Is There Some Kind Of Note Of These Words Of Wisdom?

BED PEACE — m afton

you’d love to stay in bed with michael without interruptions. it’s too bad some people have impeccable, or horrible, timing.

warnings – sex while on the phone, riding, slight jealousy

© MILL3RD 2023 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works.

a thin, singular streak of orange cast into the bedroom, barely enough to fill up the room with the sunrise but enough so that you and michael could see each other. it was no surprise he had blackout curtains since when he wasn’t working the night shift, he was sleeping. usually.

you let out a sigh of content, wrapped nicely between your boyfriend and the covers. he was behind you, kissing your shoulders and back while his hands roamed underneath the silk sheets. you moved your hair over your left shoulder and turned around to face michael, bringing your hand up to redirect his head to face yours.

the two of your lips met, both of your hands cupping michael’s face while his still continued to bury themselves in forbidden territory. they remained on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh.

you kissed for what seemed like a while, losing track of time as you both had the weekend off of work: michael as a night guard and you as an office assistant. two boring jobs, but you two could get by well enough together.

michael turned you around, getting you to straddle him so your core was flush against his own. you both let out a breathy sigh, your lips meeting again while your boyfriend rocked you against him. the fabric of both your’s and michael’s underwear created the perfect friction for the two of you, the materials dampening quickly.

you let out needy whines here and there between gasps for air and michael ate up your noises with just as needy kisses. your nails scratched his shoulders soothingly, you knew he enjoyed the sensation. michael’s hands left your thighs, trailing up the curve of your ass to the small of your back and so high that his palms comforted the base of your neck and his fingers massaged the back of your head.

pulling away, you opened your eyes and huffed. now letting your nail circle his chest, you pouted at michael and spoke barely above a whisper, “i can’t cum like this..”

“oh yeah?” michael murmured, his hands remaining in your hair. you nodded, your nose scrunching how it always did when you were frustrated and your eyes watering with want.

“can’t keep my girl waiting then, can i?” you grinned, giggling after michael told you to lift your hips. your thighs ached slightly as you squatted, hooking your arms around michael’s neck. he moved his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring up, bumping your clit. you huffed impatiently before michael pulled your panties to the side. he lined himself up and you finally let yourself sink down on him.

the two of you let out similar moans. you took a few seconds to enjoy the feeling of michael inside you before you started moving. the room was filled with groans and moaning in no time. the two of you barely had time to yourselves before the telephone rang. a collective groan fell from your mouths’ as michael leaned sideways and felt around for the box on your nightstand.

“hello?” michael asked as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, the wire curling around your finger as you played with it in boredom. his eyes met yours, an annoyed expression falling upon his face. he gave the phone to you and you shook your head with a tiny smile. your friend was on the phone.

“hi trisha,” you greeted, listening to your friend rave about a possible outing. as a habit, michael’s thumb maintained circles on your hip, “yeah, i think that’s a great idea, when?”

trisha mentioned that she wanted you to meet her boyfriend and that michael could tag along if he wanted to. however, michael was starting to get bored. his hands gripped your hips and began to move you manually on his thighs. your free hand fell onto michael’s chest and you glared at him, but he just grinned.

“keep talking,” he mouthed and you rolled your eyes at him. she continued to talk about places to go later that day. your brows furrowed as michael hit a good spot inside you and a sigh left your mouth. you could hear trisha’s frown through the phone, especially when she asked if everything was okay.

“yeah, i just don’t think today’s a good day,” you excused, “me and michael planned to spend the day together, y’know with it being our weekend off and all that, maybe tomorrow? if that works with you..”

trisha sighed, yet she agreed that tomorrow would give you all time to plan out where and when.

you pinched michael’s collarbone and he winced, thrusting up into you to try catch you off guard again. this time, a scarcely audible moan left your open lips. but it was into the phone and trisha gasped, asking if you were okay.

“i’m.. ah, i’m fine,” you panted, your nails creating marks in michael’s jawline while he smiled, “it’s just a bit hot in here, haven’t managed to open the windows yet.. how does tomorrow at seven sound?”

you wanted to celebrate when your friend agreed to your arrangement but now she began to list why she knew you’d accept her boyfriend. michael was as impatient as ever and your eyes rolled back as he began to bounce you himself. your hold on the phone grew weak and little hums buzzed in the base of your throat. trisha took it as you agreeing with her. with every movement michael forced upon you, the phone slipped from your hand gradually until it fell into the sheets and your friend probably, surely heard the mattress squeaking.

michael grabbed the phone before you could, thrusting up into you quickly and spoke into the phone, “hey trish, we’re a bit busy right now, can you call back later?”

you could hear the familiar laughter through the phone before a few words and a buzz indicating she hung up. throwing the phone to the side, michael chuckled, “she knew the whole time!”

laughing along with him, you shrugged, “that’s trish, anything to frustrate us, gotta love her though..” your boyfriend rolled his eyes, “sure.. i think she just likes keeping you away from me..”

you giggled, leaning down to kiss michael a few times, “maybe, but now we can continue with no interruptions.”

michael grinned, stealing a longer kiss, “fuck yeah!”

smiling while your coworker is eating a banana, that's sus...

MINORS DNI 18+

ANAKIN SKYWALKER has a bad habit of going all night. He’s aware of the values of rest, he knows he has responsibilities to attend to the next day that require a clear head, and yet he cannot refuse you. Not that there’s a request to be denied, but when you stand there in your long nightgown in the Coruscant apartment you share, how can he ponder anything other than tricking you out of it? He’ll sweet talk you, croon, hold you close and charm you out of your clothes. He’ll have you bare and riding him on the couch, toying with your pretty tits in his hands while you bounce on his every aching inch. He’ll consume you, intoxicate you with his scent and his desire, he’ll be your every thought while he slithers in and out of your mind, abusing the force to bend your wills and train you into ecstasy. You writhe on the bed you share with him, tangling a mess of sheets in your throes of passion. Your claws sink into the soft down of your comforter while his weight lays on your back, pinning you to the mattress as he soothes your hot insides, fucking you from behind tightly knitted while his hand brushes back your sweaty hair from your forehead. His lips murmur against your cheek as your delicate countenance twists in something akin to anguish. He would pity you, if only you were truly in pain. Instead, you cry out in the heat of your climax, the evidence pooling out from between your legs. How can he refuse the night hours, when this is his only chance to fully indulge in the pleasures of your exquisite beauty?

Not done yet but I post for May 9th— May thy 9th chip and shatter ❤️

Hi! I had this idea and thought you might be the perfect person to bring it to life: a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic where Reader finds an old journal of Bucky’s from his early post Winter Soldier recovery days. She reads it without meaning to at first, but what she finds inside is raw and heartbreaking. stuff he never talks about. Maybe they’ve been growing distant lately, and this gives her a look into just how much he’s been struggling. Would love if it ends with her wanting to comfort him but him not being ready to let her in yet. Quiet, emotional tension, please!

I READ YOUR DIARY EVERY LINE.

it starts with dust. not metaphorical, just actual dust.

you’re cleaning. or pretending to. rearranging the living room like that’s gonna fix the silence that’s been creeping in between you and bucky like fog under the door. you’ve been feeling it for weeks now. how he’s been moving quieter, speaking less, disappearing into rooms with the kind of stillness that makes it hard to follow. you don’t even remember the last time he touched you without pulling back like his hands burned after.

so, yeah. you’re cleaning. touching all his stuff like you’re trying to find a thread back to him. and then a book falls. black. beat up. spiral bound, barely hanging on. it looks like it’s been shoved there on purpose—stuffed behind old war books and a mug you’re pretty sure he stole from a hotel in zurich. you almost leave it. almost. but then you see the corner of a folded photo sticking out from between the pages. and your name, just a sliver of it, so you sit. floor cold against your legs, journal in your lap, breath a little too tight. you tell yourself you’re just gonna peek. just a glance.

but it’s not that simple. because the first thing you read feels like walking in on someone mid nightmare, mid prayer, mid– something holy and bleeding.

“it’s been 2,190 days since she stopped calling me asset. i still don’t feel like a person.”

the handwriting’s rough. not messy, just tired. you can feel it in the way the letters lean too hard in places, press too deep in others. like he needed to write it down or it would claw its way out some other way.

“i keep dreaming about the way the metal felt when it was first fused to me. like i was being welded shut.”

you shift. knees pulled up now. the room’s gone quiet in that specific way that makes you feel like the walls are listening.

“sometimes i think about running. not because i want to leave, but because i don’t want to rot here. it feels like i’m leaking poison into the lives of people who love me. like i’ll never stop being dangerous.”

you swallow. the last few months fall into place, a soft collapsing. all the nights he stood outside on the fire escape, just watching the sky. the mornings he’d say he was fine but his voice would crack on the i. the way he stopped playing music in the apartment. stopped sitting beside you on the couch. stopped falling asleep beside you, slowly replacing your shared bed with the cold of the guest room. your eyes burn but you keep reading.

“she touches me like i’m breakable. looks at me like i’m something to fix. i don’t know how to be held without feeling like an apology.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the page blurs. until the paper soaks a little beneath your fingertips. and you hate that he felt like this. that he couldn’t tell you. that you didn’t see it sooner. that he had to carve this into paper in the middle of the night instead of speaking it out loud to someone who would’ve dropped everything just to hold his face and remind him he's still here. still human. still loved.

there’s one more entry. dated a week ago.

“she asked if i wanted to go out tonight. i told her i was tired. the truth is, i didn’t want to be seen. some days i still feel like a weapon pretending to be a man. and i think if she ever looked too close, she'd see right through me.”

you close the journal. you sit with it in your lap for a long while. the kind of long that makes the afternoon light shift across the floor like slow, golden water. you don’t say anything when you hear the door open. keys hitting the bowl. footsteps slow.

he sees you before he says anything. standing in the doorway to the living room, hand still on the frame, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed in. his eyes drop to the journal in your hands. they stay there. his mouth twitches. not quite a flinch. not quite anything. "you read it," he says, voice low. not accusing. just… accepting. you nod. barely.

he closes his eyes. presses his lips together like he’s swallowing something sharp.

"i didn’t mean for you to see that."

“i know,” you say. voice softer than it’s ever been. “i didn’t mean to find it.”

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s full of everything you don’t say. everything he can’t. he walks past you. sits down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. you want to go to him. every cell in your body wants to close the space. to curl up beside him and press your forehead to his shoulder and tell him he’s not too broken to be loved. not too sharp to be touched. but you don’t. you sit down a few feet away. not touching. not even looking directly at him. just… near. a presence. a quiet offering.

“i didn’t know,” you whisper.

his voice cracks when he says, “i didn’t want you to.”

and there it is. the heart of it. he’s not ready. maybe he never will be. but he’s here and so are you.

the room is dim now. soft golden light painting the walls. somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks as the house settles around you. the air smells like dust and the last bit of coffee he made this morning.

you don’t speak again. you just sit. two people in the quiet. the kind of quiet that aches and comforts at the same time. maybe this is love, too. not the easy parts. just the staying.

a/n: luv this req. i literally just need to hug him omg... also sorry this is terribly written i was almost blackout drunk when writing it

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the apartment is quiet except for the soft sound of the stove and the distant rhythm of traffic outside. your daughter is at the table, her little legs swinging from the chair, tongue poking out in concentration as she draws. crayon in one hand, juice box in the other. there's a mess of purple scribbles that sort of look like a shield. or maybe a cat. you’re chopping vegetables one handed, phone balanced on your shoulder, listening to a voicemail from your sister you’ve already heard twice today. the mundane feels good. normal. still. the front door doesn’t creak anymore—bucky fixed the hinge last week—but you still hear him before you see him. boots scuffing the hallway floor. the rustle of that jacket he won’t get rid of. you glance up and he’s there, like he always is lately. a little tired around the eyes, jaw set, still half lost in whatever mission they just pulled him from.

he drops his duffel at the door and steps out of his boots before he even says hi. you know what that means. it was a rough one.

“hey,” you say, not turning around yet.

“hey.” his voice is low, rasped at the edges. he moves into the kitchen slowly, like he’s not sure how to belong in the quiet after everything loud.

“daddy!” lily shouts, twisting in her seat. she scrambles down and runs to him.

his face softens the second she touches him. “hey,” he says, crouching low to catch her. “what’d i miss?”

“i drew you!" she announces proudly, pulling him by the hand toward the table.

he gives you a quick glance, something grateful in it, like he’s thanking you just for being here, for holding it all together.

you dry your hands and join them. lily is explaining the drawing: him in a suit, you with a bow and arrow (which you definitely don’t use anymore), and some kind of flying car in the sky. bucky listens like it’s the most important briefing he’s ever received.

“that me?” he asks, pointing at the stick figure with messy scribbles for hair and something that might be a star on his chest.

“yeah,” she grins. “you’re an avenger now.”

bucky huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “guess i am, huh.”

he doesn’t sound proud. not exactly. more like he’s still trying to believe it. still doesn’t know what it means to be one of the good guys. still doesn’t feel like he belongs in the lineup. but you see it. in the way he kneels on the kitchen floor to listen to his daughter’s stories. in the way he checks every window and door before bed. in how he wakes up in the middle of the night just to look at the two of you and make sure it’s real. he’s not the winter soldier anymore. he’s something new. something softer. something harder to define.

after dinner, he helps clean up without being asked. washes dishes with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that vibranium arm gleaming under the kitchen light. you lean against the counter, watching him in the quiet.

“you okay?” you ask.

he nods slowly. “just… tired.”

you reach for him without thinking, resting a hand on his back. “i can’t tell if you mean physically or existentially.”

he gives a small, tired smile. “both.”

there’s a pause. then, quieter: “they’re calling us something new now,” he says. “not 'thunderbolts' anymore. it’s more official. more public.”

“new avengers?”

“something like that.”

you nod. you expected this. since val’s people started cleaning house and putting the new lineup together. since they sent him back into the field with an actual team and something that looked like purpose.

“you good with that?” you ask.

he shrugs. “i don’t know. i keep waiting for someone to realize i’m not supposed to be there.”

“bucky,” you say, serious now. “you’ve earned this.”

“have i?”

“you show up. every day. for us. for them. for yourself. what more do you want?”

he leans in then, forehead to yours, just breathing you in.

later, after lily’s asleep and the apartment is dark except for the low lamp by the bed, he crawls in beside you and wraps an arm around your waist.

“i don’t know how to be the guy she thinks i am,” he murmurs.

you press a kiss to his collarbone. “you don’t have to be. just... be here for her.”

he exhales against your neck. “that, i can do.”

you two couldn't sleep. the blankets in the bed are pulled up to your waists, your legs tangled without thinking. the lamp casts a warm gold over the room. he’s lying on his side, head propped on his hand, his hair’s still damp from the shower, curling just a little at the ends, and his skin smells like your body wash.

“you're pretty.” he praises lowly, voice rough and tired.

you smile, eyes closed. “mm. pretty sure you said that yesterday.”

he leans in, nose brushing your jaw, lips finding the edge of your neck. slow, unhurried. “yeah, well. still true.”

you hum, tilting your chin up for him without even thinking. he kisses the spot just beneath your ear, where your pulse flutters, and you feel him smile against your skin. his hand slides over your hip under the blanket, fingertips tracing the shape of you like he’s grounding himself there. he tugs gently at the edge of his old henley you’d stolen months ago. his hand doesn’t stop moving. just slow passes over the curve of your waist, your thigh, your back. it’s not rushed. not needy.

he mouths at your jaw, your neck, just a press of lips. not quite kisses. you think maybe he’s too tired for anything more. you’re so caught up in the press of his body, the feel of him in your space, that you almost don’t notice when his hand presses into the small of your back and tugs. he pushes you gently until you’re on your back, flat against the bed. he shifts, moving to hover over you like always. he leans in for a proper kiss then, slow and warm. something like coming home. you meet him with a hand in his hair, keeping him there, and feel his answering smile against your lips. it’s not long before it edges deeper, rougher. he bites at your lip, tugging softly, and you arch up against him with a sharp inhale. "lily's right there—" you breathe out.

he doesn’t pull away. just hums against your mouth. he noses at your neck again, the rough edge of his stubble dragging over your skin. "she’s the heaviest sleeper on the planet. we’ll be fine.”

you kiss him, warm breath mingling in the hush between heartbeats. he smiles into the kiss, hand sliding up to cup your jaw, thumb sweeping over your cheek. steadying you as your mouth moves in a quiet rhythm, tasting the moment. it’s soft but deliberate, each kiss deepening just enough to make you both lean in more, wanting, needing, sighing into eachother. the world narrows to skin, and lips. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. it’s so gentle, so careful.

just as he’s pulled back a fraction, the bedroom door creaks open. he’s off you in a second, dropping to his elbows at your side. you’re both breathing heavy, heart going wild. lily stands in the doorway, looking tiny in her little white nightgown. “can’t sleep?” bucky asks, running a hand through his hair. you notice in the low light that the tips of his ears are flushed pink. your shirt collar is askew, his henley twisted around your waist. she shakes her head and pads over. she’s rubbing one eye with a tiny fist and dragging her blanket on the floor behind her. bucky props himself up, shifting to make room for her on the bed. 

“alright. come here,” he murmurs, lifting her up. she slots herself in between you easily, shoving her face in your shoulder like she always does. she’s warm from sleep, the side of her little body pushing flush against yours. bucky’s hand is splayed across her back, his thumb rubbing idle circles. 

“how are you doing?” you ask, smoothing her messy hair down. usually, once she’s down for the night, she’s out for the count. 

she looks up at you, blinking sleepily, then at him. his cheek is resting on top of her head. “i had a nightmare,” she mumbles into your shirt. 

his face softens instantly. you can feel his hand on her back pause for a second. “what about?” he asks. 

“you an’ momma were gone,” she mumbles, voice going soft. “for a long time.” her little fist grips your shirt tighter. 

“not going anywhere, kid,” he says, voice low. he presses a kiss to her head, eyes still on you. “promise.” 

may the freak be with you or whatever they said

yeah we're officially done for. it's been fun.

oh my😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

credit: dr.shoko

THE KNEE PUSH OH MY FUCKING GOD