at the devastation with no remorse. “I couldn’t stand to look at them anymore.”

Bucky nodded his understanding and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He held you while you cried some more, only too happy to comfort you while you mourned your now-ended relationship. All the while, he planned and plotted. He wasn’t going to let you forget that he treated you better than Tyler ever had—than anyone else ever could—and that he could be so much better for you. Bucky was sure that once the heartbreak lessened, you’d fall into his arms, right where you were always meant to be.

Once you’d cried yourself out, Bucky stood up with you in his arms and lay you down gently on your bed. You curled up on your side, clutching a pillow to your chest since you didn’t have any stuffed animals left. Bucky got a trash bag and cleaned up all the detritus left from your massacre, until there weren’t any traces left of the stuffed animals Tyler had given you.

When it was done, Bucky helped you up and convinced you to go somewhere with him, though he refused to tell you where you were going. You tried to protest, saying your face was a puffy mess, but he quelled your protests with gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead, insisting you were beautiful. And you were, to him. You’d always be beautiful to Bucky.

Your best friend took you to a store in the local mall that had a whole wall filled with soft, squishy stuffed animals. “Pick out a new stuffie, bunny, and I’ll buy it for you,” Bucky murmured in your ear. He was eager to have you cuddling something he’d bought for you.

Delighted, you skipped along the wall, looking at each of the different shapes and sizes and animals. After much deliberating, you plucked a stuffed brown bunny rabbit from the wall and carried it back to Bucky. It had soft fur and floppy ears and Bucky gave an approving nod as he turned it over in his hands.

“A bunny for my bunny,” he murmured with a grin as he tucked you into his side and brought the stuffed animal up to the checkout counter. When it was paid for, Bucky handed it back to you, and you carried it out of the mall. “So what’re you naming him?”

“Barnaby,” you answered without hesitation, like you’d already decided on it long before Bucky’d asked. 

When you got back to your apartment, you snagged Bucky’s hand and towed him inside like you were afraid he’d consider leaving, but he’d had no plans to. Your fingers twisted with his and you led him back to your bedroom, carrying Barnaby along as well, where you both curled up on the bed. Bucky held you with your back to his chest, while your new stuffie was cradled in your arms. 

“You’ll always love me, right, Buck?” you asked in a hesitant voice.

Your best friend knew your voice well and he could hear fear in your tone. Instinctively, he squeezed you tighter in his arms, hoping to reassure you of his steadiness in your life. He wanted you to know that you could always rely on him. “Of course, bunny,” he answered.

For a moment, you were silent again and Bucky thought you’d started to fall asleep, but then your soft, worried voice broke the quiet. “You promise?” you asked in an even more hushed whisper, like you were ashamed of asking but needed to know the answer all the same.

Forever, was what Bucky wanted to say. But instead, he wrapped his hand around yours where it was clutching your new stuffed animal. “You see your new pal Barnaby here?” he murmured gently, waiting for you to nod your head, your hair tickling his chin, before continuing. “I’ll love you until his last breath, bunny.” 

With you sighing contentedly in his arms, Bucky could feel his heart being stitched back together and he knew, though you were still hurt and raw from your own heartbreak, that you were soothed by his presence too. He held you until you fell asleep, and until he followed you to dreamland some time after that. 

When Bucky woke in the morning, he was still holding you, and he couldn’t think of anything better than waking up with you every single morning for the rest of his life. When your eyelashes fluttered and you turned your face to smile sleepily at your best friend, Bucky knew you felt it too—that you were exactly where you were meant to be. With him.

⫸⫸30 Day Writing Trope Challenge Masterlist⫷⫷

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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Pink in the Night

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Porn with a bit of plot, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, soft Buck, SMUT!!!!

AN: Sorry y'all! It's kinda a bit shit but listen, it's self-indulgent so idc :) This is kinda inspired by 'Pink in the Night' by Mitski which I was listening to while writing this. Have a good rest of the week, y'all <3 (Also, I love this gif. Can anyone tell me where it's from????)

Bucky had a love-hate relationship with being your neighbour. On the one hand, he loved seeing your face as you left your room every morning, hair not yet slicked to perfection, and sleep still evident on your face. You seemed a lot more innocent in the morning - conversations more idle.

On the other hand - and perhaps as a downside to his more sensitive hearing - you drove him crazy with the knowledge of things that perhaps he wasn't supposed to know.

This night was no different. You had headed off to bed after a long day, bidding everyone in the kitchen a good night. You grabbed a water bottle before slipping into the elevator, Bucky not far behind. You stepped out of the elevator together and you wished him sweet dreams before slipping into your room. Oh, his dreams were going to be far from sweet.

You see, your beds were pushed up to opposite sides of the same wall, so he could hear you relax on your bed. He could hear you shuffle to strip into just your underwear, and how your hand slipped into your panties. He could hear how your breath hitched as you circled your clit, and your soft moans as you plunged your fingers into your cunt or as your vibrator dipped in between your folds.

He could almost envisage you doing it - a forbidden porno that took root in his mind every night that he heard you finger yourself to completion. The rosy pink flush that you would glow as you came all over your hand. Your heavy rise and fall of your chest as you came down from your high. The small smile that would adorn your face as rolled over to fall asleep - the oxytocin released coursing through your veins.

He felt disgusting as he did - one of those creeps that he intended to protect you from for the rest of his life. But after you'd fallen asleep, he'd hop into the shower to cool his body and his mind - to throw the detestable thoughts of you to the far corners of his mind. But as he fell asleep, you'd re-enter his mind in a different way. A more safe-for-work way. You'd be in his arms, cuddling him and whispering sweet words of encouragement. You'd be cooking him dinner while he told you funny stories about his life with scrawny Steve in the 40s; he'd be washing the dishes while you sat on the counter tell him about your day. He'd worry for your well-being - not as an overbearing coworker but as a loving, doting boyfriend. Maybe husband.

Bucky was getting ahead of himself - he'd have to work up the courage to have more than a few-word conversation with you. But for now, wishing he could hold your hand would have to suffice.

Being Bucky's neighbour was not much easier. Especially when he was completely oblivious to your plight. Even the slight brush of a hand made your heart flutter.

You loved seeing him early in the morning - he always seemed less reserved when he was fresh from a good night's rest. He was faster to smile, faster to laugh. It was nice. You woke up at an ungodly hour to see him just before he headed on his morning run. You couldn't deny that the morning light did wonders for him - you were always left wanting more when he dipped into the elevator.

Oh, and the sounds. Your hearing was not quite as superior as Bucky's, but you definitely heard things that left you clenching around thin air.

You knew Bucky wasn't one to self-complete often - in fact, it was rare that you ever caught on to the act. But you had caught the odd broken moan coming from his room. You turned into molten mush, the weight of your arousal buckling your knees. If there was any sound that could turn you to putty, it was that.

You didn't how many times the idea of Bucky fucking you had played through your mind, but each night a different variation brought you the same ending - your fingers deep in your cunt, coaxing you to a climax.

Every night, you wished his cock, tongue, fingers were filling you up instead of yours, leaving you aching and wishing for more. You wanted to run your nails down his back - leaving permanent reminders of your love for him - while he nipped at your neck - leaving marks claiming you as his.

Sometimes, your brain caught up to your thoughts, reprimanding you for your possessiveness. He wasn't yours, you had to remind yourself, even if you wished he was. For that, you'd have to actually have to have more than a few-word conversation with him - which to be honest, seemed impossible. So you stuck to your nightly wishful dreaming, hoping one day he'd be yours. Only yours.

Summer was the worst for Bucky. You were the type to spend hours upon hours out in the sun, coming back with a budding tan and rosy complexion - it did nothing to quell the budding images flashing in the back of his mind. You. Under him. Panting. Moaning his name as he brought you to the edge. Over and over again. Face glowing pink as you gaze up into his eyes, drunk on love and his cock. Bucky had to excuse himself to splash cold water on his face.

It didn't help that the clothing you wore did nothing to help his imagination. The semi-sheer tops, the shorts, the swimsuit and bikinis. Every time he saw you, he immediately had to duck back inside to deal with 'a little problem'. More like a very large, very hard, and very obvious problem.

Still, he enjoyed your company more than he had for the better part of his time living in the compound. He listened to your stories, your jokes, helped solve your issues. He felt that - even if you weren't quite what he wanted you to be - your relationship was blossoming into something quite beautiful. And that made him feel a lot braver - he introduced a little comment here and there, a hand always on your waist or the small of your back. He flirted with you from time to time: just to gauge a meter on your reactions, he'd tell himself, as if this was an experiment to crack a hypothesis that had been perplexing scientists for years.

The sun was peaking over the top of the trees surrounding the compound when you woke up. That was a rarity in summer, given that the sun rose at nearly 5am. Still, you didn't miss out on the opportunity to watch the sunrise, curling up on your windowsill with your blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

You heard Bucky opening his door, and you ran towards yours, grabbing your phone and slippers on your way. You opened your door just as he closed his. He was dressed in gym wear - as always - since he was going on his morning run around the compound track. It was a nice track - one that you rarely frequented - going in and out of the forest behind the compound, totalling about 4.5 miles in distance.

He took you in, eyes bulging as they raked over you. You looked down, following his gaze. Shit. In your rush to see Bucky, you'd forgotten that your nightwear had consisted of some flimsy shorts and your bra - that you had thrown on after waking up to save a modicum of dignity, should someone burst into your room. It was too hot for anything else. You crossed your arms over your chest, which indefinitely made the issue worse as Bucky's eyes lifted way over your head.

"Looking good, babe!" Nat yells, walking across the landing toward you both. Clearly, Bucky had been intending to go on a run with her, maybe fit in a quick sparring session. You sent them on their way, with a 'have fun' and 'don't have too much fun.'

As soon as you were back in the comfort of your room, Nat elbowed Bucky hard.

"Oww! What the fuck was that for?" Rubbing his metal arm, for the convincing act.

"Oh please, you big baby. You have a fucking metal arm, get over yourself." She looked down, "You have a bit of a situation going on down there."

He looks down, embarrassment flushing his cheeks bright red, and subtly tucked his hard dick into his waistband.

"You wanna go sort that out? I won't hold it against you," Nat said, hitting the button to call the lift, "I promise not to tell Stark. Scout's honour." She jokingly holds up 3 fingers. Bucky swats her arm gently.

"No point."

Nat gasps, "No way. Don't tell me Mr. Winter Soldier can't have sex."

"Not sex," Bucky mumbles, "Just jerking off. Can't seem to - you know - finish."

Bucky had a history with Nat. They'd known each other for years. That kind of history made this kind of conversation somewhat less uncomfortable.

Nat burst into laughter. So much for not being uncomfortable.

The lift stopped on Sam's floor. He stepped in, gazing warily at the scene in front of him: the Black Widow doubled over in laughter, and the Winter Soldier embarrassed and uncomfortable in the corner.

He begged to be let in on the joke. Nat wheezed between laughs, "He - can't - fucking - cum!" Bursting into another bout of laughter, with Sam close behind, Bucky jumps out on the next floor, heading to the roof for some fresh air. He catches you up there, trying out some morning yoga. He sneaks up behind you as your stand up, grabbing your waist. You shriek, hitting him hard in the chest, before melting into his embrace once your brain caught up to the situation.

"Not fair!" You pouted, pausing your peaceful music, "Yoga's supposed to be peaceful!"

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into another hug, feeling you wrap your arms around his neck.

"I thought you were going on a run with Nat?" You whispered into his ear, your cheek resting on his clavicle.

"She ditched me for Sam." Bucky opted to leave out the real reason why he had left Nat and Sam in pieces in the elevator.

"Sucks to be you, Barnes!" You laugh pulling away and stepping back onto your mat. "Now leave me alone - just 'cause your friends abandoned you, doesn't mean you can bother me."

Bucky pouted, causing you to laugh before you turned back to your Yoga. He stood there and watched you for a minute, before heading back down to the gym. He strung up a punching bag, before wrapping his flesh wrist. Bucky took all his pent-up aggression and frustration out on the punching bag, allowing no respite between each jab, cross, and hook.

He stayed in the gym for over 3 hours, working every bit of stress out of his body. By the time he left the gym, the sun was high in the sky and a long day of paperwork and training awaited. Bucky headed up to his room for a quick shower - washing all the sweat off his body.

He felt lighter heading downstairs for breakfast - the weight of his arousal pushed far back in his mind. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

Since deciding he would pursue you honestly, he couldn't seem to finish, no matter how hard he tried. You had been the only thing to push him over the edge - it seemed his body couldn't do it without you. It was frustrating beyond belief. He'd tried other things, porn, erotica, even thinking back to good times before the war. Nothing helped. It was as if his body was finetuned to you - only you knew the magic password to release him. Figuratively and literally.

When he reached the kitchen, he was privy to a welcome sight. You, in your combat gear, grabbing some granola bars before you jumped on the quinjet. You and Stark were heading on a surveillance mission in Guatemala for the week. You were reaching up to the top shelf, stretching on your tiptoes for the expensive granolas that had been kept on the top shelf. Bucky's granola bars that he had put there to stop anyone else from stealing them.

He reached up from behind you and grabbed the box, placing it in your hands. You looked guilty. You'd been caught red-handed.

"It's fine, doll. Take as many as you want." He said, leaning back against the counter, resting on his forearms. Your face flushed red as you grabbed 2 or 3, shoving them into your bag and turning around to fill up your water bottle.

You shivered when his hot breath fanned across your exposed neck, "Just remember that you owe me."

He was gone by the time you turned around.

The rumour had spread like wildfire while you were away.

"Did you hear that Bucky can't have sex?"

"I heard that Bucky can't - you know - cum?"

"Apparently, his time at Hydra fucked him up worse than he realised."

"He can't even masturbate you know?"

The rumours were getting out of hand, but he let them swirl. There was an ounce of truth to them, even if Hydra had nothing to do with his current predicament.

No, that blame could only lie with you.

When you got back, Bucky had just left on a 4-day-long mission with Sam - which meant you heard all the rumours and Bucky wasn't there to defend himself.

You heard it first when you dropped your suit off for dry-cleaning. One of the tech guys was whispering to Marta, the woman who looked after the dry cleaning of suits, about Bucky's apparent inability to ejaculate. You were shocked. Where the hell did they even get that information? You dropped off your suit and headed back up to your room to shower.

You then heard another mention of it when you went to drop off your reports. Two of the agents that were being reassigned to Steve's team - that were currently on a month-long mission in Chad - were gossiping outside Tony's office.

" - and apparently she ran out crying. Thought she wasn't good enough for him or something along those lines. I don't know."

"Yeah, apparently the breakup was grizzly."

"I feel bad for him you know, all of the shit he went through with Hydra, and now this?"

"Yeah, man, really sucks."

Your face blushed a bright red. What the fuck? Where did this rumour even come from? You knew for a fact that Bucky hadn't had a girlfriend since living in the compound so wherever that part of the rumour came from was completely untrue.

You had to get to the bottom of this.

You spent the better part of the next 2 days collecting bits of information from conversations between people around the compound. You found out that the rumour had originated from a conversation between Nat and Sam, which an agent had overheard while they were on their run. It had been twisted as most oral stories were leading to this big misleading idea that Bucky was unable to even get it up and that he was unable to please a woman. You were sure the latter part was untrue. You'd heard the way he moaned alone in his room - you were sure that you could cum just from his moans alone. He wouldn't even need to touch you.

You didn't think the rumour would affect you when Bucky got back. After all, you knew at least some of it to be false. But when he got back, his beard grown out a little because he couldn't shave it while he was away, you felt embarrassed. Not because of his supposed 'predicament' but because you felt as if you had found out something that you maybe weren't supposed to know.

Bucky caught on quicker than you would have liked. The night after he got back, Tony had thrown a little get-together to 'celebrate midsummer'. Realistically, Tony just wanted a reason to go out and drink with his friends. You had avoided Bucky most of the night - not necessarily intentionally, but Bucky still felt slightly hurt and more than a little confused.

He caught you alone on the balcony, looking out at the stars.

"Did I do something?" He said, sneaking up behind you and making you jump. Nervousness and insecurity laced his every move, worried that he had hurt you in some way that he couldn't possibly imagine.

You shook your head violently, scared to make eye contact with him. He lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"What's wrong?" You turned back to face the sky, embarrassment filling your chest. He laced his metal fingers into yours, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not. Nothing's stupid, not if it's you." Your heart fluttered at his words.

Your eyes met his steady gaze, "It's really stupid." His eyes begged you to go on, "It's just that - um - when I got back I - um - heardthisreallystupidrumourandIshouldn'thaveletitgettomebutbasically -"

Bucky placed a hand on your waist, drawing small circles, "Breathe."

"Someone said you had trouble pleasing women." You let out quietly. If it hadn't been for his enhanced hearing, he probably would have missed you. His grip on your waist tightened, "Bucky?"

"Trouble pleasing women? That's a new one." His deep voice cut you to your core. You let out a small whimper as the arousal pooled in your panties.

Bucky didn't miss that either.

He grabbed your arm and led you through the party. No one gave you a double look as he lead you into the vacant elevator, slamming your floor number and pushing you up against the wall.

"Think I can't please a woman, huh? Think again. Don't think I don't know what you think about when you cum all over your hand, whining my name under your breath." You whined lowly at his words, feeling how he pushed his hard dick perfectly in line with your throbbing pussy, "Isn't that right, slut? That's what you are, aren't you? My perfect little slut?" You moan at his degrading statement, pushing your pussy further onto his cock trying to find some friction.

"So needy," He tutted, his condescending tone only heightening your arousal. The elevator door pinged and Bucky picked you up bridal-style, kicking the door to your room open. You regularly forgot to lock it while heading down to dinner - for once, both you and Bucky were glad.

He dropped you on your bed, unceremoniously, eyes raking over you ravenously. The heat rose up your face, as you shifted under his unrelenting gaze.

"Oh baby, you don't how long I've been waiting for this." He leaned down locking your lips in a passionate kiss. His palm landed just above your knee, caressing up your leg towards your upper thigh. His hand slid under your dress, cupping your ass. He left a light squeeze, making you gasp into the kiss.

He leaned down, grabbing you with ease, flipping you both so you were straddling his waist. He tangled his flesh hand in your hair, the metal one possessively gripping your hip. He brought you down to his lips for another kiss - even when you were on top, he made sure you knew that he was in charge.

He toyed with the hem of your dress, eyes raking over you once again.

"Off."

You pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties. You felt seriously underdressed, especially considering Bucky was still in his jacket. He reaches up, joining your lips in another kiss, and reaching around to remove your bra. He tosses it to the side, running his knuckles over your pebbled nipples. You moan loudly, panties soaked. He takes his time pinching and squeezing your nipples, licking and biting as he went. The alternate sensations of one warm hand and one ice-cold heighten your arousal ten-fold. You buck your hips over his jeans, the sensation of his fly between your sensitive folds throwing you into overdrive.

His grip on your waist tightened once again. "I can feel your cunt throbbing, honey." You whimpered pathetically. "Go ahead, use me to get off. I know you want to."

Your hips started bucking off their own accord, clothed pussy running over the fly of his jeans. They started slow, getting a feel for what exactly you were doing. Bucky's hands started pushing you faster, setting a faster groove. The coil in your stomach began to tighten as your bucking became more erratic. You teetered on the edge of an orgasm when Bucky stopped you.

"Beg." He restarted your pace, faster and more erratic than before.

"Please, please, please, please, Bucky, please let me cum, please..-" You babbled, tripping and stumbling through your pleas. With a searing kiss, he gives you permission.

"I love you, I love you, I love, OH-" You fall off the edge of one of the hardest orgasms you've ever had, head empty with only one thing on your mind. Bucky.

You feel Bucky manhandle your body so your back is lying on the bed and he is towering over you. He asks you if you want to go on and all you can do is nod your head vigorously.

He chuckles, "I like your enthusiasm baby, but I need words. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, YES!" You shout, breathlessly, already needing more.

He's fully naked and it's all you can do to not stare. He's definitely a well-endowed man, and he definitely has no problem getting it up.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, and you slap his thigh playfully. He pulls you further toward the edge of the bed and lines his dick up with your slick folds. He slides in slowly, holding your chin up so you keep eye contact with him. He watches as your eyes roll to the back of your head in satisfaction. You've never felt so full in your life. He presses into you slowly, feeling the way your tightness engulfs him, allowing your body to adjust to his size. You whimper softly as he pushes in - you never realised just how desperate you were for him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He chuckles, watching as tears leak out of your eyes. His condescending tone was back, and all it did was make you hornier. You babbled incoherently, "Gone dumb already? What a cock-drunk little slut you are."

He trails a metal finger up the side of your torso, watching the goosebumps left in its wake. You whimper again.

"Such a needy little baby. Only I can take care of you like this, right? Only me."

"Only you." You affirmed, pressing a kiss to the arm near your head.

He pulled out almost entirely, before slamming all the way back in. You screamed in pleasure, and Bucky set a brutal pace. He pinned your arms above your head with his right hand, and his left hand came to wrap around your throat. The significance of that was not lost on you. He loved you enough to not hurt you, even with his metal arm.

"I love you, baby. You know that right?" Bucky looked you deep in the eyes, "You know I love you right?"

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," You babble back, lost in the throes of passion.

Bucky found your clit with his metal hand, pressing and flicking gently. You felt your muscles tighten for a second time, and you grabbed the sheets throwing your head back as you came harder than the first time.

Bucky came moments later, deep inside you with a loud moan. He pulled out slowly, collapsing next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling yourself into his neck.

He chuckled at that, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a bear hug. You stayed like that for a minute before he untangled himself from you and carried you to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower and you both stepped under it, cleaning the sweat and cum off your bodies. Your legs felt like jelly, so you leaned heavily into Bucky as he washed you off.

"Stay awake, doll, just for a second," He said, shaking you awake each time you dozed off in the shower.

Bucky pulled some of your clothes onto your body, before setting you down on the bed. He gave you a quick kiss to the forehead before promising to be back soon.

He snuck into his room wrapped in a towel, before throwing on the first pair of sweats he could find and dashing to the kitchen for a cup of water.

He snuck back into your room, to see you already dead asleep on the bed. He slipped under the covers, tugging you closer to his chest, and smiled.

Through your grogginess, you nuzzled into his chest. "I love you." You whispered, your lips resting against his heart.

You woke up to the sound of soft snoring in your ear and sunlight streaming through the window. You smiled. You untangled yourself from Bucky's arms, disappearing into your bathroom to pee. You wash your face and brush your teeth before diving back into Bucky's arms.

Your legs were still sore from last night, but you didn't care. You were Bucky's and Bucky was yours. The very thought put a massive smile on your face.

"What's tickled your feather this morning?" Goddamn, his morning voice was sexy. You smiled and pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

Bucky smiled through the kiss. He picked you up by the thighs, carrying you while he brushed his teeth and splashed his face.

The compound was pretty silent, barely anyone was awake after drinking the night away. So, while Bucky made you pancakes for breakfast, you asked him the question, "Hey, Buck, where did the rumour come from?"

He looked at you, vaguely embarrassed, "You know that day, when me and Nat were gonna go down to train?"

You face flushed red, "When I walked out in my underwear?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I got a hard-on, like a teenage boy."

You stifled a laugh.

"So, Nat said, do I wanna go deal with it? And I told her I couldn't."

You looked at him confused, "Why not?"

"Cause of you," he said simply. You looked at him even more confused, "You were the only thing I got get off to. I tried everything else. Porn, erotica, even thinking about old sex. Nothing worked."

You flushed red again. "Oh god, I've weirded you out, haven't I?" You broke off his impending spiral with a kiss.

"I love you." You said, placing a kiss on his bare chest.

He looked at you with such love and reverence that you felt like you might combust under his gaze.

He kissed you again and all you could think was, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you I love you I love you.

fin.

buy me a kofi :)

The Best Is Yet To Come || Lo’ak x fem!Metkayina reader

Summary: finally, Lo'ak opens up about his true feelings, not only about the Payakan situation, but also regarding you 💙

Warnings: none, pure fluff & Neteyam interrupting the confession of Lo'ak's feelings for the reader 😤

Word count: 2203

Author: Rouge

A/N: prior to reading, it’s important to know that: the reader is female Metkayina ✤  there is no particular feeling between Lo'ak & Tsireya - he’s more interested in the reader ✤ Neteyam’s into Tsireya ✤ you'll find a glossary underneath the fic

The reefs of Pandora were more than breathtaking. The reef amazed you with its diversity, with its wide range of different colors, as well as many types of creatures living there. Having been Metkayina, you have been taught to look beyond the mundane. Water was both life and death, so to immerse yourself in this very specific kind of relationship with it was indispensable.

It was not anticipated that newcomers would arrive, especially forest people, Omaticaya. With Tsireya's assignment to show the newcomers their new home, you also took part in this task. Truthfully, you were curious about this new family that was about to settle among Metkayina. As opposed to your clan - their hands were slimmer and less muscular; their tails had funny fur covering the tips, and they had thinner legs. There was no doubt in your mind that they would have difficulty adapting to your environment.

Nevertheless, within a few weeks, the Sully family made great progress - they learned to ride ilu and how to fish, and Jake Sully's youngest son even developed an unusual relationship with Payakan, a tulkun outcast.

_________________

Sunset came in its boldest blaze, as if Eywa had painted rainbow-flames across the evening sky. You were coated in a light mist of salty air from the ocean breeze, blowing gently towards the shore. Sitting on the sand with Tsireya and Lo'ak, who grew closer to the two of you, you watched the eclipse coming across the sky; throughout the area, beautiful turquoise and violet hues began to appear.

"The thought of Payakan choosing you still baffles me," Tsireya whispered to Lo'ak. 

With a single nod, you also glanced at the young Omaticaya. "Tsireya's right. It seems to me that Eywa has something great planned for you, Lo'ak."

As he listened to both of your words, young Omaticaya nodded his head occasionally; some of his braids moved back and forth as he did. "I still don't understand why your clan refuses to accept Payakan's innocence."

There was an exchange of glances between you and Tsireya.

Taking a moment to calm herself, Tsireyspoke. "Loak," she started gently, "You know he is the one responsible for those deaths, according to the Tulkun Way."

"It's unfair," he replied, shrugging within his arms as he traced shapes in the sand with one of his fingers.

As if to ease his anger and sorrow, she placed her palm on his shoulder and whispered, "This is how it is, Lo'ak."

After letting out a deep sigh, the young man got up. "Even though I understand, I find it highly unfair that he must pay for the rest of his life for fighting against sawtute." When Lo’ak had finished speaking, he walked along the shoreline alone, leaving you and Tsireya behind.

Tsireya looked after Lo’ak while he walked away. "He's so upset. I don't know how to cheer him up." 

You got up and dusted the sand crystals off your legs, saying "I'll try to speak with him once more."

Tsireya nodded in acknowledgement. "I think it's worth a try. Just remember to be gentle."

"I always am," you laughed and hugged your best friend before attempting to locate Lo'ak.

_________________

Not long afterwards, you spotted him petting his ilu while sitting on a wooden pier, almost outside the village. You watched him from a distance for a while. Tsireya was right - he was extremely upset over the situation with his spirit brother. As you were considering leaving him alone there so he could collect his thoughts and find his inner peace again, he spotted you out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to you and laughed lightly, "Have you ever been told how bad you are at sneaking up on people?"

As you approached him, you spread your arms wide. "Too many times, actually," you replied with a shrug. As you sat beside him, you rubbed your hands together and put your legs in the water. "Lo'ak, listen, I know that..."

"I appreciate both you and Tsireya's efforts to comfort me, but..." He paused to rub his temple. "It's not that easy, I'm sure you understand my point of view."

While you gazed at Lo'ak's sadness written on his face, you said, "I understand, even though it might sound foolish. I truly understand how you feel."

A hollow look crossed his face as he watched the horizon, asking, "Do you really?"

“Sran, Lo’ak. Oel ngati kameie.”

Lo'ak looked directly at your face bathed in the last rays of the setting sun after he stopped petting his ilu's head. The way he stared at your huge eyes made it seem as if he was trying to glean every little sparkle from them. There was an obvious attempt to express a thought, but he could not find the appropriate words to do so, so he continued looking at your face, moving his gaze from your eyes to your cheekbones and lips. “Listen…”

With your palm raised, you signaled him to remain silent. While your palm rested on his chest, your eyes were never taken away from his. "Listen to me now, please. The tulkuns were violent creatures who fought among themselves for territory and revenge during the time of the First Songs, one of the earliest recollections of Na'vi history. This way of life was eventually abandoned by the tulkuns, who adopted a pacifistic philosophy in which killing is strictly forbidden, even if it is justified, as in self-defense cases. Thus, any tulkun who acts against the Tulkun Way and kills is outcast from the tulkuns. The tulkuns and my clan share a close relationship, as you might have heard, so any outcast tulkuns are rejected by us as well. It is nonetheless my strong belief that Payakan will have an opportunity to make amends, sooner nor later."

Lo'ak held his breath without even realizing it as his eyes widened. As you spoke in a reassuring tone, Lo'ak's heart calmed a little; the belief you had that Payakan could atone eased Lo'ak's soul as well. "Do you really think it would happen, Y/N?"

“Yes.” Lo'ak grew quiet as he thought once again about everything you had said. Having anxious thoughts was like riding an ikran around the village over and over again, faster and faster - it was more than pointless, so the young Omaticaya decided to push them out of his mind. In view of the beautiful eclipse that swept over the world, Lo'ak raised his head up, letting a quiet sigh out. "I strongly believe that Eywa knows... That Eywa knows he was innocent and tried to fight back after his mother and friends were killed."

Initially hesitantly, you took his five-finger palm in yours and squeezed it tightly, smiling at him. "Would you be kind enough to smile for me, Lo'ak? I don't like it... I mean, my clan don't like it when our guests are sad."

Observing your face as carefully as he could, he tilted his head to one side, considering your words. "Do they really worry about me or is it you who are concerned?" He mused.

Oh! There were moments when you wished you weren't so sensitive, that you could conceal your emotions more easily; within an instant, your cheeks were rosy and your hidden emotions were evident to everyone around. Those yellowish eyes of his were fixed on you; they were the most beautiful and understanding you've ever seen. “Lo’ak…” You started, but he touched your cheek, he rubbed his thumb against your skin, making you hold back your breath and nuzzle against his palm a tiny bit.

"Oeru lu fpom. I'm glad I met you. My family is so fortunate to have you and Tsireya as friends. You seem like such a sweet person," he complimented.

You whispered, "Oh, stop it" but his closeness had an unusual influence on you; your heart pounded as if you were being chased by akula, your skin was hot, and your pupils dilated. "I like you too, Lo'ak," you whispered back.

Suddenly Lo'ak leaned forward and gently placed his lips against yours, without a thought in his mind.

Initially, you blinked, surprised, but soon lost yourself in the sensation. Despite being messy and uncertain, his kiss was sweet and full of promises of a better tomorrow. During the kiss, you were at your most pure and vulnerable selves. There were a million loving thoughts condensed into one moment in that kiss. His lips tasted like the sweetest nectar you've ever tasted. Immediately after the kiss was broken, you looked into his eyes hesitantly, just like he did. “Lo’ak…”

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you," he apologized, gathering his composure as he rose from the pier.

"No, no, Lo'ak!" You blinked and got up as well, following him.

Lo'ak's ilu put his head over the surface of the water to observe the situation.

“I'm so sorry, I have no idea what I was guided by. I didn't want to sully your honor," he said, getting from the pier to the sandy beach.

"Lo'ak!" you yelled as you tried to stop him.

The young Omaticaya took no notice at all and tried to walk away as quickly as he could.

"Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk’itan!" You shouted after him.

It was only that that made him pause and look back at you.

As you approached him, you shook your head in disbelief. Observing him with your bluish eyes, you asked, "You kissed me and now you are running away? You, the one who survived meeting with Payakan alone? What is it that you are afraid of?”

As he avoided your gaze, Lo’ak whispered, "Rejection. Rejection is what I fear most."

You took a hold of his palms, squeezing them, fixing your eyes on his face. "Please, hear me out, Lo'ak. I need you to know that you matter. Not only to me, but to the fate of this planet. You need to acknowledge your worth. Be confident. Start feeling the difference you actually make," you reached out and touched his cheek lightly, your other hand was put to his chest. “As I told you before, oel ngati kameie. The confidence and certainty you feel about your own self is what I want to see from you, for I admire you, my dear. And about the kiss... Your belief that you sullied my honor is terribly misguided,” you chuckled lightly, blushing yet again.

"I thought you didn't like it," Lo'ak replied, licking his lips as they became so dry he could no longer bear the feeling.

"I've been kissed a few times before," you told him openly, "but none have been as heartwarming and perfect as yours." You could see the gratitude within the sparkles of joy in his eyes.

"Look at that! I didn't know my little bro is such a skilled kisser!" Suddenly, a vibrant tone came from behind, and you saw no one else but Neteyam, Lo'ak's older brother, approaching you.

Your anger about Neteyam destroying the moment full of trust and thrill made you grin at him a little too wryly. "Neteyam."

As Lo'ak asked, his tone was filled with anger, "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? It's well after the eclipse, and mother is worried about you," the older brother explained with a shrug. “Come on, let’s get you back home.”

Upon seeing his brother's smug grin, Lo'ak rolled his eyes and requested, "Just give us a minute."

When Neteyam walked away into the substantial distance, Lo'ak focused on you again. "I was wondering if you would like to hang out tomorrow? We might go to Payakan.”

"I think I'll be able to join you if you help me with fishing and net weaving," you told him with a smile, but deep inside you were really more than thrilled by the thought of spending more time with Lo’ak.

"You got it!" He smiled eagerly, and kissed you again, harder this time.

The actions of Lo'ak had not gone unnoticed by Neteyam, who whistled a few times. "Well, well, look at you, kiddos! It might be a good idea for me to tell mother to start preparing for your wedding, bro. Love is in the air!”

"Lay off of him, Neteyam," you warned as you leaned closer to him, "Or I'll have to open up about what I saw a few days ago."

In an instant, Neteyam stopped grinning; his eyes narrowed, turning into tiny gaps. "Don't you dare, Y/N."

Lo'ak exclaimed, "Hey, I wanna know!"

A smirk danced around your lips as you looked hardly at Neteyam and said, "Your older brother was making out with Tsireya."

Lo'ak chuckled loudly and opened his eyes wider. "Knew it! I saw you staring at her. Look at you, bro, you aren't wasting your time."

After shaking his head and groaning loudly, Neteyam turned and walked away, gesturing at Lo'ak to follow.

Lo'ak kissed your cheek briefly. "See you tomorrow!" He bid you farewell as he chased after his brother, lining up with him shortly after.

While watching him leave, your heart raced within your chest. There was no doubt in your mind that the best was yet to come.

Glossary:

sawtute - humans (“sky people”)

tulkun - a large, intelligent marine creature native to the oceans of Pandora

ilu - a sea creature, the direhorse of the Pandoran oceans

sran - yes (colloquial)

oel ngati kameie - I see you

oeru lu fpom - I’m happy

akula - a Pandoran ocean animal

Happy Lunar New Year! Chúc mừng năm mới! 

Vietnam is celebrating the Year of Cat this year, may we all go through life as blissfully as a cat! 

a thot for you baby. joining the mile high club with Bucky. he’s just too insatiable when it comes to you 😌

Mile High

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, smut, pet names (kitten, baby), mentions of alcohol, 18+.

Word Count: 400ish.

A/N: Dividers by the talented @sgt-seabass. Also, might be the reader who's insatiable 😏

"Come on, Buck. Live a little." Your fingers fumble with his belt buckle, body crammed against his in the small space. Maybe it's the vodka miniatures or maybe it's just because he looks so fucking good today. "Please, baby? Jus' wanna have a little fun. Don't you wanna have some fun, Bucky?"

You wiggle your jeans and underwear down over your ass, your flesh digging into the plastic sink behind you as you palm at his erection through his pants with a smirk.

"You're gonna get us in trouble, kitten." He grumbles, reaching around to grab a handful of your ass and letting you unbuckle his belt.

"Good thing you love trouble then, isn't it?"

"Good thing I love you, you mean." You let out a giggle at his struggle as he tries to manoeuvre his hulking form against yours, his metal arm clinking against the push button on the hand dryer and setting it off. "God damn it, fuckin' thing."

You turn around, wedging yourself between the cheap mirror screwed to the wall and his front, eyeing him in the reflection and sighing happily at the sight of your new husband.

Bucky groans when you wind your hips back against him, the cleft of your ass massaging his prominent bulge before he frees himself from his boxer shorts.

"Can't wait until we get to the resort, baby. Need it now. Please," you beg.

One hand dips beneath your blouse, the cool metal on your spine making you shiver with anticipation and lust. The tip of his cock nudges against your slick hole and you breathe out a heady moan.

"Shh," he warns, sheathing himself inside you in one fluid thrust and curling his flesh hand around your mouth to muffle your sounds. "Know I love hearin' that but you gotta be-fuck-quiet, kitten."

"Always get your way," he grits out, leaning forward and peppering kisses against the side of your throat.

There isn't enough space for him to pound into you like he usually would, but its okay.

The friction of your bodies grinding against each other is enough to have you panting against his palm, your teeth grazing teasingly against his skin as he locks eyes with you in the mirror.

"'Cause you love me, right?"

"'Cause you're fuckin' insatiable, Mrs Barnes."

I no longer have a tag list, but if you want to keep up to date with what I post follow my sideblog, @sweetersficlibrary, and turn on alerts to be notified whenever I post something new 💕

THOR: RAGNAROK (2017) dir. Taika Waititi

A Sense Of Lightness || Neteyam x fem!Omaticaya reader

Summary: After being accepted as a new Na’vi couple, you decide to mate with Neteyam before Eywa; the ache to be his lifetime partner has been burning inside of you for quite some time

Warnings: smut 🔥(first time)

Word count: 2970

Author: Rouge

A/N: Prior to reading, it’s important to know that: the reader is female Omaticaya ✤ characters are aged up (Neteyam is 20, reader is 19) ✤ a few things are in Na'vi language ✤ you'll find a glossary underneath the fic

The transition from childhood to adulthood is marked by customs and rituals in many cultures. A child who participates in a rite of passage has passed from childhood to adulthood. In this regard, the Na'vi were no exception. It has been said that every blessing and independence comes with a price. The blessings and independence of adulthood require emotional self-containment when faced with stress. The mature adult is able to contain and release stress in a safe and healthy way that protects vulnerable others. 

Neteyam, though, continued to feel unprepared - instead he felt like letting everyone down continually on a regular basis, even though his parents seemed to favor him over his siblings. 

The only person who really understood him seemed to be you. The two of you grew up side by side, becoming increasingly close over time. It was because of your persistence in walking to the Utral Aymokriyä that Neteyam realized you were considering something important.

During your conversation, you noticed that he seemed to be zoning out. It's possible that you've scared him; you weren't planning on doing this. As you sighed and gently tapped him on the shoulder, you tried to get his attention back. "Hey, did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, I heard. You chose your profession. I'm glad you chose art. You have a lovely voice, and when you sing for us, everyone is mesmerized," Neteyam replied as he walked with you through the woodland.

A smug smile spread across your face as you teasingly whispered, "Even you, I hope."

The forest was the protective mother, a holy sanctuary away from curious glances of other tribe members.

Trying to grasp the idea he thought was floating through your mind occasionally, he asked, "So, why are we getting there?"

As you looked away, you took a moment to collect your thoughts before looking back at him. "You know..." You started softly, "Nga yawne lu oer, and I don't ever want to be apart. I want to be yours and yours only."

Holding your hand while walking, he squeezed your palm slightly and halted after he heard your confession. "Y/N... Are you sure about that?"

Your gentle nod was accompanied by a low whisper of ‘yes’ as you looked into his eyes.

Neteyam dreamed of sharing this moment with you because you were his beloved one, but he was scared about taking such a step at the same time -he was inexperienced and unconfident on this particular field. Neteyam had overheard older boys talking about these matters, and he was concerned - all he wanted to do in the end was provide you with the best experience possible. His hand squeezed your palm harder and he smiled softly, telling you, "You know how much I love you. I promised you once that no matter what, we'll be together, forever. If you truly choose to spend your lifetime by my side, my deepest gratitude goes out to Eywa for setting you on my path and blessing me with the gentleness of your heart and soul.”

A little gasp escaped you as you stared at him with your best doe-eyes. "Oh, Neteyam! It surprises me that you can be so open about your feelings, since you've always seemed somewhat secretive…”

"You know, yawntutsyìp, normally I show things that need to be shown, but those which are more private sit here," he touched his temple. "And here," Neteyam moved his palm and touched his heart. “I can only be myself by your side, only by your side can I reveal who I really am, and only by your side I don't have to hide my true feelings, and I will never cease to be grateful for that freedom you constantly provide me with.”

The bonds of love were stretched by all the things he said, and as your eyes fixed on his, you only let a single tear flow down your cheek. This moment brought you to realize that you loved Neteyam not only for his outer shell, but also for who he was - a friend, a partner in crime, a shoulder to lean on, and hopefully your mate, soon.

It wasn't long before you reached the Tree of Voices - an important spiritual site of the Omaticaya clan. Through neural queue contact with the tree, you could hear the voices of your ancestors, so it was named after its extraordinary feature.

As Neteyam sat on the grass, its bioluminescence, glowing in purple and bluish hues, responded immediately to his touch.

You soon did the same, at first just nuzzling your face against his chest while remaining silent, listening to his heartbeat, losing yourself in the sweetness of the moment. Soon, you spoke. “Although I am not an expert on these matters, I am aware of the pain it can cause. I am not trying to impugn your honor, Neteyam, nor am I trying to presume you are a monster, but until I know more, I cannot suppose myself secure."

"It is frightening, as is everything we don't know," Neteyam remarked as he traced the grass tufts with his thumb, his fingers were never quite touching the flesh of your leg, which was intertwined with his as you sat next to him. "It's going to be quite different from anything we've ever done before. I have been worried about it for a long time. I am concerned about hurting you."

It was becoming chilly as the eclipse approached, so you rolled a little in his arms and crossed your own over your chest. "I trust you so much, Neteyam. I'm afraid of pain, yes, but I know there's more."

Shivering, you felt the cold air on your skin. "Pxìm, when we kiss, our bodies move without us thinking about it. It feels terrifyingly pleasant, but I'm terrified," you said with a shiver. I'm afraid of losing control of my body, that tiny niche of control that I've carved out for myself despite everything." For several moments, he was silent, long enough for you to consider whether you should have spoken that way. 

Neteyam suggested, "Let's explore each other tonight. Each moment we agree to, and each moment we can ask to quash it all." In this way, we won't cross the boundaries we don't want to cross."

There was an intoxicating sensation in your heart - his idea of sharing joy, of discovering, enticed you. If this intercourse was indeed a means to growing closer to each other, you desired it. You gripped his hand tightly and said, "All right, I accept this idea. I wish to explore with you. However, both of us must be in control here and I urge you to ask me before performing any experimentation."

A lusty sparkle ignited in Neteyam's eyes as he moved so close you could feel his breath on your cheek as he spoke just one word - ‘undress’.

In a slightly shy manner, you kneeled next to him, eyeing him attentively. First, you took off the brown fabric covering your breasts and crossed your arms instinctively to cover your flesh. Neteyam gently shook his head ‘no’, and you, regaining your composure, slowly let your hands move down your chest, exposing your privates to his hungry eyes.

When his strong arms wrapped around your almost naked body, you gasped. His hands conformably encircled you, pinning your body to the ground. Neteyam traced circles from your shaking shoulder to your skinny waist, sending goosebumps erupting all over your skin. You could feel his breath pooling on your neck, his fingers abruptly stopping at your hip. As his hands continued down your thigh, a low mewl escaped your lips. The firm grip on your hip, the trace of your knee, the hard thumbs pressed into your flesh - each left you shaking. This reminded you of the passionate kisses you had when you lost yourselves in the divine passion of each other. Your head lifted as you caught Neteyam's lips against yours. You felt blood rushing through your body as skin touched skin. Although the kiss was blissful, there was something searching about the way his tongue brushed against yours. 

Getting confident, Neteyam tugged gently on the strings that kept the cloth covering your lower parts, looking you directly in the eyes.

A silent 'yes' accompanied your nod. As you watched him caress your body inch by inch as he kissed down your chest, the sparkles in your eyes grew brighter. As much as the idea of having Neteyam's hand where you were so vulnerable concerned you, once you started fantasizing about it, you couldn't stop - it wouldn't be anything you hadn't done before though, especially while imagining things the oldest of the Sully brothers would have done to you… You were surprised when he first touched your exposed collarbone rather than between your legs. The kisses retraced the trails left by his hands as they moved from your shoulders and down your sides. The moment his lips touched your legs, you felt a wildfire in your core that demanded to be quenched. As his weight settled over you, his lips layered yours, and then heavy hands slipped beneath the piece of fabric, nestling into the warmth waiting there, then sliding into the awaiting wetness briefly. He gently untied the strings of the cloth, taking it off of you and placing it beside you. Then, his lips locked on your aching mound. Your mouth dropped open - the feeling overwhelmed you, and you seemed as if his hands were carrying you upwards, towards some uncharted destination. “Oh, Neteyam,” you sighed slightly, rolling your head backwards a little, nesting it on a soft grass tuft. “It feels so divine…” The sensation of his softness on your slick folds made you shiver - the feeling was strange, and shameful, because you found yourself wanting more. The repeated pressure at your opening soon transformed from an alien feeling into an inviting one. You groaned into the grass, then moaned loudly, as your pussy lips spread apart, his attention deepening as his index finger gently touched your clitoris.

As Neteyam raised his head, he disengaged his lips from your vulnerable spot, gently running the tip of his tongue along them. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

“Yes,” you whispered, barely moving your lips while looking him in the eyes.

With no unnecessary words, he continued eating you out, exploring your private parts with both his tongue and fingers. In just a moment, he slipped a digit gently into your pussy. His tongue flattened, pressing to your clitoris as his finger moved slowly in and out of you.

Moaning was the only logical reaction, and so you did, becoming a little, moaning mess, begging Neteyam for more.

Neteyam discovered with amusement that your pussy soon became incredibly tight, and your inner, soft walls began clenching rhythmically around Neteyam's finger, milking it with your warm wetness. When the overwhelming pleasure became unbearable, you instinctively slipped your fingers into his hair, gently tugging on his braid as a loud whimper rolled over your parted lips. You rolled to the side, panting - you didn't react as Neteyam came to lie beside you, the limbs tossed in a tumble of warm skin; it was a scene you couldn't have ever imagined.

Taking your time to enjoy so craved closeness, the two of you snuggled together, caressing each other solemnly.

"I guess it's my turn to pay the favor back," you whispered teasingly as you kissed Neteyam's lips passionately while his cloth was being taken off.

Neteyam did not flinch when you rolled to him, just blushed a little - he did not complain when you began your investigation - a truly scientific look at a part of man you had never encountered before. Neteyam's penis was long and curved, too turgid to bend, and his scrotum was soft to hold in your hands; his testicles shifted slowly as your fingers gently caressed them.

Straddling his legs, you felt the muscled calves support your ass. "Have your penis experienced pleasure while your mouth was inside me?" You asked curiously.

He grinned at you and replied, "Your pushes against my head were so vigorous that my shaft thrusted the grass, growing larger, so the answer is yes.”

Seeing Neteyam lying still beneath you, you ran the tip of your tongue across your lips and smiled widely, showing off your teeth. It dawned on you that you no longer felt ashamed of your nakedness.

Daintily, your neat fingers brushed up against his shaft.

A deep sigh was emitted from Neteyam, his eyes becoming large as he jerked a little.

"I see you appreciate such contact," you teased, feeling your embers rekindle. When you encircled his shaft in your smooth palm, he began swearing out loud. 

Feeling him twitch and squirm beneath you, totally subordinate to your whimsy was intoxicating.

A cat's grin spread across your face as Neteyam groaned in response to your touch.

Several minutes passed before he spoke, "Feels so good... But quite sensitive. I need some moisture."

"I think we should do something about that." As you licked your lower lip and nestled yourself between his legs, you lowered your head; initially, accommodating his shaft in your mouth seemed difficult, but once you relaxed your throat and muscles in general, it became easier.

A fistful of your hair was seized by Neteyam, who cursed out loud, "Fuck."

As you slowly bobbled your head, you kept in mind that you had to also work your tongue - girls had said that this way men were losing their senses completely.

While massaging your scalp with his long fingers, he managed to whimper quietly, "The pleasure is unbearable."

After quickening your attempts to please your beloved boyfriend, he began leaking precum; the salty taste was left on your tongue, but you loved it.

His cock fell out of your mouth with a loud pop, and you moved a little to kiss his lips while stroking his shaft and circling his leaking tip with your thumb. “Did you like fìkem?”

A hand was placed on your cheek by Neteyam as he nodded eagerly. "I loved every moment you gave to me, oeyä yawntu."

A mischievous grin danced across your lips as you decided to try something much more intimidating. His cock was grabbed and jerked several times before being rubbed against your pussy. From bottom to top, Neteyam's cock brushed against the wetness under your labia. You couldn't resist shifting further up his legs, which caused Neteyam's cock to pass your second lips. The experience was strange, it was too much, but it was all you craved for so long.

Suddenly, your grinding turned from exploratory to utterly necessary - your strokes collided your sexes and white-hot explosions in the back of your skull made you moan loudly. 

When Neteyam's cock collided with your needing wetness, he instinctively grabbed your tail, caressing its tip, cursing both in Na’vi and English.

"Do you want..." You whispered, slowly grinding against his penis, looking him in the eye. It was hard for you to fully express your desires. "My confidence has never been stronger than now, Neteyam. I need you to be mine fully.”

Neteyam nodded, still playing with your tail, which was wriggling vigorously from the emotions you were experiencing. "I've been dreaming about it, Y/N."

Taking hold of your braid, you swung it over your shoulder, waiting for his reaction.

In a few seconds, Neteyam took his braid into his palm, and soon your neural queues were connected.

The unbearable pleasure now became more intense and welcoming as the warm feeling filled you from within; you felt as if you were drowning in it; your pupils widened rapidly. “Dear Eywa! Neteyam!” 

Upon connecting your queues, Neteyam grabbed his shaft and stroked it briefly before slowly pushing himself into your wet core, causing you to roll your head back in a rapture.

Neteyam's hips were bucking up, and his cock was spreading your insides painfully; his hands were placed on your hips, guiding you back and forth, encouraging you to move faster.

Initially bucking your hips slowly, you allowed yourself time to fully accommodate his member; the curve of his penis filled your pussy to the brim, leaving you panting as your hands stroked his bare chest. "Oeyä Neteyam."

His cock was coated with your slick wetness, which made it more sensitive. In a husky voice, Neteyam warned, "I won't last much longer, baby.”

Nothing could stop you from riding your orgasm against his cock as the pleasure shot through your body. “Neteyam!”

The tightening of his grip on your hips was accompanied by sloppily moving hips as he chased his peak. As soon as your name rolled off his lips, he delved his cock deeply into your pussy, cumming within you, milking your inner walls with his seeds.

As you continued to buck your hips several times, you moved your hand down your body to caress the place you were still connected. “I love you, Neteyam. Once and for all.”

As you got off him, Neteyam whistled, nestling you in his arms immediately. "Irayo for taking me to Eywa."

You kissed his nose lovingly and claimed, "I think we didn't do that badly for our first time."

Having agreed with you, Neteyam chuckled softly, "Yeah, we did a really good job. We're an excellent team, aren't we?" While his fingertips brushed against your sweaty skin, his strong arms held you close to his chest.

Instead of replying, you placed your head on his chest and closed your eyes, listening to his mighty heartbeat. There was a sense of lightness - you attributed some of that to your first orgasms, but you knew your joy reached deeper than that.

Glossary:

oeyä yawntu - my beloved

oeyä - my

Utral Aymokriyä - Tree of Voices

yawntutsyìp - darling

nga yawne lu oer - I love you

irayo - thank you

pxìm - often

fìkem - this (action)

A New Uniform

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky is in need of new mission attire. You help him get all the details of his new suit, and the two of you relish in the new look of Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: fluff. Pet name (sweetheart). Working on the details ppl, it’s a process. Shy Bucky

A/N: Howdy! Flabbergasted by the response on my last post *gasp* Also did not expect almost 100 followers within my first two months on this app. #feelinggrateful

“What’s going on in that handsome head of yours?”

Bucky glanced up at you with a smirk which he was most definitely trying to hide. His hand brushed through his fluffy short brown hair as he sat back in his chair.

“Steve says I need a mission suit. Something less, winter soldier-ish, I guess.”

He was clearly flustered. There were lots of scribbles on his legal pad. Some words and a few sketches, a few pens snapped in half from Bucky’s strong grip were thrown off to the side next to his cup of black coffee.

You sighed and lightly placed your hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb soothingly in circles as your head rested on his opposite shoulder. Leaning his head on yours, Bucky muttered a quick, “I don’t know,” before tossing his pen on the notepad.

“What do you want in a suit?”

Bucky took a moment to compose his thoughts. “Something comfortable, maybe a suit that doesn’t restrict,” he motioned to his arm, “ya know that, and oh,” his expression brightened as he said, “pockets! Lots of pockets.”

“Okay fair points,” you lightly chuckled as you sat on his lap looking between him and the notepad. Bucky’s hand came to rest around your waist while his head rested on your arm.

“Let’s start at material,” you said assuringly, taking the pen from the notepad and scribbling the word material in a blank space.

“I usually wear black,” Bucky muttered.

“You said you wanted something less from your past right? What other colors do you like?”

“My ma always said blue looked good on me. She said it matches my eyes,” Bucky’s eyes stared off into nothing as he remembered his mother. Your touch finally broke his train of thought while you ran your hand lightly up and down his arm.

“What about navy hm? It’s a nice transition from the all black. I agree with your mom, but I just really love your eyes.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured completely blushing. “I like navy.” He was in awe of your thinking. It was a silly superhero suit, but it was more than that to him. It was a step in a new direction and for you to want to help him and care about it, that was everything to Bucky.

“Okay and you want comfort, no left sleeve, and pockets,” you mumbled while scribbling down all that you said.

“Lots of pockets,” Bucky added in a playful tone.

“Lots of pockets,” you teased back with a giggle, turning to him with a smile.

———

It was two weeks later and Bucky was anxious up until now when he got his suit from whoever makes all the Avengers suits. It was packaged in a nice box, addressed politely to Sargent James Buchanan Barnes.

You sat excitedly waiting for Bucky to walk out into the living room. The rest of the team was out on missions, so it was just you and Bucky to take in his new look.

Finally, he stepped out, first, you saw his boots which were his usual black boots that he had worn for forever. Then his pants which were new black leather, they were sleek with small red detailing just below his hips.

The real pièce de résistance of it all was the shirt, a nice navy leather covered his chest with one black strap placed across his chest, the same red from the pants making little appearances on the apparel. His waist was perfectly fitted to the leather, slim but oh so sexy.

He looked nervous as he stepped out, clearly worried about your opinion. Taking a few more steps, he stood showing off his new look. Confidence was spread all across his face the second he saw your expression.

“You look so handsome Buck,” you said in awe of your boyfriend.

“Comfortable?” You asked, standing up from your chair.

“Very,” Bucky replied looking down and taking in his look once more. “Look,” he said all excited taking your hand and pulling you towards him.

“Pockets,” he whispered like a kid telling you a secret. He turned a few times to show the pockets laid out around his suit. The two of you laughed and giggled as you took in every little detail of the suit, ooing and aweing at certain features that were minuscule to the average person but important to Avengers.

There were lots of great things about this moment but the best feeling was seeing Bucky not as the winter soldier, but much more than his previous title. He would tell you often of how sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he still sees the winter soldier. He pictures himself with the long greasy hair and the scowl, as if that part of him is coinciding with him always.

“So, do I look like a superhero?”

“Yes, but also,” you came around to look in the mirror with him. Your hands placed at each side of his arms, with the two of you just taking in his look.

“You look like Bucky. Just Bucky.”

Bucky was no one else but himself, and for the first time in a long time, he agreed with you.

The Art Of Hunting || Neteyam & Lo’ak x fem!Omaticaya reader

Summary: You are interrupted by Neteyam's younger brother during your hunting lesson.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff (and Lo'ak interfering with a hunt lesson😋)

Word count: 1900

Author: Rouge

A/N: prior to reading, it’s important to know that: this is my very first attempt at writing for Avatar ✤ the reader is female Omaticaya ✤ a few things are in Na'vi language (I hope they were translated correctly) ✤ some Pandoran creatures are mentioned in the fic ✤ you'll find a glossary underneath the fic

There was no doubt that Pandoran forests were one of the most beautiful, breathtaking sights on the planet. Those forests, filled with greenery and sometimes interspersed with rivers and lakes, have been home to many creatures, both small and large. Within the darkness entwined with light, harmony, so coveted, seemed alive, bonding everything together.

It was a beautiful sight to see the river in its generous curves, glinting blue amid the leafy green. As she drummed and rustled, the clear water echoed through the canopy of trees. As a result, the river invited all souls to dance, rumbling quietly and flowing with her current. A soil rich in brown hues, along with fleshy, lush green leaves, combined to create a three-dimensional wonderland that captured the attention of onlookers willing to slow down and absorb soft rays of sunlight falling through ancient branches and flowing down to the forest floor.

Upon hearing Neteyam whisper ‘breathe’ in a calm tone, your ears perked up.

As slowly as possible, you turned your face towards him, watching how focused the oldest Sully brother was - his eyes opened wide and his nose twitched as he sniffed the wet scent of the forest floor. “Neteyam…” Attempting to whisper, you were quickly hushed by his hand being raised up in the air and his brief glance that told you to keep silent. Hunting had been one of your most difficult struggles - you weren't much of a hunter and many Na'vi told you not to worry about getting better at it, and instead concentrate on herbology. When the last sun rays kissed the forest and heathland, and when the greens and purples morphed into gray under the eclipse, yeriks went out to forage.

As Neteyam instructed, he kept his tone low, barely moving his lips as he spoke, "Remember, Y/N, bow and arrow are mere tools. You must shoot with the heart." With the last rays of setting sun, his yellowish eyes glistened with focus.

As you nodded, remembering the last time Neteyam took you hunting - because of your careless behavior, the whole yerik flock got spooked and ran before you could strike any targets.

Neteyam stood behind you and made sure you stretched the bowstring sufficiently; soon, his left hand was placed underneath your chest, on your upper tummy; your ears perked as you instinctively drew in some air - when Neteyam was close, especially that dangerously close to you as he was then, you had trouble concentrating.

Neteyam was adept at reading unobvious signs - a little grin glinted across his lips as he kept his composure, not giving you any indication he was aware of the slight change in your behavior.

While supporting your right elbow with his other hand, the oldest Sully brother whispered, "Focus now, Y/N."

Because he had five fingers instead of four, it always made you giggle when he was actually touching you - no exceptions were made this time.

The laughter of yours only lasted for a half-second, but it caused yeriks to stop grazing and look carefully around, turning into attentive mode.

In spite of this, Neteyam did not resign from hunting wild prey. As he moved his head so close to you, only an inch or two separated his lips from your cheek, he whispered directly into your ear, "Y/N, what did I just say?"

Trying desperately to calm your heartbeat, you prayed that he wouldn't feel the heat radiating from your body. “That I need to focus.”

"Focus then," he instructed you, his voice soft as a northern breeze, his tone nothing more than a whisper.

Another brief nod was given by you in response. Using all your strength, you stretched the bowstring as far as you could and aimed for the individual grazing grass on the sidelines. Your focus was the channeling of your spirit, of your true self within, so as you focused you could learn a few things about yourself - for instance, that you could hold your breath long enough to stretch the bowstring to the point where it started to cut into the flesh of your fingers.

“Fire,” Neteyam whispered into your ear.

Your shot was interrupted by another figure approaching, making such a fuss that the entire yerik flock fled.

As Lo'ak crouched against his older brother, inspecting a clump of grass carefully, he tilted his head and looked up at Neteyam, saying, "Mother was looking for you, bro. I won't lie, she was pissed you were out after the eclipse."

Neteyam's response was straightforward, as always - he hit his younger brother's head from behind, lightly enough to not hurt him. "So you've found us, brother. What's wrong with you, though? Didn't you notice we were hunting?"

Lo'ak's shoulder shifted a bit as he spoke, "I observed you for a while, and all I saw was you flirting heavily with our Y/N."

Your cheeks began to flush as you gasped a quiet 'stop’ - turning your head aside to conceal the redness you breathed out deeply.

A snarl of anger was heard from Neteyam as he displayed his teeth at Lo'ak. "Quit it, brother. Let's head home, the last thing I need is for the father to get angry as well."

The younger brother chuckled and poked your ribs with his index finger a little. "How was the hunting? No kills this time as well, huh? Quit trying, Y/N, you're not a hunter. You won't become one because you hang out so much with Neteyam.”

Your ears perked a few times quickly as you hissed at him. "Lo'ak!"

“What?!” Lo'ak leapt nimbly off a rock ledge you and Neteyam were using for vantage point. “Come on, let’s move up!”

You watched the two brothers slowly walk off, smiling gently to yourself - their relationship was so emotional, but despite the fact that they fought easily, it was so beautiful to watch them interact with one another - there was no doubt that they shared a strong fraternal bond. A wooden bow was slung over your shoulder, and you picked up a quiver filled with arrows that you adorned with some leaves and features before joining Sully brothers.

In the dark of night, Lo'ak walked first, leading the way back home. He was always the first one everywhere, always so curious, never satisfied with the status quo, always seeking for something new to discover.

The long steps you took aligned you with Neteyam, who reluctantly followed his brother, holding his bow firmly in hand. As you stared at him, you engaged him in a small conversation, "You seem angry, Net."

As the three of you crossed the large field, a group of resting kentens rose into the sky. This made Neteyam and you stop to marvel at the luminous magenta and purple discs that floated to safety on the branches of an old, nearby tree.

Taking a glance over his shoulder, Neteyam checked to make sure his younger brother was far enough. Putting on his ionar once he was certain, he turned to you. "It's not that," he replied quickly, trying to dismiss the topic.

With your quiver slung over the same shoulder as your bow, you crossed your hands over your chest, giving him a significant glance, the tip of your nose twitching a tad.

“What?” His tail wiggled rapidly.

You touched his chest with your slender fingertips and whispered, "Neteyam, I know you long enough to be sure you harbor anger within you."

Taking a deep breath, Neteyam placed his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest, then placed his other hand on your cheek to caress the smooth surface of your skin. “There was just one thing I hoped for. A few alone moments with you, Y/N."

As you snuggled your cheek into his warm, welcoming palm, you curled your lips into a sweet smile; your eyes never left his. "The plenty of occasion will come, oeyä yawntu," you said, wiggling your tail slowly.

The gaze of Neteyam was intense as he stared down at you. Your smile was the sun, it was the silencing of all the noises, it was both the cage and the ever-wide open door, leading to unknown places. It wasn't long before Neteyam got lost in the depth of your eyes and the warmth of your little grin. “Is your word a promise, yawntutsyìp?”

A slight tilt of your head indicated a nod. “Yes.”

A strong embrace encased your slim figure as Neteyam pulled you closer. After removing his ionar, he lowered his head slowly, resting his forehead gently against yours; his tail danced a bit with yours, wrapping itself around yours from time to time. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered softly.

When you slipped your palm across his chest and rested it against his heart, you replied, "Nga yawne lu oer."

After returning to check on you two, Lo'ak called out, "Guys! Are you two going to stand in the middle of the forest, like idiots, snuggling now? Seriously?”

A low growl escaped Neteyam's lips as he put his ionar back on. “This is none of your business. Get your ass back on the ikran."

"I'm not the one whose shenanigans cause us problems, bro," Lo'ak laughed, but followed his older brother's order.

As Neteyam's ikran spotted him approaching, it roared and wiggled its wings several times, lowering its head to greet his Na'vi.

Ikran's elongated snout was stroked by Neteyam as he jumped on its back, helping you up as well. Neteyam connected his queue to the ikran, and the beast was ready to fly. "Y/N, are you alright?" Neteyam asked softly as he wrapped his arms around your tummy to keep you from falling.

"Yes," you replied shortly. "Let's head home."

Neteyam ordered ikran to take off with a nod.

Before soaring, ikran roared once more, spreading its large wings.

It was fascinating to watch Lo'ak glide smoothly with his ikran in the air. The voice of Neteyam jolted you out of your thinking. “You know what?”

“Hmmm?” You mumbled, holding tightly onto his ikran’s neck.

"The thought of being back home excites me so much."

“Why is that? I thought you sought every opportunity to leave home to taste the adventure and beauty of the world," you questioned as you turned a little to look at him.

“That’s true, indeed. However, the mere thought of snuggling with you to sleep melts my heart," Neteyam replied as he moved his head slightly to kiss your lips. “Don't forget, this is just between us. It is likely Lo'ak would not leave me alone if he knows.”You knew he was right - Lo'ak was the first one to pick on his older brother, and if he only knew Neteyam had a soft side, he wouldn't give up so easily. “Don’t worry, I know.” Your palm rested on his cheek as you kissed his lips once more, a little longer this time. "Oeyä Neteyam, you mean the world to me."

Love was a protector, a defender, a ride-or-die connection that was there for you always and in every way. It had raw power and could roar, but also, you would find comfort in its quietness, if needed. In the end, the real love you were sharing with Neteyam was the greatest blessing Eywa could grant you, and so you chose to cherish it.

Glossary:

yerik - hexapede

kenten - fan lizard

ikran - mountain banshee

ionar - rider’s mask

oeyä yawntu - my beloved

oeyä - my

yawntutsyìp - darling

nga yawne lu oer - I love you