#୨୧ — there is less of you than there was before ( threads )

[hairssexy]

@tremblesigh

“you’re already cool.”

    ❝    well- yeah- but... i still thought it was cool, what cady did.    ❞     aaron shrugs, very nonchalant. he knows he's popular. how could he not? he just ... doesn't take it any kind of way.    ❝    doesn't do anything for me or anything, but- i like it. good to stand up for what's right.    ❞     he could stand to do that more himself. even just- standing up for what's right for him would be a good step.

[urjustsosweet]

heat of the moment (b.e.) ⊹ ࣪ ˖

roommate!billie eilish x fem!reader

➼ warnings: smut, oral, fingering, strap (reader receiving), light choking, swearing, edging, praise, verbal fighting, college au, roommates to ??

➼ synopsis: one petty fight with your hot roommate and she makes sure you never act up again.

➼ wc: 1.9k

──── · · ୨୧ · · ────

The thermostat beeps for the third time in five minutes and you're done. "Oh my God, Billie," you snap, stomping across the living room, past where she was sprawled across the couch, one leg draped over the armrest like she owns the place. Well, technically she owns half of it. That's the curse of random roommate assignments in college.

The TV's playing Suits at a low volume and she's wearing some ridiculously oversized hoodie, her hair pulled into a messy bun, all flyaways and no effort, scrolling through her phone like she didn't just crank the AC down to arctic levels again. "It's freezing in here."

She doesn't even look up. "It's comfortable."

"Yeah for a fucking polar bear, maybe." You jab at the controls, turning it back up. That gets her attention. She sits up fast, eyes flashing. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah, actually. Maybe I don't wanna be shivering in my own room.”

She scoffs, tossing her phone aside. “Oh, please. You’re the one who turns this place into a sauna every night. I wake up sweating like I’m at the gates of hell.”

“Then sleep in less clothes!”

“You sleep in more!”

You glare at her. She glares back, challenge and defiance clear in her eyes. And then—like always—it escalates. “You know what? This isn’t just about the fucking thermostat,” you snap.

“Oh, here we go.”

“Yeah, here we go!” You throw your hands up. “You leave your dishes in the sink for days. And you never put your stuff back in the fridge. And let's talk about you blasting your dumbass music at 3 in the fucking morning—" 

“Okay, boo hoo,” she mocks, standing now, and stepping closer to you. “At least I don't throw my shit all over the room and never pick it up.”

“I do not!” Okay, fine, maybe you do. Sometimes. But it's not the worst thing in the world and you've been trying to break the habit.

“You do! And you always eat the last bit of my cereal—”

“Billie, that was literally once and I got you a new one when I finished it!" you yell, unable to mask the irritation in your voice.

She lets out a sharp, frustrated laugh. “You’re unbearable.”

“Yeah? Well, I hate living with you,” you snarl. "I hate you."

The words hang between you, sharp and sudden. Billie’s jaw clenches briefly before she smirks. “That’s funny,” she says, voice low. “Because you sure don’t act like you hate me.”

Your breath catches. Because, as much as you hate to admit it, she's right. The late-night talks. The way she’d laugh at your stupid jokes. The looks she’d give you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. But you'd rather die than admit that right now. “Oh, trust me,” you say, stepping closer, “I do.”

Billie’s gaze drops to your lips for half a second before she scoffs. "If you hate me so much, why don’t you do something about it?"

You narrow your eyes. "Maybe I will. And if you're so mad, you do something about it yourself!"

Something dark flickers in her eyes. Her pupils dilate, partly with anger, mostly with desire. She doesn't even think. Her mouth crashes into yours with force, hungry, teeth clashing, and your hands grip her shirt like you're not sure whether you want to rip it off or tug her away. Billie threads her fingers through your hair, yanking you closer. It's not sweet. And it's not gentle at all. You gasp and she takes the moment to slide her tongue in your mouth, claiming and aggressive, and you gently bite down in retaliation, just enough to make her groan. "Fuck—"

You shove her back onto the couch, climbing over her, but she flips you in one sharp motion, pinning your wrists above your head. "Nice try, baby" she growls. "But you're not winning this one."

"Says who?" Your hips buck against her, but she digs her knee between your thighs, just enough pressure to make you gasp. Billie grins. "Says me."

She doesn't give you a chance to answer. Her mouth is on your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin like she's trying to brand you, so hard you think she might leave bruises. Her hands are shoved under your shirt, nails scraping your waist. "You hate me, huh?" she taunts, shifting her knee so it barely brushes your clit.

You arch off the couch. "Mhm."

Her teeth nips at your pulse point and you jolt, a whimper escaping before you can stop it. "Liar."

Billie doesn't rush. Not at all. She takes her sweet time peeling your clothes off like she's trying to savour every second of your frustration. Her fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, dragging it up agonizingly slow, her lips following the exposed skin. You gasp and arch into her touch as her hands finally—finally—reach your breasts. She pulls back a little just to watch you squirm.

Billie's brutal, knowing exactly how to touch you, ruin you, and you can tell she loves every second of it. Her fingers slip into your panties, teasing your clit with slow, infuriating circles that send shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine. Her fingers slide in and she curls them just right, her mouth all over your body. You can't hold back the moans and shaky breaths that escape as she pumps her fingers, thumb circling your clit so good you might just melt into the couch. Your thighs are shaking, pleasure coiling tight and fast. You're so close. "You sure you hate me?" she whispers, her lips brushing your ear as you whine, bucking into her touch.

You only nod. "That why you're so wet right now?" she says as she pulls away, leaving you dripping and desperate.

You whimper, nails digging into her shoulders. "Bil—please—"

"Say it," she demands, her free hand gripping your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make your pulse race.

You hate how much you need her. "Say what?"

Her fingers trail lazily over your clit, teasing. "That you don't hate me."

You groan, hips bucking, but she dodges, denying you of any friction. "Fuck you—"

"Wrong answer." She presses a single finger inside you, slow, and drags it out even slower. You clench around nothing, trembling. "Billie, I can’t—I need—"

“Then say it.”

You're aching and so wet you're sure there's probably a puddle forming on the couch. She does it again, fingertips brushing your clit before pulling away, leaving you empty and craving more. But you don't want to give in, you don't want to see the satisfaction on her face knowing she won. It goes on like that for ages, her mouth between your legs or her fingers fucking you just enough to make you shake, then stopping the second you get close. It feels like eternity until you decide you can't take any more. "I—I don't," you moan as her tongue flicks your clit again.

"Don't what?" she coaxes, before pressing a kiss to your lower stomach.

Yeah, there's no getting out of this one. "I don't hate you," you gasp, your voice breaking as her fingers finally slide back inside you.

Billie smirks against your skin, her lips trailing lower, lower, until her breath ghosts in between your legs. "I know."

And then her mouth is on you again, hot and relentless, tongue circling your clit in slow, torturous strokes and licking stripes up your slit. You whimper, fingers tangling in her hair, hips jerking against her face. She lets out a groan, the vibration sending another shock of pleasure through you, her tongue flicking faster, her fingers pumping deeper, and you’re so fucking close—

Then she pulls away. Again. What the fuck.

"Billie!” you plead, your entire body trembling with frustration.

She sits back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes dark with satisfaction. "You look so pretty like this," she murmurs, "All desperate for me."

You glare at her, panting. "You’re evil."

Billie's grin is pure sin, "Yup."

She stands up and steps back, and your stomach drops when you realize what she’s doing. "Where the fuck are you going?" you demand, voice ragged.

Billie pauses, glancing over her shoulder. "Wait a second."

"What—"

She doesn’t answer. Just walks to her side of the room. You’re left there, sprawled on the couch, heart pounding. The room feels too hot now, your skin is flushed, and every nerve is on fire. You don't wait long at all until she's back and your breath catches. In her hand is the strap. She doesn’t say a word. Just watches you as she slides the harness on, adjusting it with slow, deliberate movements. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. She steps closer, running a hand up your thigh. "Still think you hate me?"

You swallow. "No."

Billie laughs, low and dangerous. "Good girl."

She pushes inside you in one smooth thrust. Your head falls back. It’s too much. Too deep. Too everything. Your nails dig into the couch, back arching as she fills you completely, stretching you so good. A string of curses falls from your lips, getting cut off by a gasp when she moves. Billie grabs your hips, pulling out just to slam back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. She doesn't ease into it. It's just pure, unrelenting pleasure, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you. "You're taking it so good," she growls, fingers digging into your skin. "So fucking tight for me."

You can’t even respond. Can’t think. Can only moan, legs wrapping around her waist, pulling her deeper. Billie leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss, her tongue sliding against yours as she fucks you harder, her hand softly wrapping around your neck. "Gonna come for me?" she murmurs against your mouth. You nod frantically, the wave of pleasure beginning to wash over you. "Use your words."

"Yes, fuck—yes—"

She shifts, angling the strap just right and you break. Your orgasm crashes over you, body locking up, pleasure burning through every muscle. Billie doesn’t stop, she fucks you through it, dragging it out until you’re oversensitive and shaking, and only then does she slow and pull out.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until the couch creaks slightly beneath you and you feel her thumb brushing across your cheek. Your breath is still coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Sweat clings to your skin, and you’re not sure if you’re trembling from the aftershocks or the adrenaline, but you’re shaking all the same. “You okay?” Billie's voice is gentler now.

You nod. Sort of. It comes out more like a quiver than anything real. She leans in and presses a kiss to your temple. “Talk to me, baby.”

Your throat’s dry. “I’m good. Just…holy shit.”

That makes her laugh quietly, and she helps you sit up, her arms wrapping around your waist as she shifts you into her lap like you weigh nothing. One of her hands stays on your bare thigh, thumb stroking circles into your skin, grounding you. Neither of you speak for a few moments. The room is quiet now—except for your breathing and the soft hum of the TV still playing in the background. “I didn't go too far, did I?”

You look at her then, really look. She’s not smirking anymore. Not taunting. Just wide-eyed and worried. You shake your head slowly. “No. You were perfect.” You pause. “You are perfect.”

Her arms tighten around you and she’s suddenly all softness, tracing random designs on your back, whispering into you, “You were so good for me. So fucking good.”

You hum against her, letting the words settle over you like a blanket. You don’t want to move. And apparently, neither does she. “You're so warm," she whispers. "No wonder you hate the AC."

You laugh sleepily. "You're still gonna turn it back down tonight, aren't you?"

"Obviously."

[tinkcantwrite]

bad idea ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary - you have a moment of weakness and call bucky in the middle of the night. just for some company, of course. nothing else.

warnings - !! 18+ mdni - you are responsible for your media consumption !!, smut with like no plot, fingering, teasing, p in v, little bit of angst if you squint and tilt your head

note - baby's 1st fic of any sort :D also, this was inspired by "bad idea" by girl in red

You knew you shouldn't have called him.

You both agreed that last time really was the last time.

But as you sat on the couch in the living room of your apartment and Bucky appeared on the screen along with his team, looking oh-so-dreamy in his New Avengers suit, you hand drifted to your phone. Somehow, it had developed a mind of its own, scrolling through your contacts until his name popped up, immediately opening the text thread and shooting him a quick ‘text me when you get a minute’.

The two of you had met at one of what seemed like a hundred briefings since Valentina’s forming of the New Avengers. You had been assigned to sit in on the meetings and conferences, taking notes and acting as a sort of secretary slash journalist. Bucky had greeted you with a flash of a smile and from that moment, you knew you were fucked. Literally and metaphorically.

Soon after, Bucky and you had spent the night together, up into the early hours of the morning. Then you spent another night together. And then an afternoon. And then a few days. And so on and so forth until you had become tangled in the hot mess that was whatever this was. A situationship? Co-workers with benefits? Just a hookup? You weren’t exactly sure to be honest. Not that it really mattered.

But then the weekly hookups had gotten riskier. Less careful and more spur of the moment. One particular evening, you were working late, camped out in the common area of the New Avengers lounge. Typing away at your laptop in an effort to get a few emails scheduled before you clocked out for the day, Bucky had slipped in silently, sliding in beside you, shutting your laptop gently and resting a hand on your thigh, trailing it upwards.

One thing led to another and you had straddled his lap, mid-makeout when from the kitchen in walked Yelena, bowl of mac and cheese in hand. It had clattered to the floor and she had gasped, hand covering her mouth, eyebrows raised. You had scrambled out of his lap faster than you’ve ever moved in your life.

Yelena had blinked at Bucky and then back to you. “You…and her? Damn, Barnes. She’s waaaay out of your league.”

She had shook her head, chuckling softly, as Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. You had snatched your laptop up and darting out of the tower, muttering about how you were never showing face again.

After that whole…ordeal, you had told Bucky that it had to stop. That it had gone too far and the two of you had gotten too bold for your own good. In that moment, common sense had slapped you in the face, and you realized just how messy it was – fucking your co-worker who was also kind of, sort of your boss in a way. And of course, being the frustratingly good-natured guy that Bucky was, he had accepted that with no if, ands, or buts. Very 1940’s gentleman of him.

You had put distance between yourself in the team now, working remotely, only coming in when absolutely needed or specifically requested. During meetings you kept to yourself, taking your notes, asking your questions, and vanishing afterwards before anybody could catch you to chat. You hadn’t seen Bucky in weeks, only communicating with him via Val if even at all. Every time you had gone into the tower, he avoided you like the plague (which, honestly, was fine by you), so you hadn’t seen how he’d grown his hair out. Or how the light stubble on his chin had become thicker. Or had much more muscle he had gained.

But now, seeing him on the screen in front of you, his picture plastered on the screen while a news reporter went on and on about how the team was becoming more public, you couldn’t help but pull your lower lip in between your teeth. Bucky looked good. Like, really fucking good.

You glanced back up at the TV, watching as the broadcaster pivoted to another story. Your hand, who, by the way, was a real traitorous bitch, now held your phone in front of you, eyes darting down. A grin spread across your face as three little bubbles popped up in the text thread before ‘you okay, doll?’

Your throat suddenly dry, you swallowed hard, swiping up and clicking the Call button, raising your phone to your ear. It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. You flopped back on the couch with a soft groan, about to hang up when it clicked over.

“Hey, doll. Everything okay?” Your chest warmed, tight and tingly as you heard the concern in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah I’m fine. I’m good. I just…,” you rolled your eyes at yourself before finally biting the bullet, “I saw you. On TV. Just now. You look good, Buck.”

There was silence for a moment. “Yeah? And you decided to call me in the middle of the night to tell me that?” Bucky laughed softly and you swore you could hear his stupid, cocky smirk on the other end

“No. No, I called to tell you to come over.” You exhaled nervously, eyes squeezed shut, half out of embarrassment, half praying he’d say yes.

“Give me twenty minutes.” The line hung up with a click and you blinked at the black screen of your phone.

18 minutes later, not that you were counting or anything, a knock came from the entryway of your apartment. You slid around the corner of the hallway from your room, having hurriedly made something of an attempt to fix the mess that was your hair.

Again, this was not a good idea. The voice in the back of your head was screaming at you to walk away, ignore the knocking, leave him alone. This was a very, very, bad idea. One that was only going to end up in more hurt and more awkwardness and more tension.

But fuck that.

Smoothing your shirt you opened the door, blushing at the man in front of you. Why hadn’t you changed shirts? Internally you groaned, regretting the two sizes too big Looney Toons shirt you wore.

You blushed at the man in front of you, face prickling with warmth. 

His hair. His hair was different. Different and good and so good you just wanted to run your hands through it and tug it while he — You cut yourself off mentaly, audibly exhaling through your nose, sharp and breathy. 

You were absolutely, completely, totally, fucked.

“Did I come all the way over here just for you to ogle me or are you gonna let me in?” Bucky grinned, leaning in over you. Shit. He knew it. He knew how you were looking at him. Why you were looking at him like the way you were.

You blushed harder, opening the door further. “Shut up.” You glanced away as he stepped in, rolling your eyes.

As he stepped into your apartment you shook your head. “This was a bad idea,” you muttered as you rubbed a hand over your arm, stepping around him and into the kitchen. Bucky followed behind you, watching as you stood on your tiptoes, grabbing a glass from the cabinets above the kitchen counter. His eyes narrowed, catching on the way your shirt raised with your shoulders, revealing the smallest sliver of skin. Bucky blinked. You two hadn’t fucked in weeks and he was still just as enthralled as he was before. He grunted, stepping towards you.

“Really? Because I think it's a good one.”

You paused, slipping the glass back onto the shelf and turning around, your back now digging into the edge of the counter. Bucky was now inches away, his broad shoulders tense as his hands rested beside you, caging you in. He exhaled, breath warm as it ghosted over your lips.

He raised a metal hand, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. “Do you know how much I’ve missed this?” He grunted, trailing off, examining the way your cheeks bloomed into a rosy shade of pink. The almost imperceptible way your breath stuttered. The way you blinked up at him, mouth slightly agape.

Bucky smirked, shifting his hand to cup your chin as he angled it up and leaned in, his lips brushing yours. You moved up into him, slotting your mouth against his. The contact seemed to drive him over an edge he had been teetering on.

He lifted you up like you were a feather, hands cupping the backs of your thighs. His fingers, cold and warm shocking together in contrast, dug into your flesh as he wrapped your legs around his waist. You whined softly, twining your fingers through his hair as he crossed the kitchen and into the hallway.

Your back met the wall with a soft thud, a gasp of air escaping through your lips. Bucky grunted, setting you down and pushing you further into the wall behind you, hands cupping your face as he kissed you, hard.

You gasped into his mouth. He took advantage of that, tongue darting in, drawing you in even closer into the kiss and into him. Breathing you in as if he was a man drowning. His teeth and tongue clashed against yours, sending a flush reverberating throughout your limbs.

Your hands fumbled with his belt and he pulled back, laughing gruffly, moving to unbuckle his belt. He flicked the clasp open and jerked the smooth leather out of the loops on his jeans in one fluid motion. Somewhere out in the hallway it skittered along the floor with a clatter. You leaned back against the wall, chewing on the tip of your fingertip as he shrugged his jeans and boxers off, kicking them out of the way.

Bucky ran his tongue over his teeth, grinning before gripping the hem of your shirt with his vibranium fingers and jerking down. You scoffed lightly as the fabric split. He shrugged it off of your shoulders, fingers brushing your skin, leaving a blazing trail in their wake. You shuddered.

“I liked that shirt.” You pouted, glancing back up at him as it disappeared behind him, his eyes never leaving you.

He ran a finger over your shoulder and down your bra strap, grazing over the thin lace trim. One metal finger hooked the strap, tugging it teasingly, and releasing it with a quiet snap. 

“I’ll get you another.” He dipped his head in, latching on to your neck, trailing up towards the nook between your ear and neck. Teeth met skin, nipping playfully before turning more sensual. Bucky worked your skin with his lips, pulling away slightly, smirking at the purple spot that has already begun to stain your neck.

He nudged his head gently into the side of yours, lips hovering near your ear. “It's probably a good thing you’re always ‘out of office.’ Can’t think straight half the damn time with you there,” he uttered, low and deep, stirring something in your belly.

You exhaled shakily, your hands drifting to the hem of his shirt. Bucky leaned back, allowing for you to lift the shirt up and over his head. You knew he had gotten more muscular, more beefy, but not like this. 

He chuckled lowly, apparently amused by your staring. Your fingers ghosted down his chest and over his stomach as he kissed along your collarbone, tugging your flimsy pajama shorts down, popping the waistband of your matching panties. His hand slipping lower, a finger pressing against the damp fabric between your legs. Bucky grinned into your collarbone.

“That wet already, huh?” Tugging the hem of your pants again, he slid them off your waist and down your legs. He patted the backs of your thighs, wordlessly telling you to step out of them. Bucky ducked his head down, dragging his nose along your sternum until he reached your chest, nudging the silky fabric of your bra to the side and taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue worked the sensitive flesh, teeth grazing it gently. He groaned around your breast, low and rough, as if the sound were stuck in the middle of his throat. You breathed out, heading lolling onto his shoulder in a haze.

Bucky smiled at you. Not a smirk, not a grin, but a smile, shaking his head. “You are so pretty it fucking hurts.” He met your eyes, your lips meeting his own in a slow, deep kiss. You ran your hands over his broad shoulders, fingertips sliding over vibranium. Bucky encircled you with his arms, softly unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor between the two of you.

He tapped the backs of your legs again, motioning for you to jump, which you did eagerly, wrapping your thighs around his waist. He let out a guttural groan at the movement, head rolling back. Using the wall to hoist you up, he braced a hand against the wall, the other dipping between your legs, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Cold metal met hot skin and you arched, back lifting off the wall with a soft groan. You gasped, mouth floundering as his fingers worked your clit, slow and steady. “I need more,” you whined breathily as he sped up before slowing down once more. Agonizingly slow to teasingly fast. Up and down. Left and right.

“Yeah? How much more do you need, doll? Tell me what you want.” His hand stilled, pausing and making you circle your hips in desperation. Bucky kissed along your shoulder, breath snaking down your spine, sending a shiver down it. Every now and then, he twitched his finger, relishing in the way your face scrunched up and how little whimpers escaped every time he flicked his digit against your clit.

“All of it. I need all of it. All of you. Please,” you gasped out, voice failing you as you stuttered helplessly, like putty in his broad hands.

All Bucky did was grunt in response. His hand drifted away from your core, leaving you trembling and unsatisfied. You were about to fully fold, on the verge of begging him to keep going before you paused with a soft moan at the feeling of cock grazing against the slick of your folds.

He ducked his head into your neck with a groan. “Fuck, Y/N.” You squirmed underneath him, legs tightening around his hips, fingers tugging at the ends of his hair. His chest was flush against yours, warm pressing against warm. Whether it was the dizzying cloud of heat swirling in your head or the rapid thudding of Bucky’s heart against yours you weren’t sure, but you felt him before he was even inside you. 

You swallowed hard, rutting your hips into his. “Please,” you whimpered as you nudged his head with your chin, making him look at you. His steely eyes met yours, pupils dilated and needy. Bucky sloppily kissed your chin and then your mouth and he pushed up into you.

“Shit…,” you groaned, in synchronicity with his own. Your back grated against the wall as Bucky tucked his hips back ever so slightly and then back up. Another grunt tumbled past his parted mouth as he thrusted up, gaining traction and speed. 

He was full and consuming and every bit of what you wanted. What you needed. You swore you could’ve come right then and there just from the sensation of him simply being in you. The way he moved into you was smooth and heavy, as if his body was quite literally made to fit into yours. As if he was honey in the form of a broody, 107-year old man who was forever a pain in your ass. Even if he could make you feel like you were in another plane of existence.

Your hands clawed at his back, seeking some sort of tether as tension began to build up inside you. He growled as your nails found purchase in the toned muscle of his shoulder, leaving little crescent moons to trace over with your fingers in the morning.

Bucky’s movements became harsher and more desperate. You gasped out as he hit the spot inside of you only he ever reached.

“That it, baby?” He asked, gripping your ass, giving him an even deeper angle to thrust into you at.

You nodded fervently, not entirely conscious as to what he was saying. He stilled once more, titling your chin to him. Your walls pulsed around him, contracting around his width. Bucky swore mentally, trying his damnedest to not give in and fuck you senselessly right that very minute.

“Beg for it then. Beg me to fuck you, Y/N.” 

You shook your head against the wall, babbling nonsense about how you needed him. How you needed him to move. Bucky brushed a strand of hair out of your face, plastered to your sweat-dampened temple. He nodded, bucking up into you, hard.

“Good girl. That’s my doll.” You moaned as he drove up into your hips over and over again. The air around you thickened, sweat, sex, and mumbled words of praise swirling in the virtually imperceptible space between his body and yours.

“Shit, shit, shit” you rambled, quivering in his grasp. “Just like that. God, Bucky.” 

You whined, resting your forehead on his shoulder, the smooth coldness of the vibranium sending a white hot flash of tingles down your neck and through your spine.

Bucky grunted. “Gonna fill you up. Every fucking inch of you.”

He moved faster, pounding in and out of you, your back thudding against the wall behind you. Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, body tensing up before slumping with release. You felt it everywhere. In your toes, in your arms, in your legs, in your belly, in your fucking fingertips which twisted up taut in his hair.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed, his movements becoming erratic and sloppy, chasing his own high. He palmed your ass, gripping it with a ferocity and aggression that made you moan. With one final thrust, he shuddered, gasping, digging his hips as far into you as he could.

After a beat of labored breathing and lazy fingers working circles on hips, Bucky lifted his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Was it worth it?” He hummed, pressing another kiss to your temple as you groaned, rolling your eyes.

Bucky smiled softly, wrapping his arms around your back, shifting your weight forward and onto him. He stepped away from the wall, holding you tight against him. The gust of cool air that followed made you shiver and you leaned further into him.

Bucky laughed softly, running a hand over the back of your hair and padding down the hallway towards your bedroom. He gripped you to him with one arm, jerking the mismatched blankets of your bed back, sliding into them.

You smiled up at him from where you lay under him, his forearms resting on either side of your head, his hips resting between your legs. Leaning up, you pulled his face down gently, ghosting your lips over his.

He took your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it back teasingly. “Still think this is a bad idea?”

You shook your head, dissolving into exhaustion-driven laughter as Bucky growled, ducking his head into your neck once more. 

Bad ideas be damned. 

[littlejoyss]

𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 4

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count: 23k

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 ← 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 → 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

You were preparing your prep studio for fittings. You decided you would just measure the models to make sure the new outfits would fit them perfectly, since your packages still haven’t arrived.

Bora, who was helping you set up, was all about the story you had to share about last night. She dropped her bag onto the table with a loud thunk and leveled you with a stare. “Okay. Spill.”

You blinked at her, a bit bleary-eyed from the four hours of sleep you’d barely managed to get. “Can I finish taping the measurement sheet first?”

“No,” she said, yanking the tape out of your hand. “You met your soulmate backstage at Prism Tower and exchanged numbers like a K-drama finale cliffhanger. You don’t get to act normal today.”

You sighed but couldn’t help the flutter in your chest as the memory replayed. The heat of the thread, the look in Felix’s eyes, the soft way he said your name like it meant something.

“He found me,” you murmured, organizing a pile of muslin samples as a way to avoid Bora’s eyes. “Or I found him. It’s kind of a blur now.”

Bora’s expression softened. “And he gave you his number?”

“Well. I gave him mine.”

She blinked. “You gave Lee Felix your number while he was on a time crunch, moments before going on camera?”

“I didn’t know what else to do! His makeup artist was yelling at him, and he looked like he was about to bolt or cry or both.”

Bora smiled. “No judgment! This is just so different than how I met my wife.”

You turned to look at her, half-curious, half-eager. “Wait. You’ve never told me the full story.”

Bora rolled up her sleeves and leaned against the edge of the prep table like she was about to launch into a TED Talk. “Okay, picture this: Seoul Metro. Morning rush hour. Everyone’s packed in like sardines, and I’m already late for a client meeting. I spilled two Americanos down my front trying to stop a kid from dropping his tablet. And I’m swearing under my breath, thinking I’ve hit peak embarrassment, when the thread yanks my hand so hard, I smack into the girl behind me.”

You raised your brows. “Your wife.”

“She looked like she wanted to murder me. But then she saw the thread. And I saw it. And…” Bora smiled, just a little softer than usual. “She offered me a napkin and told me I owed her a new shirt.”

You laughed. “Romantic.”

“She proposed to me two years later. In a laundromat.”

“Okay, that’s iconic.”

Bora grinned, then tilted her head at you. “So? Have you heard from him yet?”

You paused, lips parting, then frowned. “Not yet. But he said he would. He looked serious.”

Bora studied your face for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. “He will. And when he does, you better not chicken out.”

You scoffed. “I don’t chicken out.”

“Your hands shook when you stitched that bustier last night.”

“I was under pressure!”

“You were thinking about his hands.”

“Was not!”

“Yes, you were!”

“Was not-”

A groan roared from an assistant on Shin Jiwoo’s side of the prep studio. “Can we not talk about soulmates when we have a big show in less than a month?” The girl’s nametag said Hyejin. You’ve seen her here a few times.

Bora’s eyes widened. “Oh…we didn’t know you were in here! How much did you hear?” Bora looked at you, hoping Hyejin didn’t hear who your soulmate was.

Hyejin smirked. “I came in while you were talking about your wife.”

You let out a quiet breath of relief, and beside you, Bora relaxed her shoulders like she’d just dodged a flying needle.

“Oh, good,” she said, laughing lightly as she reached for a stack of marked-up mockups. “Then all you know is that I used to carry two Americanos like a clown every morning.”

Hyejin crossed her arms and leaned against a nearby rack. “You still do.”

You snorted, unable to hold it in.

Bora pointed a finger at you. “Traitor.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Your first model came in for a fitting later that day.

It was Seojin. She was tall and poised. She gave you a polite nod and a small smile before stepping onto the platform in the center of the room.

You tried to focus as you looped the measuring tape around her waist, but your hands betrayed you, just the slightest tremble at your fingertips. You could feel Bora’s smug gaze burning into the back of your head from across the studio.

“Bust: thirty-two,” you murmured, scribbling it down on the sheet clipped to your board.

Seojin raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay? You seem… distracted.”

You straightened, clearing your throat. “No, I’m fine. Just tired. Late night working.”

She nodded slowly, like she didn’t entirely buy it, but chose not to push.

The rest of the measurements went by in a blur of numbers and fabric adjustments. You pinned the mockup at her side, stepped back, frowned, and stepped in again, letting the rhythm of your work settle you. This was the part you were good at.

But then, just as Seojin was slipping off the mockup and you were making notes on the alterations needed, your phone buzzed on the corner of the table.

You grabbed it as casually as you could, checking the screen while pretending not to care.

Felix ❤️: Finished early. If you’re free, I’m heading to that coffee shop on 6th and Inge-ro. No pressure, just in case.

Your stomach flipped so fast you thought it might somersault out of your body. Bora must’ve noticed because she immediately whispered from across the room, “Is it him?”

You nodded, eyes still on the screen. Then you looked up at Seojin, who was lacing her boots back on.

“Hey,” you said, stepping closer. “Do you mind if Bora finishes your alteration notes? Something just came up.”

Seojin smiled up at you, “Of course!”

“Thank you so much!” You practically ran to grab your bag.

Outside, the city buzzed with its usual chaos, honking scooters, and the hum of crosswalk signals. Your nerves danced with every step you took, sneakers slapping the sidewalk as you made your way to 6th and Inge-ro.

The coffee shop came into view, nestled on the corner between a bookstore and a bike repair shop. It had big windows fogged around the edges and potted plants clinging to the sills like leafy spectators. You paused outside the door to catch your breath and fix your hair, running a hand through it like it might suddenly learn how to behave.

Then you walked in. The bell above the door gave a cheerful ding, and your eyes scanned the room instinctively, already tuned to the thread tugging at your finger under your sleeve. You expected him to stand out. To shine.

But… you didn’t see him. Your steps faltered as you made your way toward the middle of the shop, scanning each table. There was a man reading with his headphones on, a student typing furiously on her laptop, a couple sharing a slice of tiramisu in the corner, but no Felix. No glowing thread in sight. No gentle smile waiting for you by the window.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your bag as doubt crept in. Maybe he got held up. Or maybe he meant a different coffee shop. Or-

“Hey.”

You turned so fast that you almost knocked over a display of syrup bottles. And there he was. He was wearing a black bucket hat pulled low and a pair of round glasses that slightly magnified his already enormous eyes. His hoodie was zipped up to his chin, and his hair was tucked under the fabric like he was trying to be invisible.

Which… okay, made sense. Idol life and all.

But his smile was what gave him away. “Sorry,” Felix said, stepping closer, his voice quieter than you remembered but just as warm. “Didn’t want to draw attention, so I was kind of hiding in the corner.”

You blinked. “You were here the whole time?”

He nodded and pointed toward the back booth near the bookshelf, half-hidden by a potted ficus. “I waved when you came in, but I guess the disguise works too well.”

You laughed, relieved, flustered, and suddenly very aware of the way your thread had started to glow faintly beneath your sleeve. He was close now. Closer than last night.

“I almost texted you,” you admitted as he guided you toward the booth.

“I almost panicked and left,” he replied with a grin.

You slid into the seat across from him, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Just sat there, smiling like fools, your threads softly pulsing between you on the tabletop.

“Hi,” you finally said.

Felix leaned forward a little, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “Hi.” He then smirked, “Where have you been my whole life! When I did my length-measuring on my eighteenth birthday, you were like…forever away.”

“I could ask you that same question! That happened to me, too!”

Felix's eyes widened behind his glasses, a little spark of amazement flickering through them. “Wait, seriously? Yours went off the charts, too?”

You nodded, folding your hands around the cup the server had just set down. “I remember it shot all the way across the map. They told me my soulmate was ‘somewhere overseas’ and I should be patient.” You laughed softly. “Which is a nice way of saying, good luck waiting a decade.”

Felix whistled low. “I got told mine was on a different continent. My sister joked that I was gonna end up marrying a Martian.”

You snorted into your drink. “Close. I’m just from a different country. Came here for work.”

Felix’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “Oh? What kind of work brought you all the way here?”

“I’m in fashion design, actually. I’m here for Seoul Fashion Week.”

His eyebrows lifted. “No way. That’s incredible. I always thought designers must have the craziest schedules.”

You nodded. “It’s hectic, but I love it. Probably not as hectic as you thought.”

Felix chuckled, a soft sound that made your heart skip just a little. “You have no idea. Between rehearsals, recordings, and trying to keep a low profile, my days are pretty jam-packed. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear into a quiet corner like I did today.”

You smiled, feeling the tension from the past few days start to melt away in his presence. “Well, at least you have your secret hideout here now.”

He grinned, the way his eyes crinkled behind those glasses making him look impossibly genuine. He then looked you up and down. “I think I’ll be coming here a lot more.”

You blushed. “Ah, right. I kind of forgot the whole reason we’re meeting is because we’re soulmates.”

“Yeah, wild, isn’t it? One day you’re minding your business, and the next, the universe is like, ‘Here’s your person. Good luck not freaking out.’”

You grinned, tracing your finger along the edge of your cup. “You’re surprisingly chill about all this.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, eyes sparkling. “I’m trying really hard to act cool, but inside I’m kind of… spiraling in a good way? Like, you’re real.”

You tilted your head, touched by the honesty. “Honestly, same. When I first saw the thread glow, I thought it was upset I wasn’t trying to find you. But no, it means I did find you.”

He nodded slowly, then smiled that soft smile again. “But I’m glad it happened. I mean, I probably looked anxious as hell. I was going to be interviewed in ten minutes, and my thread was acting up… but I was just… hoping it was really you.”

Your breath caught slightly. “And now?”

Felix leaned forward again, just a bit. The glowing thread between you pulsed once, like a heartbeat. “Now I’m just hoping you’ll let me keep getting to know you. Coffee dates, late-night texts, the whole soulmate package.”

You smiled, the kind that felt too big for your face, too full for your chest. “You say that like I’d say no.”

“Hey, soulmates or not, I still have to win you over properly. I plan to be very charming about it.”

“Well, you’re off to a good start. But I’m warning you, I don’t swoon easily.”

“I like a challenge,” he said, reaching for his drink and lifting it in a small toast. “To finding each other. Finally.”

You tapped your cup gently against his.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Felix ❤️: I really enjoyed our date. My schedule is full for the rest of the work week. Are you free this weekend?

You: I’ll check my schedule and update you. Being a designer at Seoul Fashion Week isn’t for the weak.

Felix ❤️: Haha, trust me, I believe it. You’re out there running the fashion industry while I’m just trying to dance in sync.

You: Please, you’re out there performing in front of thousands. I’d pass out before the second chorus.

Felix ❤️: But you’d look incredible doing it 😏

You: Flirting won’t make me less busy 😌 …but it is working a little.

Felix ❤️: Good. I’ll keep it up, then.

You sighed and leaned back against your creaky hotel bed, phone still glowing softly in your hand. The thread around your wrist had dimmed now, like it trusted you’d come back to each other soon.

You set your phone down and attempted to sleep, however your mind wouldn’t settle.

Your outfits.

You sat up again, rubbing at your face with both hands. The shipment of designs, your custom pieces for the runway, was supposed to arrive yesterday. Yesterday. And now it was well past midnight, and still no delivery confirmation. No tracking update. Nothing but radio silence and an increasingly frantic string of emails marked urgent.

You grabbed your phone again, thumbing quickly through your inbox. Still nothing. You opened your messages with Bora, asking her about the shipment again.

You stared at the screen, willing a response into existence. Every hour the boxes were delayed meant more stress. More adjustments. Less time for fittings. Less room for error.

Your phone buzzed again, just not the message you were waiting for.

Felix ❤️: It says you’re still active. Did I make you nervous? 😇

Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped you.

You: Not nervous. Just stressed. My outfits for the show still haven’t arrived.

Felix ❤️: Yikes. That sounds awful. If you need anything. A ride. Snacks. I got you.

You stared at his message a little longer than necessary. The thread at your wrist hadn’t moved, but somehow, you felt it again. Steady. Warm. Anchoring.

You typed slowly.

You: Thank you. Really. I might take you up on that. But for now, I’m going to try to get some sleep.

Felix ❤️: Deal. Dream about dresses arriving safe and sound.

You: You’re ridiculous. But okay. That actually helps.

You set the phone down again, this time with a shaky breath and a small smile. The worry was still there, still pressing at your ribs. But it was less painful now.

taglist (comment to be added): @hwangjoanna @shinygubbins @lizzygd @btch8008s @under--space @monniemons @chimmyn0chu @wickedbutlovely @hyunjinsculpture @beal-o @valkirymin @moonlitcelestial @wolfhallows4

[natqwp]

An Analysis on Daisy Wells' Autism

═════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Hiya! Apparently it's autism awareness month, and awareness day was yesterday (April 2). If you know me, you'd know this is a thread on Daisy, as she was confirmed to be Autistic by Robin back in 2023. Daisy's neurodivergency has been hinted on and shown since the very first book, and as someone who relates to Daisy in many ways (although I am not autistic myself (not diagnosed, anyway)), I have decided to read into her experiences with autism throughout the series—though this will be focused on some books more than others (Some examples of Daisy's autism in other books may not be shown as I'm currently on a tight schedule, though I do acknowledge their existence).

Before I do actually start this, please remember that no two autistic people are the same, as autism is a spectrum. Some people could have completely different experiences with autism but both are still valid.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

1. childhood/interest

As we've known since the very beginning of the books, Daisy clearly has a special interest for detecting and solving mysteries, and seems to be quite easily excited when talking about the topic. Especially when solving any murder cases in the detective society, Daisy has shown her ecstasy for detecting more than anything else on multiple occassions.

In literally almost all, if not, all cases the detective society has solved (especially MMU, AFT, FCM, ASOM, TCOTDV, and TCOTMS), Daisy stays up late at night, scribbling down her thoughts and theories on the current case she and Hazel are working on for the sake of uncovering the culprit as fast as possible, as well as forgetting to take care of herself. (MMU, part 5 (the entire part, it's in the name...), The Case of the Deepdean Vampire)

The Case of the Deepdean Vampire

Daisy sacrifices herself just to be able to solve a mystery before anybody else, showing her devotion towards detecting despite the difficulties faced in the past. What matters to her is that she was able to make the world a slightly less horrid place.

"The excellent fact is that you were born, and that means that you have the chance to make the world a slightly less horrid place. You mustn’t think of all the people who’ve died. Remember all the people who never got murdered because you caught their killers. Well - you and me. Mostly me. But, of course, also you." — Daisy Wells, Death in the Spotlight

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

2. difficulty with emotions

If you still remember anything of significance to Daisy's character in any of the books, you will know that she may lack an understanding of hers and others emotions, to the point of getting frustrated with herself for not being able to do so, and a struggle of processing and understanding emotions is a very common trait in autistic people.

Usually, Daisy sticks to her principles and believes she is above anyone else in her head, therefore not being able to understand others' viewpoints on situations as she thinks she is always correct. She doesn't exactly process her own emotions like others do either, when possibly getting chased by a murderer, the usual neurotypical individual would feel a sense of dread and fear within them. However, all Daisy feels is the pure adrenaline rushing through her veins and showing absolutely no signs of fear whatsoever due to her special interest in solving mysteries.

MMU, Part 5: chapters 4 & 5, pages 164-165 & 171

AFT, Part 6: chapters 9 & 10, pages 314 & 320-321

No matter who she's with, Daisy is still shown to not be able to comprehend another's emotions completely. One example of this is when she admits her feelings towards girls versus towards boys in Death in the Spotlight to Hazel. Hazel then realizes that Daisy just didn't understand why she would ever fall in love with a man.

DITS, Part 3: chapter 11

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

3. friendships

Throughout the books, Daisy and Hazel meet more people and find new friends such as Alexander, George, and Amina who she can open up to as some of them are also neurodivergent. Hazel also plays a huge role in this. Daisy shows her true self to the people she trusts the most, those people being the Detective Society and their rivals, the Junior Pinkertons.

In the earlier books, Daisy is seen as the 'Perfect English Girl' by almost everyone around her, including Hazel before they became best friends. However, when Daisy finally offers to become friends with Hazel, she starts to see behind the mask of Daisy's facade, and Daisy begins to open up around Hazel more. When compared to one another, Daisy and Hazel have very contrasting personalities that balance each other out. And in the later books, Hazel is able to understand Daisy more, and vice versa, both benefitting each other's development.

MMU: Part 2: chapter 7, page 61

When they first met in MAM, Daisy has found George to be like a mirrored counterpart of herself. The reason they click together so quickly is because they are both autistic, sharing similar traits such as being intellectually gifted and being seen as 'different' to the people around them (no, I am not talking about how George isn't English, but he is also seen as different in that way unfortunately), which is another common thing with autistic people.

While Daisy and George may relate to each other as both are autistic, Daisy still has a hard time relating with Alexander—even though he is also confirmed to be autistic—further confirming that autism is a spectrum. As Alexander and Hazel's relationship begin to stem further though, Daisy starts to understand him more through Hazel.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

4. conclusion and my thoughts on Daisy

Daisy is an amazing representation of neurodivergency in the real world, despite being alive during the great depression and second world war, she still manages to fight her way through with a positive mindset. I love Daisy and she will forever have a special place in my heart<3

PS: I would've added more images but there's a 10 image limit so 😕

[mattscoquette]

꒰     chris being a messy eater          ୨୧          christopher sturniolo     ꒱ 

layout ib @sturnsflirt

“right there, fuck, just like that,” you moaned while your back arched off the bed, chris laying flat on his stomach with his head between your legs while his to tongue flicked up and down your slick folds.

he let out a groan into your pussy as you pulled on his hair, your fingers messily threaded through his brown curls. his hands were on your waist, keeping you pinned down atop his navy sheets while he buried his face into you.

your body was convulsing as his pink lips met your clit, his chin a mess of his saliva mixed with your wetness. his tongue flicked across the sensitive bud, causing your legs to shake, your hips involuntarily bucking up into him.

“stay still, baby, lemme taste you,” he mumbled against your pussy, his voice raspy. before you could get a word out, his mouth was on your cunt, continuing to eat you like it were his last meal.

he tilted his head, angling himself so his tongue could fuck you even deeper, his nose fully pressed against your clit.

the noises you were making were nothing less than pornographic, your moans bouncing off the walls of chris’ bedroom. chris wasn’t shy about his noises either as he was grunting and groaning against you, his lips slurping up your taste.

“chris,” you whined, tugging on his hair, “gonna cum, don’t stop.”

he let out a sound of acknowledgment, his tongue never slowing as your orgasm came over you, the band in your stomach snapping as you came all over chris’ face. his continued to work his mouth, his pace the same as he cleaned you up, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“gimmie another one, c’mon,” he groaned, his voice pleading.

you nodded, your face contorting in pleasure as his tongue ran up and down your entrance in a looping motion. your legs were slung over his shoulders as they spasamed around his head, the sensation of his mouth on you already driving you crazy again.

© mattscoquette

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ woahhhh a chris fic ????? from rylee ???? surpise !!!

[hairssexy]

@apxprdator

“do you ever get a feeling everybody else is happy?”

he sighs.    ❝    i don't know about everyone, but yeah- of course i do gi.    ❞     the two of them are supposed to be happy, right?    ❝    i know we're like- the it couple or whatever gretchen says, but- don't you wonder if there's more?    ❞     he reaches up to pull his hair back down as he sits back on his bed, looking over at his girlfriend beside him. he wonders more than he'd like to admit why they got back together too. she dumped him for shane oman last summer after all...

[hairssexy]

tag drop.

୨୧ — it's all so simple ( ooc )

୨୧ — what day is it today ( inbox )

୨୧ — just talk to me ( starter call )

୨୧ — don't tell me to shut up ( open )

୨୧ — damn your fine ( edits )

୨୧ — time to think is in short supply ( study & headcanons )

୨୧ — swoopy hair and shiny eyes that i could swim in ( mirror )

୨୧ — welcome back nerd ( threads )

୨୧ — like that guy who gives out roses to those women ( isms )

୨୧ — could that image be more hot ( movie aes )

[littlejoyss]

chance part 7

“A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms."

Stray Kids - Hyunjin x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 18k

previous part <- current part -> next part | masterlist

(TW: PTSD)

You lingered under the spray of the shower far longer than necessary, the water running over your skin in waves too hot to be comfortable. It wasn’t enough to wash away the heat of his hands, the taste of his lips, or the memory of what he felt like inside of you. This was supposed to be simple. You repeated the rules to yourself like a mantra, but they’d already cracked at the seams the moment you let him kiss you.

By the time you finally turned off the water and stepped out, steam clung to your skin like a second layer. You wrapped yourself in a towel and padded barefoot into the guest room. There was a folded note sitting on the nightstand. The paper was plain, his familiar handwriting scrawled across it in ink that looked almost rushed,  “Went to grab a few things at the corner store on 6th. Don’t worry, I won’t be long, also, flowers. Because I’m apparently ‘the trouble’ you accused me of being. -H”

You stared at the note for a beat too long. Flowers. He was promising to bring you flowers. The first spark of irritation bloomed sharp and fast in your chest. He left. Alone. You tightened your grip on the towel. Hyunjin had been stabbed less than two weeks ago. There were still credible threats against him. And yet he thought it was fine to stroll out into public like this? As if on cue, the golden thread pulled hard. Your breath hitched. “No,” you whispered, clutching the edge of the towel like it could anchor you, but your pulse was already slamming against your ribs. “No, no, no-”

You hadn’t felt a pull like this since…  Your stomach lurched violently, a sick wave of memory crashing into you. The last time the thread had burned like this, he was bleeding out on the street. You still remembered the blood. His shirt torn open, crimson blooming under your hands as you pressed down.

You shoved the memory away so hard it left you dizzy. “Fuck,” you hissed, hands fumbling for the nearest clothes. The towel hit the floor as you yanked on leggings and a soft hoodie, Hyunjin’s, you realized belatedly, the scent of his cologne still clinging to the fabric. It made your throat tighten, but there was no time to dwell on it. Your movements were clumsy, panicked. Barely tugging the zipper halfway before you were shoving your feet into sneakers and grabbing your phone off the nightstand.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

By the time you reached the corner store, your heart was pounding so violently it hurt. You spotted him instantly through the wide glass windows, Hyunjin, standing near the register with a small basket dangling from his fingers. He had on his hat and mask, but you could look past that now and see him. And just like that, your knees almost gave out in relief. His hair was pulled back in a loose bun, a soft black hoodie slung over his tall frame, one hand holding a cup of coffee. He was completely oblivious to the fact that you’d practically sprinted three blocks with your heart lodged in your throat.

You yanked the door open so hard it startled a nearby customer. Hyunjin’s eyes landed on you, and his face lit up. “Hey,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I was gonna bring you coffee too-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snapped before you could stop yourself. The words were too loud, too sharp, but you didn’t care. Not when the image of him bleeding out was still seared into the back of your mind.

Hyunjin blinked, startled. “I-”

“You don’t get to do this,” you hissed, storming toward him. “You don’t get to sneak out and leave some cute little note like it’s romantic while I’m left wondering if-” Your voice broke, throat tight with the weight of all the fear you’d been holding in. “If I’m going to have to patch you up again, or worse-”

“Hey, hey-” Hyunjin’s hands came up, gentle but cautious, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him touch you. “I’m okay. I swear.”

But your chest wouldn’t stop heaving. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened?” you said, quieter now but no less shaky. “There are people out there who want you dead, Hyunjin. And you just-”

“I know,” he murmured. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, pressing a hand over your mouth as your eyes stung. God, you hated this. Hated how unprofessional you sounded, hated how raw and exposed you felt standing in the middle of a convenience store with your heart trying to claw its way out of your chest.

But Hyunjin didn’t look smug. He didn’t look amused, either. His expression softened, dark eyes searching your face with quiet regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said gently. “I just… I wanted to do something normal. For you.”

The words barely registered through the roar of blood in your ears. You could feel the heat of your panic coiled tight in your chest, the fine tremor in your hands refusing to settle even though you could see he was fine, standing here alive, breathing, smiling at you like he didn’t understand why your world had nearly split open in the last ten minutes.

You exhaled shakily, trying, failing, to steady yourself. “Don’t say that,” you muttered, dragging your hand down your face. “Don’t make this about me.”

Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable behind his mask, but his voice impossibly soft. “It is about you. You’re shaking.”

You stiffened, your arms crossing tight over your chest. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said gently. “You think I can’t tell?”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, too sharply, but the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Hyunjin’s brow furrowed, his hand shifting like he wanted to reach for you again but stopped himself. For once, he didn’t push. Instead, he let out a soft sigh, his tone calm in the way that only made your chest squeeze harder. “Maybe we should go back to the apartment,” he suggested quietly. “We can talk there. Or not talk. Whatever you need.”

You blinked at him, startled, your panic hitching into something sharper. “I don’t need-”

“You do,” he interrupted, not unkindly. His gaze was steady now, pinning you in place even as your breath came uneven. “You’ve been carrying too much since that night. You think I haven’t noticed? Every time I so much as breathe wrong, you tense like you’re bracing for sirens.”

“I’m your bodyguard,” you said, your voice tight, brittle. “It’s my job to be alert-”

“It’s not just your job,” Hyunjin said softly, and there it was, the thing you’d been avoiding, the truth tucked neatly into the corners of his voice. “This isn’t about protocols or assignments. It’s about you. You’re scared, and you won’t let yourself process it.”

That did it. Your stomach dropped, something raw and ugly twisting deep in your chest. The golden thread between your pinkies pulsed faintly, like it was urging you to listen, to admit what you didn’t want to name. You swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “Don’t psychoanalyze me in a convenience store.”

“I’m saying you’ve been through hell too, and maybe it’s time you stopped pretending you haven’t.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. The retort caught somewhere behind your teeth. He wasn’t wrong, and that terrified you more than anything. You drew in a shaky breath and turned abruptly toward the door. “Let’s just… go,” you muttered. “Before I cause a scene.”

Hyunjin didn’t argue. He only nodded once, his fingers curling tighter around the basket as he quickly paid, then followed a step behind you out into the cool morning air.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The walk back was silent, but not comfortable. Your hands were shoved deep into the sleeves of his hoodie, your eyes fixed straight ahead as you fought to slow your breathing. Every few steps, you felt Hyunjin’s gaze flick to you, but he didn’t speak. Not until you were back inside the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

“Sit down,” he said gently.

You shot him a sharp look. “I don’t need-”

“Sit,” Hyunjin repeated, his voice firmer this time. Not a command, but a request laced with quiet concern.

You hesitated. Then, reluctantly, you sank onto the edge of the couch, your arms crossing tightly over your chest like they could hold you together. Hyunjin set the grocery bag on the counter and crouched in front of you, his long fingers resting loosely on his knees.

“Look at me,” he said softly. You didn’t. You couldn’t. “Please.” Your eyes flicked to his, and the quiet in them undid you.

“This isn’t just about me leaving,” Hyunjin said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “This is about what happened before. About how it felt to be there. To see that happen.”

Your chest constricted painfully. “Stop.”

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” he said gently. “But you need to hear it. You’re holding it all inside as if you let yourself feel it, you’ll break.”

“I can’t break,” you said hoarsely, your fingers curling tight in the fabric of your sleeves. “You don’t get it. If I break, I can’t do my job. And if I can’t do my job-”

“Then I get hurt again?” Hyunjin finished softly. The words hung heavy between you, the unspoken truth wrapped around them like barbed wire.

You looked away, your vision blurring. “Exactly.”

Hyunjin exhaled slowly, his hands coming to rest gently over yours, where they were clenched tight in your lap. “Then let me say this once,” he murmured. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me. I’m standing here because of you.” Your throat tightened, the first hot tear slipping free before you could stop it. “And if you need to break, just for a little while, I’ll still be here.” His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles, his voice low and steady. “Let me be here for you this time.”

The golden thread pulsed hard between your pinkies, a warm, insistent tug that made something in your chest finally, finally snap. A broken sob tore from your throat before you could shove it down, and suddenly Hyunjin was there, arms wrapping around you, pulling you gently against his chest. His voice was quiet, but it landed like a strike to the ribs. “It feels like since you got this job… you’ve been doing what the police should’ve done. More than you signed up for.”

You froze in his arms, your breath catching hard enough to hurt. Hyunjin didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on you tightened slightly, not possessive, not demanding, just steady, anchoring you like he knew you were one exhale away from unraveling completely. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “But I’ve seen the way you carry this. Like you’re not just protecting me, but trying to make up for something that wasn’t even your fault.”

“Stop,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I can’t,” Hyunjin said softly. “Not when I see you torturing yourself like this. Do you think I didn’t notice how you barely sleep? The way you flinch every time I so much as walk near a window? You’re stuck in the same night on a loop, aren’t you?”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as another choked sob tore out of you. “You don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand,” he whispered, his thumb brushing at the tear streaking down your cheek. “Please. You saved me that night, but who’s been saving you?”

The question shattered something so deep it didn’t even have a name. You didn’t want to remember. But the memories clawed their way out anyway. Blood. Screaming. Your hands pressed down on his chest, slippery with red, praying to the gods as the thread between your pinkies burned. And then, the silence. The sick, endless silence of waiting for the ambulance, of listening to his breaths rattle, and wondering if each one would be his last. “I can’t do it again,” you choked out finally. “I can’t watch you die, Hyunjin. I can’t-”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, cutting through your panic with quiet conviction. “You won’t. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that,” you snapped, your voice sharp even as it trembled.

“I can promise I’ll fight like hell to keep it true,” Hyunjin countered. “And I can promise you don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

The dam broke completely. Hot tears streamed down your face as your body shook, your fingers clutching desperately onto him. You hated crying. Hated how weak it made you feel. But Hyunjin didn’t seem to mind. He just held you tighter, tucking your head beneath his chin as if he could shield you from everything, even the monsters in your own mind.

“You’re allowed to let go,” he whispered against your hair. “Just for a little while. You don’t always have to be the strong one. I can help you. I love you, okay?”

The words lodged themselves in your chest like a splinter, sharp and terrifying in their gentleness. “Hyunjin…” It came out broken, a whisper scraped raw from your throat.

“I don’t need you to say it back,” he said softly, like he’d already expected your panic, like he knew exactly how much weight those words carried for you. “Not now. Maybe not ever. But you need to know. Because whatever’s happening here,” his hand lifted to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading lightly through your damp hair, “it’s not just some game to me. I’m in this. With you.”

You shook your head weakly, your face pressed against his chest, tears soaking through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “You don’t get it,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you.

“No,” he said, firmer now, though there was no sharpness in it. “I mean, yeah, I don’t get it. But that doesn’t mean you get to carry this alone anymore. Not your guilt. Not your fear. Not whatever the hell this is between us that you keep trying to bury. You’ve been strong for so long, it’s killing you, and I can’t stand here and watch it happen.”

The sob that ripped out of you then was ugly, unrestrained. You hated how small it made you feel, but Hyunjin didn’t move. He just held you like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it, his thumb stroking lazy circles against the back of your neck as if to remind you that you were safe now.

“I can’t,” you choked out. “If I let go, I won’t stop.”

“Then don’t stop.” His breath was warm against your hair. “You don’t have to. I’ve got you.”

The flood came fast and mercilessly, tears and gasping sobs shaking you to your core. And through it all, Hyunjin stayed exactly where he was. Not as your client. Not as the man you were supposed to protect. Not as the trouble you’d warned yourself not to fall for. Just Hyunjin. 

When your sobs finally began to switch to quiet, uneven breaths, you realized he was humming. A soft, wordless tune, barely audible over the sound of your breathing, but steady enough to keep you tethered. “You’re okay,” he murmured when you finally shifted, your forehead still pressed to his shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You pulled back just slightly, enough to look at him. His dark eyes searched your face, tender and unreadable, and before you could stop yourself, your fingers curled lightly around his wrist where his hand still rested against your jaw. “This… this doesn’t change anything,” you whispered hoarsely, though even you could hear how hollow the words sounded.

Hyunjin’s lips quirked into the faintest smile. “Then let it change nothing,” he said gently. “But let yourself rest. Just for today.”

You exhaled shakily, your resolve crumbling as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone one last time. “Okay,” you whispered.

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