Ughhh This Is So Cute 🤧

this and Sugar Plums, my delicate love for bucky barnes has been reinforced

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

His Butler, In Disguise

No thoughts, just him...

It's time to pack it up Mr, Delulu

watching the pitt cuz I was bored and finally figured it out

not totally clear but legible

jack abbot is jack abbot , not jack abbott

that brothel scene....i just wanna give this man a hug

Ewan Mitchell as Aemond Targaryen in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022-) S02E02 | Episode 02

Hi! I loved all of your works about hugh jackman, he’s such a nice guy! Will it be fine if you could write one where the reader shows up during his shoot/interview as a surprise? I need a lot of fluff in my life rn 😂

SURPRISE ༘⋆

in which you surprise hugh at his interview with ryan

warnings: none, just fluff!

i’m living for the hugh jackman supremacy icel

also catch the andrew garfield ref👀

you knew hugh had a tendency of constantly talking about you at interviews where he was meant to talk on his film, however when you snuck behind the scenes to surprise him, you couldn’t help the smile on your face at his words.

“yeah y/n, y’know she’s like a shot of espresso. she’s like… being bathed in the sunlight. she’s incredibly energetic and enthusiastic and she has this sense of play and fun which is incredibly exciting,” he cheeses, looking at ryan who has a disgusted face put on.

“you are just so sappy i don’t like it!”

hugh laughs, “sorry i just miss her. i haven’t seen her much since filming took place so far away.”

ryan smirked, glancing at you who stood behind hugh’s chair. somehow while he ranted, you managed to sneak around the backdrop and behind hugh.

suddenly ryan’s face turned to horror, pointing at you as a hand was brought to his face, “A GHOST!” he shrieked, causing you to erupt into laughter.

“i’m sorry,” you squeaked out, “i couldn’t help it.”

upon the sound of your voice, hugh’s head snapped around, eyes lighting up when he saw your figure. “hi?” he exclaimed, reaching for one of your hands as he twirled you around to be in front of him.

“hi baby,” a crew member pulled a chair out, placing it down quickly for you. “i missed you,” you mutter, leaning into hugh and ghosting your lips just over his.

he smirks, closing the space, “i missed you too,” he states, muffled by your lips together.

ryan fake gags, “alright nerds, that’s enough! this is a press conference not a damn porno!”

you roll your eyes playfully, intertwining your hand with hugh’s as you continue to listen in on the interview, popping in here and there.

anybody could notice how hugh visibly was more comfortable and relaxed now that you were here, so ryan chose to leave you two alone until the cameras cut.

this is rly short but i hope yall like it bc im cheesing

taglist!!

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Hi! I would love to request something for Aemond x fem or gn reader. I was thinking reader saying prompt. 15 from your general list “I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too."

Maybe one day he wakes up with bad pain in the eye and he doesn’t feel like calling the maester so they help him, they remove his eyepatch and apply his ointment for him. And he feels extremely insecure because it’s the first they saw him without the eyepatch but they reassure him. I need that man to cry in my arms as I tell him he’s beautiful (I know it may sound ooc but he’s my babygirl)

15. ''I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too.''

The gif from the trailer fits perfectly this request

Warnings: mention of past injuries (eye)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You returned to your chambers after spending the morning embroidering with Helaena to find Aemond still in bed. A frown drew between your eyebrows. At this hour, he was either training with Ser Criston or attending the small council meeting.

‘’Aemond?’’ Your soft voice cut through the silence of the room, waking your husband’s attention.

He shifted under the covers, his single eye fluttering open. ‘’Could you tell Cole I will not be training with him today?’’

You walked over to the bed, taking a closer look at him. ‘’Are you well?’’ You touched his forehead with the back of your hand, checking for a fever.

‘’It’s just…my eye. It gets irritated sometimes.’’ Aemond avoided your gaze, not wanting to see the familiar look of pity that he had grown all too used to seeing in the eyes of others. ‘’Would you want me to fetch the maester? He should have something to sooth your pain,’’ you offered, concern etched on your face.

‘’No need for the maester.’’ He gently caught your hand in his own, stopping you from rising. ‘’I already have a salve Maester Orwyle gave to me. It’s on the table, over there.’’

Aemond let go of your hand, allowing you to stand and retrieve the salve for his eye. You returned to the bed. ‘’I’ll do it for you.’’

You had offered your help out of pure kindness, but Aemond did not want it.

‘’No! I do not wish that.’’ His voice was firm, causing your hands to crisp around the jar. ‘’You won’t like what you see under,’’ he added with a gentler tone.

He knew what lay beneath the eyepatch — the grotesque, scarred skin that he had lived with for years now. It was a sight he preferred to keep hidden from everyone, even you. Especially you. Since you’ve known each other, you’ve only seen his good looks, and Aemond wanted to keep it that way.

Aemond let out a soft hiss of pain as he sat up, his body tense with discomfort. It had not been this bad in a long time.

Seeing him in pain made your heart ache, but you tried to hide it.

You sat down close to him and guided him back against the pillows. He clenched his jaw, trying to bear the pain.

‘’Let me,’’ you insisted, only wanting to help him, to relieve his pain.

His good eye was fixed on yours with a mixture of resignation and reluctance. He knew there was no arguing with you when you were like this.

With a resigned sigh, he slowly removed the eyepatch, revealing the scarred skin beneath. The sight was a stark contrast to his usual handsome features, with its puckered and uneven texture. He averted his gaze, unable to look at you directly.

Aemond waited for your response, his body tense, and braced for your reaction. He expected disgust, pity, perhaps even revulsion. After all, his scarred eye had left other people speechless in the past. He glanced up at you under his lashes, searching your face for any hint of how you were feeling.

You remained silent as you applied the salve on the reddish-pink skin with the more careful and gentle touch. Causing him more pain was the last thing you wanted.

Aemond couldn't help but watch you intently, studying the focused expression on your face. Your eyes were fixed on his scar, but there was no repugnance in your gaze, just a mixture of concern and tenderness.

Once you were finished, you put the lid back on the jar and cupped your husband’s face with one hand. ‘’Aemond,’’ you began, looking at him with the most loving eyes. ‘’I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are.’’ You glanced down at his naked chest, seeing the softly defined muscles he acquired from training, and back to his face. ‘’Although you look pretty great too.’’

Aemond's heart squeezed at your words and the tenderness in your gaze. He had expected a lot of things from you, but not this. Not such unconditional acceptance and love.

"You're the only person who's ever looked at me like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘’Come here.’’ You shifted back on the bed and guided him to your lap.

Aemond didn’t protest, curling up to you, seeking comfort and closeness. You began to stroke his hair gently, running your fingers through the soft silver strands. The sensation was soothing and intimate, making him feel safe and entirely loved for the first time.

—

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these are the type of characters I love- in books(especially), movies, shows

The Next Time I Hurt Somebody, It Could Be You

Summary: After saving you, Sergei thought it was too dangerous for you to be around him.

Masterlist (requests are currently open for now)

Pairing: Kraven/Sergei x female reader

"I thought I'll find you here," you said as you stepped out from the dark forest, walking closer to Sergei. He didn't move his stare from the lake and just continued even when you walked closer. You rubbed your arm and pulled your coat tightly around your body, as you continued with a little nervous tone, "You've been quiet since we came back."

"You saw what I did, right?" he suddenly asked. "What I can do."

You thought back to the three men he killed with his bare hands and just nodded, "Yes. That's not something new."

"Y/n," he said softly and he finally turned to you, "They tried to kill you, to get to me."

"I know, but I'm alive, I'm here," you said, trying to assure him that you were okay and took a step closer. "I'm here. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he said, in a soft voice. He placed his hands on your cheeks, and caressed them softly. His expression was natural but you knew him too well, his eyes were sad, and heartbroken.

"As long as you with me, you won't be fine," he said, "You won't be safe."

"Sergei--"

"I can't let you get hurt again, do you understand?" he said softly. You released a breath as you felt your eyes burning. "You mean too much to me."

"Then let me stay, don't push me away," you said as you placed your hands on his arms.

"I can't," he said, "All that anger in me, every time I hunt, all I think about is what I will do to my father... I didn't care who I'll kill or hurt during that. Look at me." He brushed away a tear that fell down your cheek. "The next time I hurt somebody... it could be you."

"You won't," you said, "I'm on your side, you'll never hurt me, I know you won't."

"Calypso's on my side too, yet, I harmed her too," he reminded softly.

"That was an accident, you didn't knew she was there," you said, "She isn't angry with you, I'm not angry, please, just... don't." He let go of your cheeks. "Don't push me away."

You moved your hands from his arms to his face, this time you held his cheeks. You looked at him in the eyes with a soft expression, "I love you, Sergei."

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. "I love you, too," he said as you let go of his cheeks. He rested his forehead against you, and the both of you closed your eyes for a moment.

He moved his head and kissed your forehead gently as he placed his hand behind your head. You held his shoulders, afraid to let go.

His nose brushed down against yours as he closed his eyes again, inhaling your scent. "That's why, I need to let you leave." He moved his hand to your chin, and lifted your face to look at you. "I need to let you go."

You let another tear slip down your cheek and you took a step back. "If you love me, you wouldn't let me go," you said softly. He let go of you and you gave him one last tearful look before you wiped your tears away. "I'll go to Caly for the night, I'll grab a few things for now."

You quickly turned around and walked to the direction of your cabin. You quickly walked inside and wiped a few more tears from your cheeks. You sniffed silently as you walked to your bedroom and grabbed a bag to put a few clothes.

You heard the door opening and closing.

You placed a few shirts before hearing footsteps approaching the room. You felt him approaching you from behind. You closed your eyes when he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

You felt his lips kissing the side of your neck, inhaling your scent again.

You opened your eyes as he moved away from your neck and he gently turned you around to face him. You looked up at him as he brushed a piece of your hair from your face to your ear.

He stared down at you as he pulled you closer to his body. He didn't say anything, instead he lowered his lips against yours.

His tongue explored your mouth, kissing you hungrily and passionately. After a moment, he threw the bag off of the bed, and lifted you up.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and let him pull you down on the bed with him on top of you.

"God, I love you," he muttered as he moved his lips from yours and trailed them down to your neck, nibbling where your pulse was, making you moan softly.

"I love you, too," you breathed out and he moved from your body. You opened your eyes and saw him pulling his jacket and t-shirt off. You sat up and pulled your coat and shirt off of your body before he helped you with your jeans.

Not a minute after, both of you were completely bare.

And before you knew it, he entered you, rolling his hips as both of you moaned at the feeling of been connected after awhile.

Your fingers curled into fists as you gripped into the sheets, and your thoughts begin to turn fuzzy. His cock pounding again and again against that spot, making you moan out aloud.

"Sergei, please--" you moaned. His head tilted forward, eyes meeting yours. There’s a clench in his jaw that told you he wasn't far off, that he was just as wrapped up in this as you are.

After what felt like forward, you felt him spilling inside you, and you moaned at the feeling, coming as well. He kissed between your neck and shoulder as he stilled.

Both of you panted as he lifted his head and lowered his lips against yours, kissing you softly as you held onto him. "Don't push me away," you said softly.

"I won't," he said, "I can't do it." He brushed your hair from your face and kissed down your cheek and down to your neck.

🥹🥹🥹

This is How You Fall in Love

Content: Established Relationship, gojo x afab!oc, gojo x fem!reader, nameless OC, she/her pronouns, lovesick!gojo, sentimental!gojo

A/N: I actually do have an OC in mind, but I don't want to give her a name yet.

✨ masterlist ✨

Part of him wished she could see how ethereally beautiful she looked in her sleep.

But then again, this vulnerable and peaceful sight belonged to him and him alone. He alone was granted the privilege of watching how her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep, or how her lips parted slightly as she breathed in and out. No other soul would be privy to the way she tucked her hands into loose fists, or how her body subconsciously curled towards his.

No one else would hear her say his name in the dead of night sometimes.

There were nights when he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t deserve her. And tonight was one such night.

He lay beside her on their bed, tucked under soft sheets, skin to skin.

Gentle fingertips whispered delicately over the side of her face, brushing stray locks of hair behind an ear. He traced a familiar path from the delicate arch of her brows to the bridge of her nose, her cheekbones, and her lips.

So beautiful…

An irreplaceable treasure. Sweet and strong. Lovely with all her flaws. So honest and endearing.

He didn’t think she truly understood just how much he loved her or how much he cherished her. To be fair, he didn’t exactly tell her outright, but he adored her and would always find ways to make sure she knew just how much she meant to him. He wanted a life with her — a home, a family, maybe even two beautiful darlings they would call their own one day.

The hand that was on her face traveled lower, tracing her arm and her hand until he gently held her palm, bringing her hand to his lips, so he could lay soft and secret kisses along her knuckles. His eyes landed on the emptiness of one of her fingers, waiting for the engagement ring he had already commissioned. He was waiting on its completion, and when it would be done, he would ask her to tie her life to his for eternity — would ask her to marry him and spend the rest of his life with her.

He loved thinking of their life together and how much they effortlessly intertwined with each other throughout the years — as if this was meant to happen all along, as if every moment back then was meant to lead to where he was now, sleeping next to the woman he loved and adored, basking in the happiness that enveloped him whenever he gazed at her.

He made himself sick sometimes, just thinking about how much he loved her.

And to know that she returned his sentiments and perhaps even more, humbled him — drove him to his knees if he let it. It was beautiful to know that she accepted him and loved him for who he was — not for his wealth or his powers or his status, but for him. She stripped him of his titles and she loved him for simply being Satoru. No one ever made him feel like that ever since Suguru did. And to think that he would find someone that he would feel so deeply connected to… It was almost unheard of, but she found him and he found her regardless.

He refused to think of losing her, but once in a while he would try to think of it just to prove to himself how inconceivable it all was. If he lost her, he knew he would be ruined. Suguru left a gaping hole in his heart. If she ever left or if she was ever taken away from him, he feared what he would become. He would never love again. He didn’t want a life without her.

She was everything and more to him and his soul — a missing piece of his puzzle, his angel, the other half of his wandering soul. Her happiness was his… And to be a constant witness of her smiles and laughter, her joy and fulfillment for close to a decade…it made him so infinitely happy too.

She was his happiness.

And just like every other night he spent like this, he promised her again that only the coldness of death could ever take him away from her love and her warmth.

Gods, he didn’t deserve her at all. But he was glad to have her anyway, and he loved her so much.

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[Dumped in AO3]