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ninisdollie · 2 days ago

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summer bummer - jake sim 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader and Jake see each other only in the summer, finding themselves between tangled sheets and filthy words. But this year, it’s not just sex anymore.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x jake, friends with benefits! to lovers, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m rec), riding, multiple positions, spitting, porn with a little emotional plot idk.

word count: 7.0k

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The field by the lake hadn’t changed, same driftwood benches, same cooler of cheap beer half-buried in the dirt, same old Bluetooth speaker trying its best to fight against the crackle of the fire. A few faces had grown older, a few new ones floated in from the city for the summer, but the rhythm was the same.

You always traveled back to your hometown for vacation, where you could forget about your city girl live, where most of your childhood friends still lived, where you spent the days tanning under the burning sun and drinking margaritas.

You were perched on a log near the flames, cold drink in hand, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the breeze off the water, despite the thin fabric of your short flower dress. Your friends were around you, Jay had brought his guitar like always, Heeseung was already tipsy, throwing rocks into the lake and yelling about something stupid. It was light, fun and meaningless. But you couldn’t stop checking the curve of the dirt road, waiting.

He was coming tonight, you knew it. Jake Sim.

It was never official. Not a relationship or a fling. It was almost like a summer tradition, like fireworks and iced tea and peeling sunburnt skin. You came back every year, and so did he. Like gravity, something written in body. No goodbyes, no promises, just heat and hands and stolen nights that left you wrecked until fall. You’d known him for years at this point, same boy who almost drowned in your parent’s pool at twelve, same boy who kissed you in truth or dare, same boy who knew your body much better than yourself.

The thing is, you barely spoke the rest of the year. A couple likes on Instagram. A birthday text, maybe. But no late-night calls, no long conversations. It was easier that way. If you talked too much, it would start to feel real. If it felt real, you’d both ruin it.

But still, you knew what it meant when you saw his name light up your phone two weeks before summer.

Jake Sim: you coming back this year?

Your fingers trembled over the keyboard.

Me: of course, always.

Because it didn’t matter how much time passed. The second your eyes met again, everything came flooding back, the way he kissed you like he was starving, the roughness of his voice when he begged to stay inside just a little longer, the way your bodies fit like puzzle pieces designed by the sun itself.

You weren’t in love. But it was close enough to hurt when you had to go back to your city every year.

So you both kept a silent deal. You didn’t ask who he fucked in the winter. He didn’t ask if you missed him in the spring. You only cared about the here and now, the sticky, sacred months of July and August. You only cared about sweat-slicked skin and beach towels and his hand gripping your throat like it was the only way he knew how to say I missed you.

Your stomach twisted when you heard it.

Tires crunching over gravel, laughter, car doors slamming.

You didn’t even have to turn to know because you felt it.

He was here.

It had been eleven months, two weeks, and six days since he last fucked you against the wall of your aunt’s bathroom at the end-of-summer party. You’d cried after. Not because of him, but because leaving always felt like peeling your skin off and flying back to a world where Jake didn’t exist.

But now he walked in like he owned the night, as always, that soft and chill aura like he didn’t care about anything in the world. Sun-kissed and cocky, rings on his fingers, black tshirt clung to his chest like it was begging for your attention. Ni-ki was beside him, already tossing a grin toward the group by the cooler, but Jake?

Jake looked straight at you.

The air left your lungs like a punch. You hated that it still did this to you, turned your insides to syrup and your thighs to heat. One look, that’s all it took. You didn’t smile, or wave. Just sipped your drink and looked back like it didn’t matter, letting the breeze wave your hair against your face.

“Finally decided to show up.” Heeseung dabbed him up, but his eyes were still locked on your face.

He stopped a few feet away, slow steps bringing him just close enough to let your body register him, his smell, his shadow, the ghost of his hands already on your skin. His voice was casual when he finally spoke.

“City girl had the time to come this year” he said, the exact same thing he said last summer. The same damn line.

Your lips curved around your drink, glossy and shining under the warm light of the fire.

“I always come, Jake.”

He smiled like he wanted to say something filthy about that. Like he remembered every single time. Then his eyes trailed down your body, slow and intentional because of course he wanted you to notice. You squirmed a bit, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

The fire was crackling between you two. Ni-ki called his name, someone handed you another beer, which you rejected with a smile, Sunghoon yelled something about “going crazy this summer”, but it all blurred. The music was loud, but your heart was louder.

“You look good,” Jake added, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You smiled softly, tilting your head, took in the curve of his arms, his thick lips, the gold chain glinting at his collarbone, the heat in his eyes.

“I always look good” you whispered back.

He chuckled, stepping back, walking away like he hadn’t just lit every nerve in your body on fire.

But you knew how this would end.

Because he was here looking at you like he hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the last time you moaned his name.

After a few hours, the fire started burning low. People had thinned out, some stumbling back to their parents’ houses, others crawling into tents by the lake or paired off under trees in the dark. The music had died to background static. Your drink was warm and half-full, forgotten in your hand. The air was still thick with smoke, beer, and heat that clung to your skin even after sundown.

You’d been sitting on the edge of a blanket, legs stretched out, staring into the dying embers and the star-full sky, when Ni-ki wandered over, car keys dangling from his finger, hair a bit messy.

“You need a ride?” he asked, voice lazy, smile crooked. “I’m sober, Jake’s coming to.”

You hesitated for only a second before you saw Jake trailing behind him.

One glance from him was enough. That slight tilt of his head, that litlle smile on his lips, the way his eyes dipped down to your mouth just for one second before biting his lips. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, eyes still on you.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Thanks, Ki”

Inside, Ni-ki’s father’s truck smelled like weed and cologne and dried lake water. The windows were halfway down, the music low and thumping with bass. You were pressed against the cool leather, the hem of your dress creeping up your thighs with every shift. Jake climbed in right beside you, not even pretending to leave space, it wasn’t even necessary for him to sit besides you, and his thigh brushed yours, firm and warm.

Neither of you said anything.

Ni-ki started the car and chatted from the front, his voice a cheerful hum against the dark. Something about the girls by the cooler. Someone puking behind the dock. You nodded, made a sound of agreement, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Jake. His arm was stretched lazily across the back of the seat, fingertips just grazing your shoulder, his touch already setting your skin on fire. He smelled like smoke and sweat perfume and him. Familiar and dangerous.

“Is school going well?” he asked under his breath, close enough that his mouth nearly touched your cheek.

You turned toward the window.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. You?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled again and let his hand drop, light and casual, until the side of it was resting against your bare thigh. It wasn’t even obvious. Ni-ki didn’t notice, too busy driving and still talking, and Jake didn’t move. His fingers didn’t trail, just a slight pressure. But it was enough to remind you of every time he’d had you spread out in the back of a car like this before, drunk off each other, reckless and flushed.

The road dipped, and the jostle made his palm shift higher on your leg.

You bit your lip.

“Cute dress,” he murmured. “Little short, though.”

You pulse started to rush, and it was suddenly so hot inside the car. Then his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you felt your whole body clench.

“—right? So I told Heeseung not to piss his girlfriend off—” Ni-ki kept talking in the front seat, totally oblivious, laughing at his own story.

Meanwhile Jake’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of your panties, and exhaled through his nose.

“You wore these for me?” he whispered, dragging one finger slowly over the damp seam, right where you were already pulsing for him. “Or did I get you this wet just now?”

You swallowed hard. Your head hit the back of the seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to taste you this summer”

You squeezed your legs shut instinctively, but he just pushed his hand between them, forcing them apart again. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, hot and greedy and slow, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His middle finger circled your clit, gentle but focused, rhythm cruelly steady. Your hips twitched. You tried to keep your face blank, heart racing as Ni-ki kept talking about girlfriend drama and god knows what else. Jake leaned back in the seat like nothing was happening, laughing and his friend’s jokes, keeping the conversation, like he wasn’t making your thighs shake under the cover of your dress.

And all you could do was clutch the edge of your seat and pray your breathing didn’t give you away.

“Hey, Y/N” Ni-ki said. “You think your parents will let us throw the pool party this year?”

You could barely hear him, you couldn’t even answer. So you just hummed, but it came out more like a moan, and Jake chuckled besides you because he had two fingers inside you now, slow and shallow, more teasing than satisfying.Every twist of his hand dragged against your sweet spot and pulled a silent scream from your throat.

His lips brushed your ear again.

“You’re so tight, baby. You miss me?” he asked like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, like this was all small talk.

You nodded once, shaky and pathetic, and he smiled.

Ni-ki pulled up in front of your parent’s place, headlights sweeping over the front porch.

“You want us to walk you up?” he offered, turning in his seat.

You jolted, heart hammering.

Jake’s fingers slipped out of you just in time, slow and slick, leaving your panties soaked. He brought his hand to his mouth casually, like he was stretching, and sucked the tips of his fingers clean while staring you dead in the eyes.

“Nah,” Jake said smoothly, voice casual. “She’s good.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the ride, Ki.”

But you weren’t. You were literally shaking.

You stepped out of the car on trembling legs, your thighs wet, your panties ruined, and Jake’s grin burned into your memory.

Your parent’s didn’t allow you to host the pool party this year, since the damages of last summer were still ghosting in the house. So Sunoo, being the good friend that he was, offered his pool.

The party was already in full swing by the time you showed up, loud music, wet footprints all over the tile, floats bobbing in the pool, and a cooler full of drinks that had long since lost their ice. The heat was sweltering. The sky was cloudless. And everything felt like it was pulsing with that hazy energy.

You found your friends by the pool, and smiled at them. You slipped off your sandals, dropped your towel on a sun chair, and waded straight into the pool, cool water wrapping around your body like a sigh.

Jake was there too.

He was across the pool, shirtless in red swim trunks, tan skin glistening wet, a beer bottle tipped to his lips as he leaned back against the edge with that lazy, devastating smirk. His hair was damp, curls pushed back, and he had that look in his eye. The one he only wore when you were in the room.

You hadn’t spoken since the night in the truck. Just a few glances, a look across the lake. He was busy this summer too, you knew that, his father needed help in his job, so you weren’t seeing him that often. But you still felt him every second since.

And now, he was watching you float through the water like he already had you pressed up against the pool wall, hand between your thighs, making you come so hard you’d choke on his name.

You kept your face blank, kept swimming. But your heart was going wild.

Everyone else was drunk and loud. Sunghoon was doing cannonballs, Jungwon was begging someone to make more margaritas, Ni-ki was DJing from the patio like his life depended on it, but your whole world narrowed every time Jake’s eyes dragged over your chest, your stomach, the way your bikini clung to your hips.

At one point, you reached for your drink from the edge and felt his presence behind you before you even heard his voice.

“You trying to kill me in that bikini?” Jake murmured, chest brushing your back in the water. His voice was low and close, mouth inches from your shoulder. “Or is this just for attention?”

You didn’t turn around.

“We both know i don’t need to ask for your attention.”

He chuckled, dark and quiet.

“You know i love when you get cocky.”

You don’t even remember who touched who first.

One second, Jake was behind you in the pool, his breath grazing your neck like a threat, and the next, your fingers brushed his underwate, just enough to say now. You didn’t look back, it wasn’t necessary because he followed.

You climbed out slowly, water cascading down your legs, your bikini clinging to your curves like a secret. Jake was only a step behind, eyes locked on the drip of water trailing down your spine. No one noticed, or maybe they did and didn’t care. This was how it always happened. One second, you were mingling, the next, you were gone.

Inside the house, the music got muffled by walls and closed doors. You walked past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the laundry room, and Jake’s hand caught yours. Pulled and turned. He shoved open the bathroom door and you stumbled inside, your back hitting the wall, cold tile kissing wet skin.

Then, his mouth was on yours.

He tasted like alcohol and fresh fruit and he kissed you like a man unhinged. His hot mouth devouring you, breathless and not giving but taking. Tongue deep, wet and sloppy, teeth sharp, pulling your lower lip and sucking it, no space between you. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was months of repression, of thinking about this exact moment, of remembering how tight you were around him, how loud you got when he hit just the right spot.

Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his hands were everywhere, palming your ass through your bikini bottoms, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, sliding up your spine to twist in your wet hair and tug your head back, like he was scared you’d disappear again. You felt his hard length beneath the damp fabric of his shorts, grinding into you like he couldn’t hold himself back.

Jake pulled back just long enough to look at you.

“You look fucking unreal right now,” he breathed, eyes blown. “I’ve been losing my mind all fucking year thinking about this pussy.”

His voice was hot and low and filthy, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your soaked bikini bottoms without hesitation.

“You missed me?” he murmured, middle finger dragging through your slit. “Huh, baby? You missed this cock?”

You moaned, too breathless to lie. Head spinning, eyes hazy and brain already shut down.

He grinned like he already knew.

“Of course you did. This pussy was made for me.”

He shoved your bottoms down, let them fall wet to the floor. Then, he dropped to his knees like it was instinct. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. Tongue hot, fast, messy and desperate. Jake moaned into your cunt like he’d been starving all year. You moaned into your hand and let your head fall against the wall as his tongue licked a wide, greedy stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, sloppy, shameless and relentless. His fingers dug into your thighs in case you’d pull away and he ate you out like this was his last meal.

“God,” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “always so fucking sweet.”

You rocked your hips forward into his face, already breathless from how deep he was buried between your thighs. Your pussy dripping on him, pulsing and hot. His hair was damp from the pool, and now from sweat, his working like he was worshiping you.

Your fingers laced through his curls, pulling.

“Jake—oh my God.”

He didn’t stop. Just growled into you and pulled you closer, spreading you wider, tongue fucking into you as if he couldn’t decide whether to tease or devour. Then, his thumb slid up, wet from your slick, pressing soft tight circles against your clit as his tongue fucked in deeper.

You gasped, back arching.

“Jake, please—”

“You gonna come on my mouth?” he asked, almost sweetly. “You gonna make a mess on my face, baby?”

He was smiling against your sex, completely obsessed, like your shaking thighs and broken voice were exactly what he wanted to ruin. Like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you fell apart right here in the bathroom with his tongue buried inside you and your moans echoing off the tile.

You whimpered, trying to hold yourself up, but your knees were already buckling.

“Please, Jake—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I won’t,” he muttered against your clit, voice low and wrecked. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin.”

Then he sucked again. Hard, wet and loud. Totally obscene and shameless, his tongue flicking fast, his thumb grinding into your clit in tight circles, dragging your orgasm out of you like he was starving for it. You gasped, hips jolting forward as heat crashed through your spine and exploded in your belly.

Jake groaned into you, tongue lapping up every bit of your mess like it was his job. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place, making sure you felt every second of it, felt how messy you were, how wrecked, how much he loved it.

You came hard.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your toes curled, your hands scrabbling for the sink behind you as pleasure split you in half, hot and dizzying. Your whole body trembled, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy pulsed around nothing, empty but aching, soaking his mouth and chin.

Jake only pulled back when your legs gave out.

He caught you, barely, arms around your waist, eyes heavy and glazed as he looked up at you, his face glistening with your slick, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your hands in it.

“So fucking good” he said, voice ruined.

Then he kissed you again, messy, open, licking into your mouth like he wanted you to taste yourself on him. In one movement, he shoved down his trunks and grabbed your thigh, hiking it up against the wall.

“You ready?” he said, lining himself up and thrusting in all at once, bottoming out. You gasped. “Gonna fuck you just how you like it.”

He was thick and deep and so fucking hard, stretching you open like your body had been waiting for him all year. His length throbbed through your soaked walls, still senstive but still wanting more. You cried out, back arching as Jake buried himself to the hilt, brutal thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ruined in your ear. “You’re so tight around me. Like this pussy’s been waiting all year, just for my cock.”

You clenched around him at the words, helpless, already overwhelmed. Your nails dug into his biceps as he held you pinned between his chest and the cold edge of the bathroom counter, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide open. He moved deep, dragging strokes that made you choke on your breath. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls, making you tremble with every push.

Your head fell back, lips parted, completely at his mercy.

“God—fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Missed how you squeeze me. Missed these pretty fucking sounds. You make me insane.”

He grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto him harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as the bathroom filled with the sounds of filthy, frantic sex, wet, breathless, obsessed. The air inside was so hot, the mirror foggy, your body wet not only with water but with sweat and spit, every inch inside of you burning for him.

You wrapped your legs around him, holding on tight, body jerking with every thrust.

“Jake—oh my god—yes—fuck me, please—”

“I am, baby,” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucking you like you need.”

He kissed you, teeth and tongue and bruising need, before pulling back to spit the next words right against your mouth:

“That’s right. This pussy’s mine when you’re here. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”

A loud groan left his mouth, losing rhythm for a second, driving into you harder now, ruthless, like he wanted to fuck you so deep you’d still feel him tomorrow, his thrusts pounding into your soaked pussy, his body smacking against yours in loud, wet sounds that echoed off the walls. You moaned loud at that, barely holding back from coming again.

“I’m gonna fuck you all summer,” he hissed in your ear, fucking you harder. “Every night. Every morning. You understand?”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, aching clit, rubbing tight circles that helped the pressure on your stomach start to build with so much force.

“You wanna cry on my cock again like you did last year?” he taunted, thumb dragging up to your clit as he pounded into you harder. “Huh? Gonna make a mess for me like a good fucking girl?”

Your body didn’t hold back anymore. You came again, gasping, clenching around him so tight he cursed into your neck, hips jerking as he came with you with a thick moan, hot, deep, full. He spilled inside you so familiar and warm and good, and you whimpered at the feeling. God, you missed it so much.

You collapsed into him, slick and shaking, still pinned to the wall as he caught his breath, mouth dragging across your collarbone like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“God,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “I’m not letting you go a single night without this dick.”

Jake then pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper again, and his eyes lost between your legs watching how you dripped him down your thighs, he bit his lip at the view. Then kissed you again, fast but hot, helping you put on your bikini bottoms again, still a bit dazed from the strong orgasm.

“You never do, anyways.”

He chuckled softly, putting his shorts on and hissing at the sensitivity on his cock, then placed a kiss on your forehead, winking an eye.

“Summer’s just getting started, baby.”

The days passed with not much happening. Parties, nights by the lake, fishing, movie nights in someone’s old basement. Almost every night ending the same way, everyone either passed out or going home.

Except you.

And Jake.

It always started with a look. That same look. Then a brush of his hand at your hip while you were helping clean up. Then a muttered, “Come with me,” while the others weren’t looking.

And ended with the two of you tangled in the backseat of his father’s car, windows halfway fogged, leather seats squeaking under the shift of your weight. You straddling him, panties shoved to the side, Jake’s hands gripping your waist tight as you rocked your soaked pussy over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Him fully inside you, buried deep, sweat dripping from his hairline as he hissed through his teeth. The night quiet except for the sound of your skins slapping together.

“Fuck, baby—” his voice was hoarse, raw. “You feel so fucking good. Always so tight for me.”

His nasty words always making you come even harder around his length.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he whispered, grabbing your ass and helping you move faster, harder. “Jacking off in my room like a fucking loser, imagining you bouncing on my cock just like this. Every fucking night.”

“Every summer,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”

Other times were lazy sundays in his room, after a wild night, makeup still on your face, mascara smuged, but he always told you you looked beautiful that way. The sheets clinging to your bodies thanks to the sweat and the heat, Jake leaning his back against the bedframe, legs parted and you between them.

Still lazy, but hungry.

His cock already hard. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip like it had been waiting for your mouth since the second he pulled you into the house.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed when you kissed the head, feeling him throb in your hand “You trying to ruin me, baby?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, as you licked a fat stripe up his shaft.

“I thought I already did.”

Jake’s head dropped back against the pillow, his hips twitching when you spat on his length, tongue swirled around the tip again, tasting the salty precum. You took your time, pressing kisses all over, teasing him, dragging your mouth down to his balls, licking and sucking until he was breathing through clenched teeth, abs tensing with every shift of your tongue.

“Shit—fuck” he gasped when you finally wrapped your lips around the head and sank down.

You moaned around him in response, and Jake swore, one hand flying into your hair.

“God, baby—your mouth is so fucking perfect.”

You bobbed your head slow, letting your tongue slide along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his face the whole time. You loved watching him fall apart, how his brows pulled together, how his lips parted in these breathless, broken moans. His whole body went tight under you, muscles flexing, thighs trembling with every stroke.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re so fuckin’ nasty, just—shit—look at you.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, breath hot against his cock.

“Then come,” you whispered, stroking him slow, tongue flicking at the tip. “I want it. In my mouth. On my face. Wherever the fuck you want.”

Jake groaned.

“God, I almost forgot how filthy you are,” he muttered, hips lifting, fucking into your fist as your lips wrapped around him again.

But when you both were drunk, it was even more messy.

Laughing too loud, bumping into the hallway walls on the way upstairs, hands already all over each other before the door even closed.

Jake’s breath hot in your ear, mouth on your neck, his fingers tangled in the hem of your dress as you shoved at his chest, stumbling backwards into the room.

“I fucking want you,” he slurred, lips grazing your jaw, voice ragged. “I want you so bad it’s fucking sick.”

“You always want me,” you whispered, giggling breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and you both tripped into the mattress like lunatics. “You’re obsessed with me.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down into the bed, kissing you hard, messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.

“I am obsessed with you,” he muttered against your mouth. “I think about you all year. Think about your moans, your thighs, your fucking cunt—”

“Jake—”

“I jerk off to the sound of your voice,” he hissed, already yanking your dress up over your hips. “To the memory of you riding me. You fuckin’ haunt me.”

You gasped when he tugged your panties down fast and rough, mouth hot on your throat. He didn’t even wait to undress himself properly, just unzipped, shoved his pants low, pushed your legs open and spat on your pussy like he couldn’t take it one second longer.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby—this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”

He shoved into you in one brutal thrust, no teasing, no warning, just full length, all of him, thick and throbbing, slamming into your soaked heat like he was making up for lost time. And you screamed, legs wrapping around him as he rutted into you without rhythm, just hunger and need.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. “You feel fucking insane. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

His hands were under your ass, lifting you into every thrust, bed creaking under the pressure. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he whispered. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own fucking name.”

“You already do,” you moaned, nails dragging down his back.

Jake slammed deeper, taking every inch of your insides, pussy walls clenching around himc swallowing him like you were made for him, the room spinning not just from the alcohol but from the heat.

“You want it rough tonight, huh? Want me drunk and desperate, just using this pretty pussy ‘til I can’t even move?”

“Yes—fuck”

“You’re mine,” he spat, gripping your face, thumb sliding into your mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—” you whined around his thumb, eyes rolling back.

He cursed, pulled out halfway, then slammed in again so hard you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m fucking yours!”

The air was thick with sweat, your bodies slick and tangled, the whole room smelling like sex and tequila and the kind of hunger you don’t come back from.

It was routine, it was habit. It was everything you could ask for. Because Jake didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped your body. Every thrust said mine. Every kiss felt dangerous. Every time he came inside you, it felt less like sex and more like surrender. He knew you so well, knew exactly what to say, where to touch, which speed to use. No other man had ever satisfied you the way he did.

And lately, he looked at you like you were a secret. Like you meant something. His touches were softer, his kisses more tender. He laid on your back and trailed his fingetips in slow circles and hummed songs in your ear.

But it scared you. You knew things with Jake wouldn’t be easy. He lived here, he belonged here, away, moving through calm days and quiet nights. You were different.

You were a city girl, you went to college, went to parties, woke up hangover on your friend’s penthouses.

It would never work. And never seeing him again, that really scared you.

So you kept your feelings tucked behind your tongue, hidden in the back of your throat behind every moan. You kissed him hard and pulled his hair and begged for more, but you never said please don’t fall for me.

Because sometimes, you thought maybe he already had.

And sometimes you thought maybe you had too.

Those thoughts were still consuming you days later, one morning in Jake’s bed.

You could hear the birds outside. The fan humming above. His slow, steady breath against your collarbone. Jake was still tangled around you, warm and heavy, like he’d melted into your skin overnight. His leg between yours. His arm around your waist. His hand—God, his hand—resting just under your breast, like it belonged there.

You wanted to stay there forever. In that golden, sleepy silence. Where nothing had to be said. Where everything could still be just sex and tequila and tradition. Where the feelings hadn’t spilled out yet.

But then he spoke.

“I don’t think I can do this again another year,” he said softly, voice hoarse with sleep.

You blinked slowly. Your body stiffened, but only just.

“What?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“This. Us. Fucking for a month and then going back to acting like we don’t know each other the rest of the year.”

You lifted your head, your heart already thudding in your chest. Jake was looking at you. Hair messy, lips still kiss-bitten, eyes swollen with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know we said this was casual,” he continued. “I know that’s what you want. But it’s not casual for me anymore.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I don’t want to wait eleven months to touch you again. I don’t want to only be yours in July. I want to wake up like this every day. I want to know what it feels like to take you out, not just sneak around.”

“Jake…”

“I want to know what it feels like to love you without pretending it’s just about sex.”

That word.

Love.

You sat up, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’d seen every inch of you a thousand times. Even though he had your come drying on his stomach, your moans still in his mouth.

“Don’t say that, Jake” you said, voice suddenly cold.

“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Because this wasn’t supposed to be that. That’s not what we do.”

Jake sat up too, confused, bare chest rising and falling as he tried to read your face.

“You can say everything to me when my cock’s inside you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But the second I say I want more, you run?”

“I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been running since last summer. And the one before that.”

You stood from the bed, searching for your underwear like it was some kind of armor. The same scary thoughts in your head, the reality of it all hitting you.

“It’s not going to work, Jake. I told you since the beggining”

“No, you told me you didn’t want more.” He leaned forward, voice tighter now. “And I believed you. Until you started kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. Until you started holding me after like it meant something.”

You paused. Still facing the wall. Too afraid to look back.

“It’s safer this way,” you said quietly.

He laughed, bitter and humourless.

“Safer for you, maybe. But I’m the one who’s been waiting all year like a fucking idiot, hoping this time would be different.”

You turned to him finally, heart in your throat.

“I never asked you to wait.”

“No,” he said. “But you made it impossible not to.”

There was silence for a moment. And then Jake stood too. Naked, wrecked, still beautiful in the morning light. His eyes softer now. But sad. So fucking sad.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “I still would.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed your dress, your phone, and walked out of the room with tears in your eyes and his name like a stone in your throat.

The city felt bigger than usual.

You stood in the middle of your room in a t-shirt that wasn’t yours—his, oversized and worn-in, somehow ended up in your suitcase, probably from the night you threw up in his lap—sleeves pushed up to your elbows. It smelled faintly of saltwater and sweat and the faded remnants of Jake’s cologne, like a scent memory you were scared would disappear the second you washed it.

Your suitcase was still half-open on the floor. You hadn’t unpacked.

Outside, the city roared like it always did, sirens in the distance, someone yelling two blocks away, a motorcycle growling past, but all you could think about was the way the crickets used to sing by the lake. How the air back there tasted like bonfire and beer and warm skin. How the quiet meant something when it was wrapped around Jake’s voice and his breath on your neck in the dark.

You padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water with shaking hands, but your stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.

Everything was fine.

But then you opened your phone.

And scrolled.

And there he was.

Jake, half-naked on the dock, laughing with Ni-ki, holding a beer, dripping wet from the lake. Jake, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your bare thigh, sunglasses low on his nose, smirking like he owned the world. Jake, leaning over you in the backseat after Sunoo’s pool party, whispering filth into your mouth while everyone else was drunk and distracted.

Your heart twisted, sharp and slow and sick.

You hadn’t seen him since that morning. Since you ripped yourself out of his sheets and out of his arms and walked away with your pride held like a shield across your chest.

He didn’t come to Sunghoon’s goodbye party, he didn’t come to the last movie night in Jungwon’s basement.

He didn’t text. He didn’t call. He didn’t even look at your story.

And you didn’t reach out.

And now, in the dim hush of your apartment, with the AC buzzing and your body wrapped in his old shirt, the weight of it crushed you.

You slid to the floor, back against the bedframe, phone in your lap, eyes burning.

Because you wanted to be the girl who could let go. The girl who could take the pleasure, take the heat, take the memory, and walk away untouched.

But this time you weren’t her.

This time, you wanted more.

You wanted mornings. You wanted winter. You wanted him.

But you were too scared to say it.

So now you sat in the silence you chose, surrounded by his ghost, with nothing left but a hundred memories that all smelled like sex and regret.

You hadn’t turned on the lights, letting the soft blue glow of the television flicker across the room, even though you weren’t really watching anything. Just letting sound fill the silence.

And then… A knock.

You blinked. Stilled. For a second, you thought maybe you imagined it.

Then it came again.

Three gentle raps against your apartment door.

Your heart flipped. Your chest tightened. You stood slowly, like moving too fast would make it disappear. And when you opened the door…

Jake was there.

In the hallway, under the soft yellow glow of the broken light overhead, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something worse, like maybe he hadn’t slept in days. Like maybe he’d replayed that morning in his head a hundred times, and it still broke him every time.

“Hi,” he said softly.

You stopped breathing.

He looked… wrecked.

And beautiful. Standing in front of you like he had no idea what he was supposed to say now that he’d actually come.

“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” he admitted, voice quiet.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jake let out a soft breath. Nodded. Then looked up at you, eyes shining a little too much.

“I had to see you, i booked the cheapest ticket” he said. “I couldn’t just let it end like that.”

You said nothing. Just looked at him, bare, faced and trembling, still holding the doorknob like it was a weapon.

He took a tiny step forward.

“I fucked up. I should’ve let you have your space. I should’ve waited. But I couldn’t. I’ve been losing my fucking mind thinking about you.”

“Jake…”

“No,” he said gently. “Let me say it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick now. Full with honesty and feelings.

“I meant everything I said. I meant it when I told you I wanted more. I meant it when I said I couldn’t keep doing this once-a-year bullshit. Because it’s not just summer to me anymore. It’s not just sex. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your chest ached. He looked straight at you, no shields, no teasing smile, just a boy standing at the edge of something terrifying, begging you to take a step toward him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, since the first time i fucked you. And I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

You blinked fast, heart beating so loud it hurt.

“I didn’t know how to… I thought if I said it out loud it would ruin everything.”

He nodded.

“So did I.”

“But it didn’t,” you said, voice trembling. “It ruined everything not saying it.”

Jake gave the softest smile. Sad, but hopeful. Like he still wasn’t sure if you were going to slam the door or fall into his arms.

So you reached for him. You grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulled him inside, shut the door behind him. And when your mouth crashed into his, hot, desperate, full of all the things you hadn’t said, Jake knew.

You were his.

Not just in summer or just in bed.

Just completely his.

700 notes · View notes

buckyseternaldoll · 2 days ago

Text

use me. you're all mine.

💗 based on this ask!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You were too sore to move. Too fucked-out to think. Good thing Bucky never minded doing all the work.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, established relationship, p in v, multiple rounds, oral (f receiving), fingering, titfucking, creampie, overstimulation, soft domination, praise kink, possessiveness, aftercare

Word Count: 6.2k

You pushed your hand against the old iron railing of the park bench, lungs burning, legs barely holding you up. Your vision blurred slightly with the sting of sweat and exertion, and you blinked hard, panting like you’d been chased by the devil himself.

Ten miles. Ten. Miles.

What kind of boyfriend makes his office-worker girlfriend run ten damn miles on a Sunday morning?

You’d tried everything to get out of it. Claimed you were on your period—he handed you a heating pad and said you could rest after one lap. Told him you were sleepy—he brought you coffee and kissed your forehead until you got dressed. Said you had pending reports—he reminded you your team was off today and physically took your phone away.

Today? There was no escape. Bucky Barnes had made up his mind, and your ass was getting dragged out of bed.

He stood just a few paces away now, breathing easily, barely a sheen of sweat on his stupidly perfect face. He looked like he’d gone out for a casual walk. Meanwhile, your lungs were in revolt and your legs were contemplating early retirement. He’d lapped you more times than you could count, each time with that smug little grin and a wink like he wasn’t actively trying to kill you.

You shot him a death glare as you hunched over, hands on your thighs, gasping.

“Traitor,” you muttered under your breath.

As if summoned by your suffering, Bucky jogged back to your side, eyes sparkling with amusement and affection—those glacier-blue depths that always managed to look soft when they were fixed on you. Not a drop of sweat clung to his skin. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, not drenched, and his black jacket hugged every line of his body like it was tailored to worship him. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot, not finished a ten-mile run.

He grinned, all charm and mischief. “Finally done, baby?”

You groaned, dragging yourself upright with one last dramatic breath. “Not fair,” you pouted, lips dry, voice hoarse. “I could do better if I had the damn serum too.”

He let out a low laugh and reached up to ruffle your hair, even though you flinched away with a whine. “Yeah? You did ten miles, babe. Most people can’t even do three. I’m proud of you.”

“You’re evil,” you said, but it came out weak, almost fond.

Bucky leaned in, brushing a kiss against your temple. “C’mere,” he murmured, crouching a little and patting his broad shoulder. “I’ll piggyback you home.”

Your heart stuttered—because yeah, maybe he made you run like a prisoner in a bootcamp, but goddamn if he didn’t make up for it by being the sweetest man alive. You climbed onto his back with a tired whimper, arms looping around his neck. His hands slid under your thighs, hoisting you easily, and you let your cheek rest against his shoulder, body melting against his.

His scent—sweat, faint cedar, something like pine and leather—invaded your lungs and calmed you. The warm press of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the easy strength in his arms…

You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to do anything.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the ache between your legs every time he handled you like this—effortlessly, confidently—but you found yourself sinking into that helpless softness, completely pliant in his arms.

—

You didn’t even bother to shower. Despite Bucky’s firm reminder not to touch the bed while you were soaked in sweat, you collapsed onto it anyway the second he set you down. Face-first, limbs sprawled. Every cell in your body screamed for mercy.

“I just told you not to get outside clothes on the bed, doll,” he grumbled somewhere behind you. “You’re gonna stink up the whole damn—”

You didn’t care. Not when your legs felt like they’d been boiled alive. Not when your lungs were still trying to remember how to breathe properly. And certainly not when the mattress beneath you felt like heaven incarnate. The sheets cradled your body, warm and soft and forgiving. You’d survived. Barely.

It didn’t matter that Bucky had carried you the entire way home—twenty-five minutes by foot, uphill, with ease—while you just clung to him like a human backpack. Your legs still hated you. They pulsed with soreness, heavy and limp, and you were too far gone to even strip off your sticky sports bra or peel off your leggings. You sank deeper into the bed, eyes fluttering shut, your entire body a weighted ache.

But then…

That warmth crept up your spine.

Subtle at first. A flicker. A ghost of pressure between your thighs. That slow build of something… needy.

Oh.

No.

You knew this feeling. That low hum of arousal that started in your stomach and melted downward like honey. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? You were half-dead from exercise, fully clothed, not even freshly showered, and still—your body ached in a different way now.

You remembered reading somewhere that intense physical activity could trigger arousal. Some post-workout hormonal thing. At the time, you’d laughed.

Apparently, you were the chosen one.

You squirmed slightly on the bed, as subtly as your aching muscles would allow. The friction of the tight fabric between your thighs made your breath hitch. Oh, fuck.

You turned your head just barely, cheek pressed to the mattress, eyes tracking Bucky as he moved around the room. He was muttering to himself now, tugging off his running shoes and unzipping his sleek black jacket—the fitted kind, snug around his biceps and made for cool-weather runs. Underneath, he wore that short-sleeve compression tee that clung to every line of his chest like second skin. His running pants stayed on—tactical-cut, dark and thick, hugging his thighs and hips like they were molded for him.

Not a single drop of sweat marked his body. His shirt stayed dry. His skin barely flushed. Every muscle in his abdomen shifted with effortless precision when he moved, flexing beneath the fabric, carved and controlled. Even while scolding, even half-annoyed—he was beautiful. Too beautiful.

Still grumbling, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Didn’t even stretch after running. I swear, sweetheart, you’re gonna lock up like the Tin Man—”

Your eyes drank him in. Every hard line. Every twitch of his jaw. The way his forearm flexed as he wiped sweat from his brow. The deep V of his hips when he unhooked his belt lazily and tossed it on the floor. You didn’t even notice yourself moan.

It slipped out without warning. A soft, pathetic sound from the back of your throat.

Bucky paused mid-sentence.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. But you knew he heard it.

Still face-down, your lips curved in a sleepy little smile.

Yeah. Maybe you weren’t completely dead after all.

—

You let out a long, heavy sigh as you rolled onto your back, limbs dragging like dead weight. Every muscle screamed. But the second your shoulder blades sank into the mattress, it felt like heaven. You blinked up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling with post-run exhaustion… and something deeper starting to stir underneath it.

You turned your head just slightly and saw him at the foot of the bed, still muttering to himself like a grumpy old man. Something about outside clothes and ruined sheets and “how many times do I have to tell you…” — but your ears had tuned out.

Your eyes hadn’t.

They were locked on the way his black compression tee clung to his torso, outlining every line of muscle like a sin. The way his running pants sat low on his hips, stretching tight over his thighs, leaving nothing to imagination. He was still fully dressed—just his shoes off and his jacket somewhere on the floor—but somehow it was worse like this. More dangerous. Effortless.

You smiled.

Lazy. Sheepish. Just a little mischievous.

He caught it immediately and rolled his eyes.

“Oh no,” he muttered, walking toward the dresser, facing away from you. “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” you asked sweetly, voice light and high and full of innocent sin.

He ignored you.

You bit your bottom lip. “You know how sexy you are when you’re annoyed, right?”

Still nothing. But you saw the tiniest flex in his jaw.

“I mean it,” you went on, letting your voice drop into a slow, flirty purr. “The way your shirt hugs your back… those tight sleeves… your thighs in those pants? Baby, you look like you were carved for sin.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, head tilted back like he was praying for strength. “You’re laying in your outside clothes right now.”

“And I’m being punished,” you said, utterly unrepentant. “Forced to look at my obscenely hot boyfriend while I can’t even move. Cruel, really.”

He turned to face you then, arms crossed, glaring half-heartedly.

You didn’t blink. Just let your eyes drag down his body, slow and obvious. Your gaze stalled on the outline between his thighs.

“I swear I saw your dick twitch in those pants.”

He scoffed. “It didn’t.”

“It did,” you said, grinning. “Just the tiniest little flinch. Like it heard me.”

His hand dragged down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

You smirked. “Mm. My beloved cock’s on my side, it seems.”

Bucky let out a grunt—sharp and low—and you knew that sound. That was him holding back. Fighting the urge to pounce.

So you gave him the final push.

“Come and use me, baby,” you said, voice soft and aching now, all your earlier teasing stripped down to raw need. “Do me. Just… use me. I’m too spent for anything. My pussy’s throbbing for you. It wants you.”

Your hand lifted weakly from your stomach, hovered over your center—still clothed, still damp with sweat—and fell back to the bed with a soft thud, helpless. Like your body had given up the fight. Like it was offering itself to him.

“I can’t move,” you whispered. “But I need to be fucked. Please, Bucky. I just wanna lie here and be used by you. I don’t care how. Just… do something.”

You meant every word.

There was no game. No act. Just aching limbs and a burning need only he could fill. You needed his weight over you. His hands pinning you down. His voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how soft, how wet, how perfectly made for him.

You watched his eyes darken. His jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides.

He was already losing the war. And you were more than ready to surrender.

—

Bucky slowly walked toward the bed, steps deliberate, jaw still tight. That grumpy little scowl was fixed on his face—but you saw the corners of his lips twitch. He was trying not to smile.

You knew that face.

You knew he wanted this too. Always did. He’d told you before—muttered it against your neck after long nights, half-asleep, all sincere—that if he had it his way, he’d keep you in bed and fuck you every single day. Just because he could. Just because he loved you. Just because he liked how you let him have you like this—soft and pliant and so damn needy.

He climbed onto the bed slowly, letting his weight dip the mattress, bracing his hands on either side of you as he hovered above. The heat of him soaked into your skin instantly, and your eyes flicked down—straight to the heavy tent straining in his pants.

His breathing had deepened. His eyes darkened.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, voice low, almost quiet.

You blinked up at him, confused at first, brows twitching.

He leaned in just an inch closer. “When you said to use you,” he clarified, eyes locked to yours. “You meant that, baby?”

You nodded, soft and sure. “Just do me however you want, Bucky,” you whispered. “I’m all yours.”

Something in his chest shifted. His shoulders dropped a little, and his mouth curled—not into a full smile, but close. Close enough that it made your stomach flutter.

“Don’t take it back later, doll,” he said, tone teasing but serious underneath.

And then he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not greedy.

Just deep.

He kissed you like he’d waited all day for it. Like this was what he was always meant to be doing. His lips pressed slow and warm against yours, his mouth coaxing you open, his body still hovering while yours stayed limp beneath him. You didn’t lift a finger. Didn’t try to match his intensity. Just let him kiss you how he wanted—how you needed—until your breath caught in your throat.

His vibranium palm came up to cradle your face. Cool against your flushed, overheated cheek. The contrast made you whimper softly, and Bucky pulled back just slightly, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. He nibbled once—gentle—and let it go.

Then his back straightened as he sat up briefly. He tugged the black hair tie from his flesh wrist—always there, always ready—looped it around his fingers, and swept his dark hair back into a low, tight bun at the nape of his neck. That little motion—so casual, so in control—made your thighs twitch.

He leaned back over you, lips hungry this time, and kissed you again, deeper, messier, his flesh hand sliding down over your chest. His touch was firm but reverent, his thumb brushing the slope of your breast before cupping it gently.

Your sports bra—thin, lightly padded, soaked with sweat—clung to your skin like second skin. Your nipples were already stiff beneath it, achingly obvious through the damp fabric, and Bucky let out a low hum when he felt the swell under his palm.

But he wanted more than that.

He sat back just slightly and gripped the hem of your tank top, eyes flicking up to your face like a warning. You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

So he peeled it upward, slow and deliberate, baring your stomach first—then your chest. He pushed it all the way up until it was bunched under your armpits, leaving your sports bra fully exposed to him. You were still covered, but barely. The thin material left nothing to the imagination. The outline of your nipples strained against it, sharp and swollen and so temptingly sensitive.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

“Fuck,” he muttered under it, eyes darkening. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

He leaned in again, his fingers grazing the side of your breast as he brought his mouth down to the peaked swell pressing through the fabric. He circled his thumb lazily over it first, teasing, coaxing another tiny shift from your hips. Then, with almost reverent control, he let his teeth scrape over the sensitive spot, catching it gently through the bra.

The soft wet drag of his tongue followed—hot, slow, obscene.

You gasped softly, fingers twitching at your sides.

He mouthed your breast through the thin material like he had all the time in the world, like you were the only thing worth worshiping. The fabric stuck to your skin, making every movement exaggerated—every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips against the soaked material sent sharp heat shooting straight between your legs.

Still, you didn’t move.

You didn’t lift your hand. Didn’t thread your fingers through his hair.

You just laid there, aching.

Lazy. Desperate. Helpless.

Just like you’d promised.

—

You let out a soft, broken moan when his vibranium hand slipped beneath your bra, the chilled metal cupping your breast like it belonged there. The contrast was delicious—cold, precise fingers tracing your heat-swollen skin, gently rolling your nipple between metal fingertips until it ached.

Bucky took his time.

He teased the peak slowly, expertly, watching the way your mouth parted, how your hips gave the faintest twitch in response. Then, after a few lingering strokes, he slid his hand free, only to hook his fingers at the base of the bra and begin peeling it upward.

You felt the stretch of the fabric, the tight tug as he slowly lifted it over your breasts, letting them spill free into the air.

But he wanted more. Full access.

So he moved fast.

In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slightly—just enough to free you from the cling of damp cotton—and pulled both your tank top and sports bra off your body with practiced ease. You didn’t lift a finger. You didn’t help. Everything was done by him—quiet, controlled, careful.

Now you were bare to him.

Bucky groaned at the sight. Deep and low, like it came from his chest. His eyes devoured you—soft skin, flushed peaks, the rise and fall of your breath as you just laid there for him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, already leaning back in.

His mouth found yours again in a deeper kiss—slower this time, wetter, hungrier. Then he began to trail down. Wet kisses along your cheek, then your jaw, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin. His lips dipped to your throat, your collarbone, and lower still. He left hickeys on the way down—faint bruises blooming across your chest like he couldn’t resist leaving his mark.

Then he settled between your breasts.

Cupping them with both hands, he nuzzled his face into the softness of your chest, breathing you in like he was worshiping. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin before his tongue lapped slowly at one nipple, then the other. His mouth closed around the sensitive peak, wet and reverent. His lips dragged, tongue swirling, teeth gently tugging—then switching to the other breast, groaning low as he tasted you.

He smelled it then. That sweet, slick scent drifting up from between your legs.

Sex and sweat and honey.

You saw him shiver, just slightly, as the scent hit his tongue like a drug.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped against your skin, lips wet. He kissed down your sternum, slow and wet, trailing spit across your stomach as he moved lower. “You taste so fucking good.”

You moaned again, louder this time. Your legs twitched, your hands balled weakly at your sides. You still couldn’t move. Still didn’t want to. This was what you needed—Bucky taking his time, touching you like you were his to savor.

He reached the waistband of your leggings next. Hooked his fingers under both fabric and panties.

His vibranium hand slid beneath your hips like nothing, lifting you easily—like you weighed nothing at all—while his other hand tugged the tight material down your thighs in one slow drag. He slid off the bed to kneel, pulling them fully down past your knees, past your calves, until they were tossed aside with zero ceremony.

And then he just looked at you.

Laid bare across the bed. Faint bruises scattered across your breasts. Your cunt glistening between parted thighs, slick already dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

His cock strained painfully against his pants.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes blown wide with hunger. “You look so good like this. So fucking sweet. Can’t believe how good you smell—like sex and sugar.”

He stood, yanking his shirt off over his head in one swift pull, then shoved his pants and briefs down together. His cock sprang free with a heavy bounce, flushed and leaking at the tip, arousal glistening across the head. He groaned as he wrapped his hand around it, stroking just once—slow—spreading the pre-cum down his shaft.

“Didn’t even touch your cunt yet,” he muttered. “And I’m already this fuckin’ hard.”

He climbed back onto the bed—this time not hovering.

His weight settled over you gently, not crushing but close. Braced slightly with his vibranium arm, he slotted himself between your thighs and kissed you again, deep and possessive, while his knee pressed into your inner thigh, nudging your legs wider.

You gasped into his mouth as he rocked his hips forward, dragging the length of his cock along your soaked folds—hot and thick, the slick sounds obscene between you.

You were completely naked.

Beneath him.

Open.

His to use.

And you still hadn’t moved a muscle.

—

Bucky pulled back from the kiss, chest heaving just slightly, lips wet and pink and shining with your taste. You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved.

With ease, he slid both arms beneath you—one warm, one cold—and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled limply, useless with need, as he repositioned you across the mattress. He carried you closer to the edge of the bed, laying you back down gently, your hips now perfectly aligned with where he knelt on the floor.

His eyes were locked between your legs.

He didn’t say a word.

Just settled down, bracing one hand on your inner thigh as he leaned in.

His head dipped.

And he devoured you.

His tongue licked a slow, hungry stripe up your folds, curling as it reached your swollen clit. He paused there, lips wrapping around the bud, sucking with obscene care—firm enough to make your thighs twitch, soft enough to keep you on edge.

You whimpered, breath caught.

Then he did it again.

He slurped every drop of arousal leaking out of you, groaning into your pussy like it tasted better than anything he’d ever had. His nose bumped against your mound as he buried his face deeper, his tongue working relentlessly over every part of you. He licked your folds with reverence, sucked your clit again until it throbbed, then slipped lower—tongue-fucking you with precise, expert strokes.

“F-fuck,” you choked out, back arching slightly against the mattress. “Bucky—oh, god, baby—just like that…”

He moaned into you. The sound of it vibrated right against your cunt, making your hips jump.

His vibranium hand came up then—cold, slick with your arousal—and pressed against your entrance. One metal finger pushed in smoothly, curling upward just right as his mouth stayed latched on your clit. He fucked you slowly with it at first, shallow and steady, while his tongue never let up.

Then a second finger slid in beside the first.

“Bucky, fuck,” you gasped, voice already wrecked. “Feels so good—feels so good—”

Your hips jerked again, barely lifting off the bed, but he held you steady. That strong hand flattened gently on your thigh, pinning you in place as he fucked you deeper with his fingers—slow thrusts, deliberate curls—while his tongue traced tight circles over your bud.

You couldn’t stop moaning.

Couldn’t stop praising him in breathless, broken gasps.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” you whimpered. “Always make me feel s-so good… You know exactly what I need—fuck—just like that, just like that…”

He groaned again, loud this time, his breath hitting your folds in hot waves. The sound of it, the feel of his mouth, the perfect pressure of his fingers inside you—it was too much.

Your inner walls clenched tight, fluttering around him as he slipped a third finger in.

Your back arched.

Your mouth opened in a silent cry.

And then you came—hard.

The orgasm tore through you like lightning. Your cunt clenched around his fingers as you squirted just a little, a warm splash wetting his face and chin.

But Bucky didn’t pull away.

He groaned into it.

Tasting you. Taking it.

Only when your body fully stilled again, trembling and breathless, did he finally lift his head.

His face was soaked. His stubble glistened, lips red and swollen, jaw wet with your release. His flushed cheeks, his glazed eyes—he looked absolutely ruined. But proud.

So fucking proud.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, staring at you like you were art. “You came so hard, baby. Made a fucking mess.”

You whimpered softly, dazed, eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the way he licked his bottom lip.

“Smell like heaven. Taste even sweeter,” he muttered, still between your legs. “Could live right here.”

Then, softly, with just the slightest growl—

“All that for me, huh? This pretty little pussy, all mine.”

—

Your breathing was still shallow. Chest rising and falling with the aftershocks of release, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

Bucky watched you.

So soft.

So fucked-out already.

And he wasn’t even close to finished.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—only smeared the wetness further across his flushed skin—then leaned forward, placing a firm kiss to your trembling inner thigh.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured. “Not done with you yet.”

Before you could even try to move, he was lifting you again.

Strong arms slid beneath your thighs and back, and in one easy sweep, he had you cradled against his chest. You let your head rest on his shoulder, arms draped lazily around his neck. Your legs fell open naturally, wrapping loosely around his waist.

Then he stood.

Carrying you.

Guiding your body.

You felt his cock—hot and hard and slick from your folds—press against your entrance as he backed toward the nearest wall for balance. He bent his knees slightly, adjusting his grip, then lined himself up.

And thrust in.

One long, slow push.

You gasped against his neck as he filled you completely, your body stretching around him, still pulsing from your last orgasm. But you didn’t move. Didn’t help. You just let him hold you there—impaled, trembling, claimed.

“That’s it,” he growled softly into your ear. “Just let me fuck you, sweetheart.”

He started to move, his hips bucking upward while yours stayed still, each thrust lifting you just slightly before he brought you back down onto his cock again. You moaned helplessly in his arms, your nails digging faintly into his shoulder, but still—you didn’t help. You didn’t ride him. He rode you.

“Feel that?” he panted, kissing your cheek as he fucked up into you again. “All you gotta do is hang on, baby. Let me do everything.”

You nodded weakly, whimpering his name.

Bucky didn’t stop—he walked.

Still inside you, he carried you down the hall. Each step jostled his cock inside you, and your breath hitched, your lips finding his jaw as your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist.

He reached the kitchen. Stepped right up to the island.

And set you down.

He pulled out with a wet sound, just enough to turn your body around and push you gently against the cool countertop. Bent you forward with a hand between your shoulder blades. Then he slid back in—smooth and full—until your hips met the edge of the marble and he bottomed out.

He set a faster rhythm now.

Still not rough. But urgent. Deep. Powerful.

The sounds between your bodies were obscene—slick, needy, relentless. You cried out softly, arms slack on the counter, face pressed to the smooth surface. Bucky groaned above you, hands gripping your waist tight, pulling you back into each thrust like he couldn’t stand being even an inch away.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, hips snapping forward. “This pussy was made for me. You were made for me.”

You were close again. He could feel it—feel the way your walls clenched around him, feel the heat blooming again in your core. But before it crested, he pulled out.

You whimpered, almost sobbed at the loss.

“Shhh,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “Not yet, baby. You’ll come again. Just not here.”

He lifted you again, cock still hard, twitching against your stomach. Carried you to the living room like you weighed nothing, and laid you flat on the couch. Your limbs sprawled, loose and spent, head sinking into the cushions.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t even try.

And Bucky smiled.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, kneeling onto the couch. “So good for me, baby. Letting me use every inch of you.”

He climbed onto the couch, knees bracketing your torso now—straddling you fully, just above your belly. His cock hung heavy and flushed, resting right over your sternum. From this angle, you didn’t have to do a thing—just lie there and let him use your body like it was made for him.

And slid his cock between them.

You moaned as the hot, heavy weight of him pressed into the softness of your chest. He moved slow at first, hips rolling, the head of his cock brushing your chin with every pass. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he groaned. “You’re so soft. So warm. Just right for me.”

His pace picked up slightly—still controlled, still reverent. He pressed your breasts tighter together, guiding the friction with both hands, watching your spit-slick skin mold perfectly around him.

“You fit me everywhere,” he murmured, voice breaking slightly. “Doesn’t matter where—I touch you and it’s like you were made for me.”

You watched him—watched his abs tighten, his jaw slacken, his throat work around the moan he tried to hold in.

“God, baby, I love you,” he rasped, cock twitching between your breasts. “I fucking love you. So much.”

You whimpered, overwhelmed.

Every inch of you was soaked in him—in his body, his scent, his words.

He leaned in, breathing hard now, and kissed you again—messy and full of need, still moving between your tits as he whispered against your mouth:

“You’re mine,” he said, almost breathless. “Every part of you. All mine.”

—

And then you felt it.

His rhythm stuttered. His hips jerked forward one last time, harder, needier, and he groaned—deep and broken—as he came.

His cock pulsed between your breasts, warm ropes spilling over your chest, streaking across your flushed skin in slow, heavy spurts. You felt the heat of it trickle down between your ribs, painting you in him. Marking you. His seed glistened against your skin, sacred and hot, and Bucky moaned again at the sight of it.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered, voice frayed. “All covered in me.”

But he wasn’t done.

Even as his breath trembled and his hands shook, he shifted lower, sliding back down your body, guiding the head of his cock to your entrance again.

He pushed in slow.

You whimpered—high and soft—as he filled you, gentle this time, deeper than before. You were so warm. So soft. So still. Bucky felt like he was sinking into heaven.

Your body didn’t fight him.

It welcomed him.

He leaned in close, nose brushing your cheek, mouth near your ear.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered. “I promise, baby. Just wanna feel you. Wanna make love to you until you forget your name.”

You moaned weakly, barely able to respond. Your hands twitched beside you, limp and useless, but your legs parted more, letting him in fully.

He rocked into you with reverent precision. Each thrust smooth, slow, sure. Like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was branding his love into you. Etching himself into your bones. His chest brushed yours, your breasts bouncing softly with every movement as his vibranium hand cradled one, thumb sweeping lazily over your nipple.

“I love you,” he panted, thrusting deeper. “I’m yours.”

Another slow roll of his hips.

“You’re mine. You’re everything.”

He leaned down again, kissing you hard, tongue sliding into your mouth with a groan. You moaned back—exhausted, overwhelmed, but drowning in the warmth he kept pouring into you. It felt like being held from the inside out. Like being blanketed in love.

He never stopped.

His pace stayed gentle, but it carried a rhythm that built and built, soft waves crashing into your core. Your whimpers grew louder. Higher. His name left your lips in broken pleas.

“Bucky…”

“I got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here.”

You felt your high coming again—slow and blinding. Your whole body tensed, your back arched faintly. Bucky felt it. Matched it. He moved faster, never rough, just deep and steady and so full of love it hurt.

He came again right as you did.

Your body jolted—not from pain, but from the force of it. A tremble that started deep inside and rolled outward, stealing your breath. Your walls clenched tight around him as he spilled into you, cock pulsing, burying it all as deep as he could. He groaned, his face tucked into your neck, his hand gripping your side like he couldn’t let go.

And you…

You were floating.

Eyes half-shut. Lips parted. Chest rising slowly.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

But not from pain. Not from exhaustion.

From comfort.

From the way he’d loved you so gently you didn’t know where you ended and he began.

Your voice came out soft. Barely audible.

“Feels too good… I can’t… open my eyes…”

Bucky chuckled against your skin, still catching his breath. He pressed a kiss to your temple, to your cheek, then your mouth.

“Yeah?” he murmured, brushing damp hair from your face. “I fucked you to sleep, didn’t I?”

You gave the faintest nod, your lashes fluttering.

“I didn’t even move,” you mumbled, drifting. “Didn’t do anything…”

“And still took it all like my good girl,” he whispered, smiling as he pulled the blanket from behind the couch and draped it over you both. “Go on, baby. Sleep. I’ll hold you.”

And he did.

With one arm wrapped under your back and the other splayed over your stomach, he kissed your forehead and let you melt into him—completely spent, completely safe.

Just how he always wanted you.

—

You didn’t wake slowly—you woke deeply.

Like surfacing from the bottom of a still ocean, lungs full of peace, limbs heavy with satisfaction. You blinked your eyes open and stared at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented by how still everything felt. No tension in your shoulders. No buzzing anxiety. Just the slow, warm ache between your legs, and the lingering hum of being held.

You shifted your head slightly—and that’s when you realized:

You were no longer on the couch.

Bucky must’ve moved you sometime while you slept. You were on a rolled-out floor mattress now, cozy and plush, layered with your softest throw blankets. Your favorite pillow cradled your head. Another one—the plushie he always teased you for loving—was tucked under your arm. And you were fully wrapped in a blanket, warm and clean and cocooned in the unmistakable comfort of care.

Everything smelled like Bucky.

And steak.

You heard it—faint sizzles and the dull clatter of utensils from the kitchen just beyond the living room. A warm light glowed under the doorframe. Something soft played on the TV, volume barely audible. It was the most comforting thing you’d felt in months.

You blinked again, then slowly pushed yourself up on one elbow, turning toward the source.

He was there—Bucky, in grey sweatpants and a fitted tee now, barefoot, hair loosely tied, standing over the stove like he belonged in someone’s quiet dream. He glanced up just as you stirred.

A smile curled his lips.

“Well, well. Morning, sleeping beauty.”

You rubbed your eyes, voice thick with sleep. “Morning? What time is it?”

“Eight,” he said, glancing at the oven clock.

“…Eight? Like. PM?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You stared at him, stunned. “We… we started before noon.”

He chuckled, plating up a steak with practiced ease. “We made love a little before, yeah. You passed out sometime after round three.” He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “You’ve been out cold for a solid eight hours.”

Your jaw dropped. “I slept eight hours? In the middle of the day?”

“Didn’t move a muscle,” he teased. “I carried you off the couch, set up the mattress, tucked you in with your favorite plushie—like putting down a baby deer.”

You flushed, flopping dramatically back into the pillows, blanket pulled to your chin. “God.”

He kept talking as he worked. “Though, to be fair… I’m the one who ran more than ten miles, carried you home uphill, and did all the work.”

You sat up again just to pout at him. “You’re a different breed, Bucky. You’re enhanced. That’s like… cheating.”

You meant it playfully, but something bitter curled inside the words. You hated how small you sometimes felt in comparison. And Bucky, sharp as ever, caught it.

He set the plate down, turned off the stove, and walked straight toward you.

In three quiet strides, he was crouching beside the mattress, warm hands finding your waist before you could blink.

“Hey,” he murmured, gently pulling you into him. “You’re not less just because I can carry you like a backpack.”

You snorted against his chest. “You did carry me like a backpack.”

He laughed softly, then tilted your chin up, brushing a kiss across your forehead.

“Okay,” he said, smiling, “but think about the perks of having an enhanced boyfriend.”

You raised a brow, already bracing.

He leaned in close, voice smug. “Like… wonderfully good sex?”

You smacked his arm with a sleepy glare, biting back a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me anyway.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do.”

He kissed you again—slow, easy, full of affection. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. Just gave.

You melted into his chest, arms draped around his waist. His scent surrounded you—clean soap, wood smoke, faint traces of sweat and your own body on him—and your whole body exhaled in relief. Like you hadn’t realized how much you needed him until just now.

You opened your eyes again just to look at him.

His face.

His warmth.

His whole being.

And you knew, with a fullness so deep it didn’t even need words—

You were his. And he was yours.

Inseparable. Unshakable. Built to last.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #જ⁀➴ by elle #requested fic by elle #mcu!bucky smut #mcu!bucky #mcu!bucky fic #bucky x fem reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #queuedtie pie

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jyunhology · 1 day ago

Text

oh, honey lady ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (m)

summary: when you get stood up and cancelled on one too many times, your friend takes it upon herself to get you to enjoy a night out. but you’re faced immediately with the source of your woes pressed up to another and a bartender who catches on quickly. the latter offers to dance with you; will you say yes?

a/n: have been getting a lot of feels for mingi lately .. i blacked out n wrote this aft watching the recent ateez whodunnit because jesus christ that man looked FINE acting as a bartender.

wc: 6.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! bartender!mingi, softdom!mingi, sub!reader, reader's (ex) bf is a loser, reader lowkey traumatised from her (ex) bf, mingi is very understanding, consumption of alcohol (however, they’re not drunk during the deed, just a little tipsy), grinding in a public space (a club lol), lots of teasing, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, praise, use of pet names (baby, honey, doll), bit of fluff in the middle, clit stimulation, unprotected p -> v sex (pls wrap it up irl), creampie, slight aftercare, mingi is so soft and patient with reader .. ❤️

No matter how much you knew this wasn’t your fault, you still can’t help but find fault with yourself — looks, personality, fashion. You passed it off the first time as something akin to a mistake, a miscalculation with the overtime your boyfriend, Hyunjae, had to do because of his recent promotion.

With mumbled apologies into your hair and fairly enjoyable sex, you thought everything between you both was going to be okay. It was just one dinner date, plus, he made it up to you with a fancy trip over the weekend and several, impressive gifts.

But you think you should’ve known better, because it happened a second time not even a month later, and the cycle repeats itself: sin, repent, and fall back into temptation all over again.

The only mistake you were making was thinking too highly of Hyunjae, assuming temptation was reports and hard work for extra cash, and not having a fucking affair with another woman in the printing room.

By the time the third incident came around, your friend was quick to propose a night out the next day despite your protests, but you know it came from a place of love. With the way she comforted you with memes and funny reels and words of advice, you realised it was the first time you’ve laughed since the supposed dinner at seven.

Ignoring the sinking dread settling in your heart the next afternoon, you shoot a simple ill be out late tonight to Hyunjae before dragging your body out of bed. You moved on autopilot, then, choosing not to acknowledge that he didn’t even return last night, preoccupying yourself instead with picking out your outfit.

And it was easy enough with a clear vision in your head; you weren’t afraid to dress up even after getting together with Hyunjae. This time it wasn’t any different — miniskirt, a cute fitted top and boots — that you already felt a bit better upon arriving at a bar for some pregame. The alcohol felt good, the company was better, and the both of you were already giggling and tipsy when you entered the club.

“Isn’t this way better than crying over that dumbass?” Yunjin nudges you gently before offering you a small smile.

You sigh, “I guess. I just don’t want it to be a recurring thing and make you responsible every time.”

“At least you know your limit now,” She loops an arm around you to keep you close as you two walk deeper into the club. “Still, as much as I love you, it was difficult trying to get you out of the club because you’d only be talking in counts of 8.”

Ever the teasing friend, you nudge her back before breaking into laughter together, heading right to the bar for a lighter drink. It’s buzzing with orders left and right with the (possibly) poor newcomer trying his best to work the counter with all its confusing buttons. But he’s saved by another, a taller, more experienced bartender who was definitely carved by gods.

You try not to gawk, though, feeling guilty even when he shoots the two of you a small customer-service smile. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll get to ya soon.” The moment he’s turned around, Yunjin shakes your arm excitedly.

“What? what?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! Tell me you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yunjin…” You sigh. “You know Hyunjae and I aren’t broken up—”

“Yet.” She interrupts with that single word and you shoot her a half playful, half serious glare.

“Okay, but, I have no business looking at other people just ’cause I’ve been stood up thrice.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, recognising that it really didn’t sound good out loud.

“Yeah, but don’t you think those are enough times to call things off?” She faces you completely now with both hands on your arms, trying to look you in the eye while you shrink, flustered and a bit embarrassed at how easily you seem to crawl back to Hyunjae.

Because you felt that if you let this go, you’d never feel this way ever again, having someone else walking out your life again like clockwork.

Your fingers tense subconsciously; clenching, unclenching. You settle for taut hands to your friend’s, removing them with the little fight left in you. “Yunjin, can— can we please drop this for now? I came out to forget my boyfriend for a bit, and then I’ll go back home and everything will be f—”

But the universe has other plans for you, conversation cut short from the handsome bartender asking about your orders now.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. What will you two be having?” In the midst of wiping his hands on the towel, he leans over the counter just as Yunjin gives her order, but you swear over the booming music, the bass reverberating, the screamed lyrics, you hear familiarity.

It’s funny how habitual you can become with someone; hearing that same laugh in your skin on slow mornings and during reruns of B99 that you can’t help but search the dancefloor frantically.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you think you were chasing that familiarity and safety of having someone even though they were shit at showing up.

But along the desperate scans you do with your eyes, you register that you were simply accustomed to having Hyunjae in your life, accustomed to coming back again to an empty house. Yet, you can’t even remember the last time you said I love you to him.

And always trust your gut, because that sinking feeling from earlier comes back tenfold when your eyes lock onto two people on the floor with bodies leaving no space.

Hyunjae has no qualms about getting caught, his hands roaming all over her body and practically grinding from behind that you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yunjin…” The lights were too blinding, the music now too loud, but you don’t have to say anything to know she’s already helping you onto a bar stool. When she turns to where you were looking, her jaw tightens and wordlessly places a hand on your lower back.

You go through emotions, fast — denial, and then anger and then a hint of sadness. But what you’re mainly feeling is a thirst for revenge knowing he thinks you’re a coward, a girl desperate for love.

Maybe you are, and there’s nothing wrong with mourning what you had. Though, being cancelled on three times within two months and spewing lies about overtime, ignites your resolve easily.

All the while, the bartender watches the interaction carefully, skilled hands still able to fulfill people’s orders, but he’s got you and your boyfriend all figured out. Not that he meant to eavesdrop, though, exchanging a glance with your friend until you raise your head with unshed tears.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment. That your boyfriend?” He nodded in the general direction and had probably used that line countless times, but you give credit where credit’s due; he was attractive and didn’t choose to comment on your glossy eyes.

With semi-long hair, pretty moles and plump lips, you want to enjoy this seat a bit longer, proposing a silly idea as you nod.

“Ex-, now. Do you have any chance to get them both kicked out?” You smile, small and unsure, but he replies with an even sweeter smile laced with sympathy that makes your heart skip just a little.

“No can do. If he’s not causing trouble, our bouncers have no reason to throw him out. Sorry, ladies.” For a moment, he’s back to being professional and tries not to steal glances at you as you blink away tears and attempt to appear unaffected.

He serves the drinks he’s already made, helps the counter boy again with orders until he hears your friend beg again when he comes ’round to your side.

“Oh please, Mr Bartender!” He raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on the both of you while capping his shaker before shaking. You purse your lips teasingly despite your blurred vision and the heat on your cheeks, “She can be pretty persuasive.” God, you didn’t even know what you were feeling at the moment.

He shrugs. “Well, tell you what — I get off my shift in about fifteen, and you’re looking for some retribution. Why don’t we do a little dance of our own?”

With a sigh, you ponder over your cards — Hyunjae might be pleasantly surprised and you’d end up with a hot bartender in your arms to boot. But if this is only going to leave a hole in your heart after everything, what really was the point?

“It’s your call, doll. If you’re still holding this,” He holds up a slim piece of metal that matches the club’s colours with its letters engraved in stark white, “by the time I come back, I’m taking you onto the floor for a dance. Deal?”

It’s dropped into your palm before you flip it over, running a thumb over the debossed name.

“Mingi.”

“You got it.” Mingi gives you a dazzling grin and a wink while you stifle a smile.

You spend the next ten minutes debating your options that you can’t count the amount of times Yunjin had to get your attention back on her. Revenge sounded delicious before.

Now? Now you’re waddling deep in doubt, worried about the aftertaste; all you wanted was to go home and sleep this whole thing off. Even the name tag was weighing heavy in your hand.

But the late nights cooking dinner, sitting alone at restaurants and the sheer indifference Hyunjae’s currently dancing with, did you in.

If you were chickening out only so someone this terrible stays, then you might regret this single night with someone else who already has shown you more respect than Hyunjae ever did.

The music is a bit clearer to you, now, and less suffocating as you call out to the bartender with five minutes left until his shift ends. You play with the pin at the back, unfastening and popping it back into place repeatedly.

“I’ll take a Lemon Drop.” A knowing smile, a swipe of your card, sugar sweet on your lips. It hits great, and with a bit of liquid courage in you, you wait.

Mingi is quick to show up by your side a few minutes later, but he manages to take your breath away all over again with a more casual look.

Jewellery, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt down to his pecs that gives you a glimpse of a pretty little pendant resting nicely on his chest and rings adorning his fingers.

“Care for a dance?” His deep voice up close already has your stomach turning, opening your hand to show how you still had his name tag and he grins. “Keep it for now.”

You barely hear the whisper into your ear, but without any second thought you place your hand in his, the metal of his rings sending shivers right up your arm and down your spine. A faint cheer from Yunjin encourages you on, already feeling the addicting beats of the music playing.

Mingi is considerate above all else, looking back to see if you were still there, clearing a path for the both of you until you’re a few bodies away from Hyunjae. But standing out here now brings another wave of panic and embarrassment.

You were really about to do this, but—

What if he doesn’t like the way you danced? What if he’s a clean freak and would rather not have his hands over your already sweaty sides? What if Hyunjae creates a scene?

The thoughts are never-ending, swirling in your mind until you can feel Mingi’s hand enclose around your other hand, halting you from adjusting your outfit, from scratching at your skin.

It’s hot, too crowded for a dance floor and he knows that you’re nervous again with the increased proximity to your boyfriend.

Without words, Mingi brings your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

You nod. Bodies beside you cause you to inch closer to him and his hair is so soft. Your tongue tingles from the lemon’s sourness and you want nothing more than to balance it out with his mouth that smells of rum.

“Hey, I realise I haven’t gotten your name just yet.” The smile he has isn’t teasing, cocky, and you manage a small one back. He leans down to get your answer.

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Pretty. Follow my lead.”

And slowly but surely, you get out of your shell as you both lose all formality with the ear-splitting songs. The cocktail makes your hands wander, trailing over his nape, over his broad shoulders. He still hovers.

You don’t know whether it’s Mingi, the dim lighting or the song but you don’t hesitate to force his hands to your sides and he takes it as a sign.

He’s pulling you close until you’re pressed to his front, head immediately going for your exposed neck, and the laugh that escapes feels so different from Hyunjae, so free that you giggle with him.

It turns from wanting to Hyunjae to see you could do so much better to genuinely enjoying your time with the bartender that you don’t register the shock forming on Hyunjae’s face when he spots you just a few people over. Mingi doesn’t miss it, squeezing your waist softly to bring it to your attention.

“B-babe? What’re you doing here?” He acts like he doesn’t even know the girl dancing with him, yanking her off of him as he tries to preserve his dignity. But you knew better — you’ve seen her face at company dinners, on his Instagram story.

“Why are you here?” He sputters out an answer, not expecting you to fight back. Hyunjae’s smaller than ever now.

The bartender resists the urge to scoff at his lack of explanation, about to tell him to piss off when you push at Hyunjae with a finger. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. Witnessing you and the girl you told me not to worry about. Talking crap about overtime just to fuck her in your workplace.”

“W-What? That’s bullshit, where’d you even get that from?!”

Thank God for Mingi’s Lemon Drop, because you shove Hyunjae harder than before, angering the people behind him who push him back towards you.

“Guess you’ll never find out how. Get your shit out of my apartment and leave before tomorrow morning or else I’ll be telling your boss about inappropriate workplace conduct.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes and waves you off, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I hope the job market’s ready for someone who promised overtime hours only to soil the printing room. Keep checking your emails babe.” You purposefully drag out the pet name he likes to use on you, which now sounds cheap and tacky. Mingi can’t help a cackle from escaping, tugging you closer as if you’re his.

And you might just be by the end of this night.

Hyunjae doesn’t bother to one-up the bartender one bit, only throwing Mingi a scowl before elbowing himself through the crowd. Unknowingly, your body relaxes, melting into the other’s arms easily and wanting nothing more than to turn off your brain for the night. It makes Mingi smile.

You’re bolder when the night deepens. It starts with running your hands down his chest and grasping softly at his waist. There’s whispered lyrics into your skin, letting him trail kisses down your jawline to your sternum and you feel like you’re on top of the world.

His body’s flush against yours, tensing and breathing hard. The heat’s suffocating and the kisses sweet, hovering over just where you both need each other desperately.

“Heard you’re a dancer,” Mingi mumbles, sneaky hands going past your hips to your ass and kneads. You laugh.

“You heard whatever Yunjin said? It was one time,” You reminisce about the time you went out for her birthday before getting shit-faced drunk and talking to her only in counts, “and she was struggling to understand what I was saying.”

It takes a beat for you to take the leap. “Want me to show you?”

A pretty laugh leaves his lips, “Your dancing or your innate ability to only talk in eights?”

Fuck, he’s handsome and funny.

“Har-har, very funny.” The moment’s playful but charged with underlying tension that only increases once the song changes. With a hand, you lift his head from your neck, taking advantage of his surprise to turn around.

Pushing up against him, you make sure he’s feeling every part of your ass on him, swaying your hips until you get a small groan from him. Tempted, Mingi places his hands along your waist, helping you grind down on him while arousal pools in your panties.

He’s enamoured with how well you fit against him, even more so when you lace your fingers with his, tugging one up to rest on your chest.

He takes the bait with how you turn your head, boasting your pretty lips with eyes closed. But you’re not letting him get what he wants that easily, finger pressed against his lips.

“Did the Lemon Drop do this, hm?” He’s back on your neck like it’s his home, slurring his words in that deep, deep voice of his that you want nothing more than to hear that for the rest of your life (and hopefully in your bed tonight).

“Maybe.” You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, but it’s cut short when he suddenly yanks you back to his front; shit, you can feel his hard-on — he’s big.

You subconsciously gulp and pull him closer (not without a mildly surprised “oh”), overwhelmed with the feeling of his chest against yours, of his hips moving in tandem with yours, of his breath on your lips.

“I’m full of surprises, too.”

“That was so corny.” Biting your lip, you try to stifle a smile but it bleeds out past your lips, “You’re lucky I still want to fuck you.”

“Aw, only fuck?” He feigns sadness as he bats his eyelashes at you. That question probably would’ve made you think twice, but with Mingi’s little pout, the vodka in your system and Rihanna in the background, you throw all complicated feelings out the window.

“Shut up, Mingi.”

That elicits a low chuckle. “Gladly.”

He collides with you immediately, lips moulding into yours like two parts of a whole that you stumble a bit from the force. But you waste no time in reciprocating with neediness of your own, tugging him down to you with hands tangled in his black hair.

You could care less about your ex, about Yunjin excitedly texting you from the bar, nor the people around you.

Not when Mingi’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and your pussy’s just desperate for relief that you moan softly into his mouth.

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulls away for air, but he’s already hooked onto your taste, leaving pecks on your lips again and again. His hands rest comfortably on your sides, caressing, squeezing. “Need to hear that in my sheets.”

You mutter a soft fuck before licking your lips, “Your place?”

Mingi hums into your lips, “You have my name tag, baby. It’s up to you,” and grins when he sees you jolt. The pet name affects you. He knows.

Fuck it. You need this man now.

With a quick text to Yunjin, everything that happens on the way to Mingi’s doesn’t exist. The ride was both a torment and a blur when his hand trails so closely to where you need him and his hips adjust uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. You’re so horny that you’re sure you’ve sobered up already.

You lunge forward once the front door’s closed, eagerness undermining both your abilities to remove your shoes, too preoccupied with devouring the other.

Mingi tastes like sage and citrus, a flavour you’ll keep locked away forever; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, and that taste travels down your body, taking his time.

Mingi’s anything but composed, though, larger hands wrapped around your middle while he takes in your scent and sweat, nose pressed against your heaving stomach.

Just a mere bartender, a one-night stand acting like a lover when he fully goes onto his knees and zips open your boots. Torturously, agonisingly slow, and removes them even slower.

By the time the second shoe’s off, your hand has already messed up his hair. You push him to you, he pulls back.

“It’s my time to tease, doll. Patience.” You whine softly in disagreement, letting him plant soft kisses along your ankle, up to your shin and knees and finally your inner thighs that threaten to tighten in his hold.

“Mingi…” You don’t mean to sound so desperate off the bat, but your cunt’s pulsing and the AC’s sending goosebumps all over your skin and possibly the hottest man alive is on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck, baby, I can smell you from here.” Like a gentleman, he helps you to shimmy out of your miniskirt and underwear before tossing it somewhere and you’re suddenly self conscious about being all exposed.

But Mingi simply doesn’t care about decorum as he lifts your leg, prompting you to place it on his shoulder. He marvels at your arousal illuminated by the doorway lighting, stifling a moan.

“Look at you.” Sighing, he plays with your folds, trailing a finger up and down and smirking when he feels you shiver under his touch. “So perfect. All this for me?”

“Y-Yeah, just for you,” Your words are muffled from your hand, trying to hold back your sounds but Mingi isn’t having any of that. He thinks your ex-boyfriend may have something to do with it.

“Let me hear you, alright, honey?” Mingi takes your hand and interlocks it together with his, a promise that you’ll be the star tonight. “We’re safe here, there’s no need to hold back.”

You nod just as he blows into your cunt, making you clench around nothing and he smiles. “For now, let me eat my meal.”

And Mingi eats, convincing yourself that you’ve definitely driven a hole through his shoebox cabinet with how hard you were leaning against it. Your hips buck against his face, tongue flicking over your clit as you relish in the pleasure.

“Oh my G-God, Mingi…” You can barely hold eye contact with him as he latches onto your pussy like a vice, addicted to your taste, your sounds and how you drip endlessly all over his tongue.

“That’s it, doll, tell me how good you feel.” Mingi continues to inch closer on his knees, trapping himself under your thighs as his tongue works wonders.

With an experimental finger, he circles your pulsing hole and pushes in ever so slightly, making you almost keel over from the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi, that feels so—!” Your moans fill his house together with the lewd sounds of your pussy, feeling the vibrations of his hums on your sensitive clit. His thumb plays with it as he comes up for air, adding a second finger easily before starting to pump them with determination.

“That feel good?” He’s brutal in his thrusting, but it’s not even a minute when he returns with his merciless tongue again, swearing that you were seeing stars from this alone.

If Mingi was this pussy drunk, who knows how you’d feel when he’s in you? You tremble at the thought, fingers pulling at his hair until it stings.

But Mingi loves it, loves seeing your eyes flutter close and your toes curl in sheer pleasure as the prettiest mewls fall from your lips. You’re full on grinding into his face now, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, while there’s the audible slick sounds of your juices.

It’s hotter than it was on the dance floor, and fully knowing you’d be buckling to the ground if it wasn’t for Mingi’s secure hold on you. Because you can feel yourself getting weaker and weaker the more the coil in your stomach turns, clamping down hard on his fingers.

“I-I’m close, baby—” Your words slip, every part of your body tingles and he pants out a plea.

“Call me that again for me, doll.” He’s ravishing you, ruining you for any other person and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His rings feel so cold on your cunt, while his mouth’s hot and he’s dizzy off of you.

“Gonna cum, baby,” If your friend couldn’t understand you while drunk, Mingi’s chest puffs with pride making you babble nonsensical things while you’re both tipsy with his name being the only coherent thing, “Mingi, Mingi, Mingiiii.”

The name becomes a chant together with needy whines that’s drowned out by your soaking pussy. Mingi lets the force of his palm stimulate your clit instead, and the visual of seeing him on his knees with this tongue out—

“F-fuck…” Your orgasm hits you in sudden waves, sending you jerking against his hold even when his fingers don’t slow down, “Feels s’good, Mingi—”

“There we go, baby, keep cumming… Taste just like honey.” Mingi groans and drives his tongue along your folds for a taste, but now he takes and takes, savouring whatever you have to give. Sweeter than his Lemon Drop, you taste so heavenly that he wants seconds.

But you have other plans, trying your best to regain your balance and simultaneously drag him up by the biceps. Mingi traps you in between the cabinet, and you trap him with a passionate kiss. Moaning into his mouth at your taste while he soothes your aching thighs with his gentle touch.

“Bed. Now.” Your cheeks warm as he laughs against your lips at your request.

“You got it, doll.” With a hand outstretched, you grab hold and let him lead you just like the club. Along the way, you slip on your underwear just so you won’t be butt ass naked and he throws you a small smile. Except this time, you’re not performing for anyone, not for Hyunjae, not for yourself, and hopefully not for Mingi.

Though, if riding Mingi’s tongue had you thrashing left and right, you think you’d be safe, knowing he’ll take care of you.

His room feels strangely familiar — posters and records plastered up everywhere with a portable closet and pretty lights. There’s a few guitars in cases with one displayed proudly while his desk is littered with cute trinkets and a gaming set-up. It’s a lived-in bedroom, worn down from years of tape on walls and accidents from silly dance moves.

“Hard to believe I’m an adult with this room, huh?”

You smile at him, finding it endearing he’s still kept his hobbies and favourite things close to him. “No no, it’s charming. I like it.”

You continued, “I don’t think having a ‘serious’ job like bartending immediately eliminates your other hobbies.”

Mingi shoots you that boyish grin again, “You think my job’s ‘serious’?” and mimics your air quotes.

“Well, you are handling alcohol — it seems pretty serious, don’t you think?” There’s no choice but to giggle when Mingi’s expression turns from all-knowing to pondering. “And— And there’s always the usual brooding persons that come in to vent their problems to you.”

Mingi bursts out laughing at that with an attractive rasp to it, plopping on his Queen size. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess I’m sort of like a therapist too.”

Like a magnet, you feel the pull into his arms just as he whispers a c’mere, finally able to see his face properly when you stand in between his legs.

The glistening juices on the bottom half of his face make you flush just a bit, but up close, Mingi feels so familiar. Not the way Hyunjae was — that was habit disguised as familiarity.

But despite your unconfirmed fate and the possibility of never seeing Mingi again, he enchants like no other. Fuck, you were talking crazy.

The other seems to see your dilemma, reaching for your hands. “We don’t have to do anything, you know?”

His touch is so tender, it makes your heart ache, “I know we only danced to scare off your boyfriend but I genuinely did want to know you. And… I know you feel it too, but I don’t wanna pressure you after seeing such a shitty thing in the club.”

“You’re… not wrong, Mingi. It has been only a few hours and you’ve already made me feel more worth than he ever did but, I’ll need time to process my feelings too.”

Slowly, you remove your hands from his but only to straddle him in the next second, whining softly when he tugs you closer if that was even possible.

“But tonight, I want you to fuck all the feelings out of me. I don’t wanna think, I don’t wanna—” You heave a heavy sigh, swallowing when you think back to Hyunjae and his colleague.

Mingi applies light pressure to your side to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s no problem. Your wish is my command, tonight.”

“And after—”

“We’ll talk about the after later, don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it.” You don’t even realise he’s flipped you over but he takes his time to remove his pants and boxers, ego stroked just a little when he sees your wide eyes at his size.

“You’re…”

“I know, baby. We’ll take it slow, alright?” Mingi is steady even as he reaches over for a condom, but you stop him.

“Wanna feel all of you.” He swears his heart bursts at your cute pout. “I’m clean and on the pill, that okay?”

“More than okay. I’m clean too. You sure you’re okay?” He asks as he tugs your panties to the side, interrupted briefly from your impatient hum.

“Yes, Mingi. Please just fuck me already.” Your voice is less bratty, more pleading, but it strikes a chord within him. He obeys immediately.

“Okay, okay!” His deep laugh elicits one out of you, too. At least you don’t stop him from taking the lube — he spurts a good amount and strokes himself with a soft grunt, mixing in with his pre-cum. Relief. “It’s gonna hurt. Need you to breathe and relax, okay?”

Mingi’s already much thicker than your ex, and you hiss slightly at the stretch once he inches his cock in. But it’s nothing you can take, eyes trained on how he’s pushing through slowly.

“F-Fuck, baby, you gotta stop clenching. So tight—” You whimper at the sight, but Mingi uses his body to push you down, distracting you with deep kisses that subconsciously relaxes your body. His intoxicating smell and presence does the rest of the job.

“Taking me so well, good girl.” He mumbles into your skin as you become obsessed with the way his body engulfs yours, towering but certain.

His pendant’s movements are messy, colliding with your chin over and over but Mingi is just so deep it doesn’t register in your head. “Just a little more, honey, you got it.”

In the next minute, Mingi’s loud groan fills your ears, bottoming out in your walls that feel so warm that he never wants to pull out.

His furrowed eyebrows with sweat lined along it paired with his beautiful parted lips is enough to make your cunt pulse and heart full — making a pretty man like him lose his mind over you, desperation and profanity spilling over.

“M-Move, baby, please—” With a slow thrust of his hips, he has to drop his head to yours because you just feel too fucking good wrapped around his aching length. Both your shaky breaths mingle as he sets a comfortable pace that allows you both to feel every part of the other.

And his languid movements have never felt slower and more intense, the obscene noises of your soaking pussy stuffed full reverberating off the walls. It surrounds you like a cloud, making the feeling, the sensations rise to an all time high.

It’s worse when Mingi folds your legs to your chest, the image of his shaft disappearing into your pretty little pussy searing itself into his brain.

Mingi keeps his promise to you, taking your one-worded pleas and turning them into repeated “ah’s” with no room for any word or any doubt left in your mind. By now, he’s pistoning in and out of you, your release from earlier merging with the lube until both you and Mingi are filthy and soaking, juices flowing down your thighs and right into his sheets.

“You’re so wet, holy f-fuck—” His eyes are the ones struggling to stay open now, drunk off of everything you that he can’t even move his hips properly, stuttering every now and then.

There’s the delicious squelches every time his skin meets yours, the dizzying pap! pap! pap! that hypnotises you. “Listen to how wet your sweet pussy is, baby.”

You’re past words, only babbling incoherence as Mingi grunts above you, continuing to fill you up with his cock. His thrusts start to turn erratic, so lost in the feeling that the grip on your legs loses its hold. You take the chance to wrap them around his waist, barely catching his pendant and yanking him towards you.

“Kiss me stupid, Mingi.” The long, drawn out moan against your lips sends heat bubbling up from inside you. And the kiss he lands on you leaves fire along your skin, burning indefinitely until a particular thrust has your eyes rolling back.

“Cumming— f-fuck—!” It comes out in broken sobs as you see white, cumming so hard on his pulsating length that your juices spray everywhere and your legs shake uncontrollably. The slight sheen along his cock starts to form a ring of white and he whines at your warmth.

Everything — the craving for you, your tight cunt, how you leak all over him — makes him cum right after. “I-I’m gonna pump you full, baby— shit…”

Your eyes can’t help but roll back again at the sensation of Mingi painting your insides white, cum spurting so deep in you that you can feel it flow out. It’s so warm that you squirm as he holds your hips down, making sure your hole gets every last drop.

Without pulling out, he admires your sweaty top that’s been pushed past your tits, your heaving chest and the remnants of your trembling thighs with a lip bite accompanied by a smile.

Silently, he caresses your outer thighs, slowly bringing your feet down to rest on his soaked sheets. You whimper when you feel him pull out, the salacious sight of cum leaking out from your pussy comes out in blobs; it takes everything in Mingi to compose himself.

Because you were utterly fucked out, eyes constantly blinking with a light-headed expression that tells him he might’ve fucked you dumb. Your little sounds are just adorable that he rubs his cum just one last time over your folds, claiming you.

“Okay okay, baby, I got you.” With a peck to your forehead, Mingi promises to come back with a wet rag and some water and the last thing you remember is sage and citrus wafting through the air as he plants a sweet kiss to your lips. “And then tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out, okay honey?”

You drift off easily, but you’ll find that for now and possibly forever, Mingi always keeps his promises.

A dream — you think, when you wake up, but you recognise that the bedroom is not yours and the ache in your body persists. But to your dismay, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Not until you hear faint humming coming from the kitchen and smell the lovely aroma of pancakes.

“Morning, baby.” Mingi says like you’ve always been in his life, like you’ve lived here for many years, like you’re familiar to him.

“Y-Yeah, good morning, Mingi.” Awkwardly, you take a seat at his island, but as you watch his broad back cooking breakfast for his one-night stand, you relax for a bit.

Mingi piles a few pancakes for you effortlessly, sliding the plate to you, followed by the butter and then holds up maple syrup in his left hand and honey in the other. The question is unsaid, but you nod towards his right with a small smile that’s returned.

“Eat.” With a plate in his hand as well, he plops down beside you as if one-night stands don’t complicate feelings and makes things messy.

But Mingi, the bartender, with a pure heart and even lovelier soul (you have yet to discover this), eats a meal beside you like you’re tied together by fate (maybe).

(You are).

Now, his deep voice sounds small, but sure. “And then we’ll talk feelings after. And we can talk about the ‘after’ after.”

A deep breath for good measure and luck. “And also maybe about the date I’d wanna bring you on.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡ also major thank you to this video which made me lose my mind n inspired this...

#ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi smut #mingi smut #song mingi x reader #song mingi smut #song mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi hard hours #ateez drabbles #ateez mingi x reader #ateez smut #song mingi fanfic #mingi ateez #mingi x you #song mingi ateez

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writer-freak · 2 days ago

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♥ Abby / Abs SFW and NSFW headcanons

A/n: I have Kpop demon hunters brainrot and I just needed to write something. Still not 100% sure how to write the Saja boys, so I decided to start with the one where I have a bit more of a grasp of how I would like his character to be. Headcanons are split into SFW and NSFW — SFW is first, then NSFW is labeled below, Hope you guys enjoy <3

He knows he’s hot. Abby doesn’t just think people are looking, he knows it. Shirt slightly unbuttoned, sweeping his hair effortlessly out of his face, always posing a little when he walks past reflective surfaces.

But when you compliment him? He still gets a tiny bit bashful, like “Yeah? You like this look?” with a smug little grin and ears just slightly pink.

Flirts with you like it’s just in his blood. Constantly teasing you but like in a playful way. “You just gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna kiss me already?”

He makes you laugh and swoon the worst combo because now you’re blushing and giggling at the same time.

Surprisingly domestic. He likes doing “normal” couple things like grocery shopping together, picking out snacks for movie night, and agruing with you (lightheartitly obviously) about which love interest in a movie is the better one

So clingy but in the most endearing way.

You try to get up to grab something, and he just tugs you back into his lap. “Nope. You live here now.” You roll your eyes, but he’s warm and you almost always end up staying.

Always touching you. He has zero sense of personal space when it comes to you, hand holding when walking, arm around your shoulders, hand on your thigh while watching TV.

If you’re near, he’s touching. Period.

Will literally hype you up in public. You show up to an event or just walk into a room looking cute, and he’s so loud about it. “Damn, who let you out looking like that?” wolf whistle fully knowing people are watching.

He’s proud, and he wants everyone to know he’s yours and you're his.

Sleepy snuggler. Once he’s horizontal, he’s immediately draping himself over you like a weighted blanket.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbles, face buried in your neck. He always falls asleep faster when you're there says your presence is “soothing for him”

Cooks only one thing well but insists on making it constantly. It’s something like spicy ramen or grilled cheese and he’ll go, “Trust me, I’m a chef.” Even if it tastes bad how could you ever say no to him.

NSFW

Size kink? Oh absolutely.

Abby is so smug about how easily he can pick you up, manhandle you, carry you around like it’s nothing. He’ll tease you about it constantly “Look at you, so small and squishy. I could ruin you, y'know.

“Is this okay?” always. He may be cocky, but he never forgets to check in. And somehow hearing “You good, babe?” in his deep, slightly growly voice while he’s already got you breathless? Instant fluster.

Loves when you take control. Acts like he’s the one in charge but goes feral when you push him down and ride him instead.

He’ll grip your hips, panting, all “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” while secretly loving every second of it.

Lowkey possessive, but in a sexy way. Marks you up just enough to be visible, loves when you wear his beanie or show up to a concert wearing his oversized hoodie. “You’re mine. Let everyone see.”

Aftercare king. No matter how hot things get, he’s doting af afterward. Carries you to the bath, lets you wear one of his tank tops (he’s obsessed seeing you like this), and spoons you so close like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Constantly murmurs stuff like “You’re everything to me, y'know that?” into your skin while tracing little circles on your back.

Divider by: @diviniyae

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #the saja boys #kdh #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh x reader #kdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #abby x reader #abs x reader #saja boys smut #kpdh #k pop demon hunters #saja boys kpop demon hunters #saja boys kpdh #saja boys abby #Saja boys abby x reader

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em1i2a3 · 7 hours ago

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A House In Nebraska

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x (Ex?)Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: After considering it for a long time, you have decided that it is time to leave the Thunderbolts and pursue a normal life after being passed from team to team for years. When you make the announcement it is met with a mix of emotions, but nobody is taking it harder than Bob.

Warnings: Angst and more Angst (with an ending that everyone will like hopefully), Hurt/Comfort (technically), Bob is going through it kinda, Unspoken Feelings Between Reader and Bob.

Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write this scenario for a while and I was finally able to get an ending that I truly loved and adored, and I am so glad that I was able to finish this and get this out to you guys, and I hope you guys enjoy it <3

Word Count: 8,336

”I’m leaving…”

The words felt foreign as they left your mouth. Soft. Like they didn’t quite belong to you. Like someone else had said them first, quietly, in some dream you didn’t remember waking from. They drifted into the room like smoke–barely there, but impossible to ignore. They were the kind of words that rearranged the air, and twisted it up into something totally different and new.

It was supposed to be a normal night.

Everyone was tucked into their usual spots around the low table in the compound’s common room–takeout containers open, steam curling toward the ceiling, the hum of the base’s heating vents filling the quiet between bites. You had ordered everything–from the popular Chinese takeout place down the road that somehow knew everyone’s preferences better than they knew each other’s. Spicy drunken noodles for Yelena. Chicken, Duck and Pork with extra rice for Alexei. Garlic dumplings with extra garlic and extra chili oil sauce for Bucky. Sweet-and-sour chicken for Walker. Tom Yum Soup and Spring Rolls for Ava. And Bob’s quiet favourite–plain lo mein with shredded pork, no veggies, extra sauce–which was nestled in front of him barely touched.

He had known something was off the moment you said dinner was on you. Everyone did actually. They had racked their brains trying to think if they somehow missed a birthday, or if a holiday passed and somehow they didn’t realize it, but after hours of thinking they had said to themselves that it was just a regular Thursday…Which raised their suspicions and their worries. But nobody could’ve ever expected this.

You were sitting between Bob and Yelena, your knees pulled up under you on the worn-down couch, your tray balanced on your lap. Bob’s thigh was pressed lightly against yours, as it always was–casual, comforting, and familiar, something he always did because it was second nature for him to be close to you. But the second your words hit the air, it was as if that contact felt electric, like a shock went through his body. You could feel him go stiff, and you didn’t even have to turn your head to know he was looking at you.

So was Yelena.

Both their heads had twisted toward you almost simultaneously, disbelief etched into the sharp lines of their profiles. It wasn’t often that they mirrored one another. But tonight, confusion and a quiet thread of betrayal lit up both their expressions like a crack of lightning.

You didn’t dare to look at either of them. You didn’t want to. You didn’t trust yourself not to fall apart. Not when you had already made the impossible decision.

So you kept your eyes on your food instead, though your appetites had vanished hours ago when you made the choice to tell the team tonight about what your plans were.

The silence that overtook the room was instant, not even the low tapping of chopsticks could be heard. Nobody moved, and no one dared to speak.

Except Bucky. Or rather–not Bucky. He was the only one who didn’t react. He stayed perfectly still at the far end of the couch, arms braced on his knees, jaw flexed like he was trying not to wince at how tense the room was at the moment. He blinked slowly, lifted his beer and took a long sip.

He was playing his part well, because he was the only one who knew–the only one you had told. You didn’t want the others trying to stop you. You didn’t want soft glances or hands on your arm or late-night conversations asking if this was about a mission, a memory or a nightmare you couldn’t shake. You didn’t want to be the problem they tried to fix.

You were done being that.

And the only person who you knew would understand where you were coming from was Bucky.

When you had told him, he had looked at you like you were speaking a different language. You had cornered him in the weapons bay a week ago, in the quiet lull between missions. He was restocking tranquilizers, and you just stood there until he looked up.

”I’m leaving,” You had said then. His brow furrowed at the announcement.

”Is everything alright?” You hadn’t hesitated to respond.

”Everything’s fine…I’ve never felt more sure about a decision actually.” That was when he stilled.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t scold you for even thinking about it. He just watched you like he knew how much it cost you to finally say it out loud. He let you speak for what felt like the first time in months. You told him about the way the noise was finally too much. The walls. The walls in your mind and the ones around this compound. You told him about waking up every morning with a part of yourself missing, hollowed out by years of being someone else’s weapon.

Bucky had listened in silence. Because he understood.

He knew what it was like to be built for the battlefield. To want to come home and realize you didn’t even know what home meant.

By the end, he nodded. Not in resignation–but in understanding. He didn’t try to convince you to stay. He promised to keep your secret.

And now, watching him at the edge of the couch–quiet, still, unreadable–you were genuinely impressed. He was playing the part like a professional. Eyes neutral. Shoulders stiff. Not a single twitch of his mouth betrayed what he knew. What only he knew.

Before anyone could speak–before the team could do what you were dreading—you jumped in again.

“I told Val a few days ago,” you said, your voice calm but low. “She’s aware of it. And… She’s actually helping me relocate.” A sharp scoff broke the tension like a blade.

“Bullshit,” Walker muttered, dropping his chopsticks onto his plate with a dull clatter, “Is hell frozen over or something? She would never do that.” You gave him a long look, steady but not unkind.

“I thought the same thing too. Trust me. But Mel followed up with a bunch of housing options…And that’s when I realized she actually meant it. She’s…Allowing me to go.” There was a pause–one of those unnatural ones where it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

And in that silence, you noticed it.

Bob was rubbing his knees. His hands were pressing down on the fabric of his black sweatpants, fists tightening over and over like he didn’t know what to do with them. He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t moved. But something was coming undone beneath the surface, and it was almost unbearable to watch.

Your jaw clenched as you leaned the slightest bit toward him, fingers moving gently to rest over his wrist. You didn’t grip, you just placed your hand there–soft, grounding. It was something small, but he flinched like the contact had burned him. Ava’s voice broke through next, sharp and direct.

“Why the hell are you leaving?” She asked, eyes locked on yours. Her tone was level, but there was something trembling behind it. Something brittle. “You’re one of us. This team–we’ve been through hell together. Why now?” You didn’t answer right away.

You breathed in through your nose. Let it fill your lungs like it might soften the blow. Then you met her gaze.

“I was born into an environment where I was trained to fight. Kill. Infiltrate. Deceive,” you said, each word measured, not cold–but tired. “I never saw the sun until I was sixteen. I was kept in rooms without windows. I was…Catalogued. Modified. Passed around like I was inhuman.”

You swallowed hard.

“I’ve never had a home. Never had a normal day. Never been able to choose anything for myself. I’ve spent my whole life being used–over and over again–and all I want now…Is to live in peace, and to have a normal life. I don’t want to travel and go after people anymore…I don’t want to harm people and fight them to the death. I want to wake up in a house I could call mine, and exist without being needed.” You looked around the table, eyes landing on each of them in turn, “I’m not built for this life anymore…And I know you might hate me for it and think I’m selfish…But my task here is done…” You added.

There was a long pause, thick enough to choke you–and maybe that’s what you wanted.

And then–

“…S-So you can’t live a no–normal life with us?” Bob’s voice was barely a whisper. Barely even a sound. But it shattered something deep in your chest.

You turned your head slowly to look at him.

His face was twisted into something small. Vulnerable. His eyes, wide and watery. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t furious. He was just…Breaking.

“Bob…” You said gently, your voice catching. “You know it’s not like that.”

But he was already pulling his arm away from your touch.

“Sure se–seems like it,” He said, and his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. Then he stood abruptly–too fast, too sharp–and walked out of the room.

His food remained untouched.

The only trace he had even been there was the imprint left in the cushion beside you. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and your lungs were compressing and begging for air.

Yelena let out a slow, frustrated sigh, shifting in her spot, her knuckles turning white around her chopsticks, jaw set tight, clenching so hard it seemed like her teeth made a sharp grinding noise.

“When are you going?” She asked, not looking at you, not daring to even make eye contact. You licked your lips, feeling your throat tighten from the dryness that you were suddenly aware of in the air.

”Next Wednesday.” Yelena let out a low, bitter laugh. One that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well,” She muttered, getting up from her spot slowly, “I hope it’s peaceful for you.” And without another word she walked away too. The remaining warmth of the room had left with her, and in its place was an empty, brittle kind of quiet that came after an argument no one wanted to admit had just happened.

“Wow,” Walker muttered, low and sardonic, shoving a piece of checking into his mouth without looking at anyone, “You really know how to thin out a crowd.” Bucky shot him a sharp look. A warning.

”Walker.” But he turned towards him, fork pausing halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing with that familiar glint of provocation.

”What?” He snapped, “Are we seriously supposed to be okay with this? Just sit here and clap for her while she walks out? We all have fucking baggage here. We all bleed for this team. You were the one that was brainwashed for seventy years, Bucky. If anyone deserves a normal life, it’s you.” His jaw tightened at the comment.

”This is where I want to be, John,” He said firmly, “She doesn’t want to be here anymore…She’s burned out and exhausted. She’s done. Do you understand? Or do I need to get out the whiteboard and draw it out for you like you’re a fucking child?” That shut Walker up for a beat.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the metallic tang of blood blooming faintly on your tongue. Your stomach turned with the weight of being discussed like you weren’t even there, like you were some walking existential crisis just dropped into the center of dinner.

“Can we not act like I’m not sitting right here?” You asked, voice tight and edged.

Walker looked like he wanted to say something back, but Alexei shifted heavily in his chair, making the wood groan under his weight. He leaned forward on his elbows–his plate long forgotten in his lap–and looked at you with something gentle in his eyes.

”I support…Whatever you do,” He started slowly, his accent heavy but words carefully chosen, “You must do what you feel. Think for yourself. Not for team. Not for mission. That is not weakness. That is freedom.” His massive hand reached over and patted your shoulder—solid and warm, like he was trying to anchor you to something. His expression was soft in a way that felt rare. Earnest.

Your eyes stung.

”Thank you Alexei.” You said quietly, throat already tightening from the tears that were threatening to escape. Alexei just nodded and leaned back again, folding his arms over his chest as if he’d said all he needed to.

Walker blew out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded vaguely like “Still think it’s bullshit”, but he didn’t continue to push the subject–he knew it was no use.

As you stared down at your hands–at the faint tremble in your fingers, at the spot where Bob had sat, now empty–you realized something painful and true.

You weren’t just leaving a team…You were breaking a family.

And even though it was the right decision for yourself…That didn’t make it hurt any less.

———————————

You were in your bedroom, surrounded by half-filled boxes–some sealed, some still yawning open with uncertainty. The floor was a mess of folded sweaters, books, tangled cords, and scraps of your life that had clung to the corners of the compound without you realizing it. A permanent layer of dust had formed beneath the bed, now exposed, and a lone sock had somehow ended up behind your nightstand. The hum of the ventilation system buzzed quietly above you, low and steady, the only constant sound in an otherwise hollow space.

There were labels on each box–Clothes, Gear, Kitchen Stuff, Important Docs, To Val–but one sat alone at the edge of your bed.

A box labeled simply: Bob.

Polaroids, mostly. Ones you’d snapped at odd hours, between missions, at safe houses and gas stations and rooftops during sunset. There was one of him half-asleep with his hoodie pulled over his face, slumped sideways on a bench in Prague. One where he was squinting into the camera because you’d caught him mid-chew during a ramen run in Oslo. A few blurry ones he’d taken of you without asking, and you hadn’t even realized until weeks later when you found them in the stack.

You added one last thing–a keychain.

It was dumb. A glittery, over-the-top crescent moon trinket you’d won from a claw machine on a mission in Atlantic City. Bob had said it looked like something a seven-year-old would clip to their backpack. And then later, quietly, he’d asked if you could win him one too.

He’d kept it on him for months before it broke. You’d found the spare in your drawer last week, still sealed in its plastic, and tucked it into the tissue beside the photos.

The ache in your chest hadn’t stopped since that night in the common room. Not once. It hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had grown sharper with every day Bob avoided you. Every time he turned down a hallway the moment he saw you coming. Every time he shut the door a little too fast behind him. You’d tried–three separate times–to catch him when he was alone. To talk. To explain. But each time he shut you down with silence. His eyes flickered, his hands clenched, and he walked away.

He didn’t hate you.

You knew that much.

But something in him had closed off. Locked down. Like if he said a single word, the rest of it–all that golden, aching softness–would pour out and ruin everything.

Yelena, on the other hand, had surprised you.

She gave you a chance.

A few nights after the dinner fallout, she found you in the training bay–sitting against the wall with your knees drawn up, water bottle dripping condensation between your palms. She didn’t ask questions at first. Just sat beside you in silence. For nearly ten minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then she muttered, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

And this time…You did.

You told her everything. Not all at once, not easily, but enough. Enough for her to understand that you weren’t running from the team–you were running toward something you had never been allowed to have. Peace. Quiet. Your own name, your own morning, your own walls that didn’t have reinforced steel embedded in them.

Yelena didn’t say anything when you finished. Not at first.

She just sat beside you, her shoulder barely brushing yours, her eyes fixed on the far wall of the training bay like maybe she was trying to memorize every crack in the concrete. Her jaw was tense. You could hear the way she was breathing through her nose–slow, controlled. Not angry. Just…Processing.

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t the suffocating kind. It was careful. Heavy with meaning. Like the two of you were both sitting in the aftermath of something important.

You didn’t expect her to speak. You didn’t need her to.

Because she stayed.

She didn’t storm off or call you a coward. She didn’t try to talk you out of it. She didn’t even ask you to stay for her. She just sat there with you in the grief of it. Like someone holding vigil beside a wound that couldn’t be stitched.

When she finally did speak, her voice was low. Rough.

“Felt like we were finally building something here,” She murmured. “Like maybe… we were gonna be okay.”

Your throat tightened. “We are gonna be okay.”

She turned to look at you. Not cold. Not bitter. Just…Wounded.

“It won’t be the same.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t lie. You didn’t try to sugarcoat it or cushion the fall with reassurances you couldn’t promise.

Instead, you nodded.

“I know,” You said softly. “It really won’t.”

Yelena blinked slowly, like that answer hurt more than anything you could have said. But there was a kind of respect in it, too. The way she held your gaze. The way she didn’t look away.

You offered her the only thing you could.

“I’ll FaceTime you. Anytime you want. Doesn’t matter what hour it is. If I’m free, I’ll answer.”

She gave a soft, humorless snort and rolled her eyes–but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You say that now. Wait until I call you at three a.m.”

“I’ll still be there…Even if I’m half asleep.” You replied, nudging her shoulder with yours. She looked down at her hands for a moment, then looked back at you, her eyes glossy.

”I’m still mad at you.” You nod.

”I know.”

”And I still think you’re abandoning me…”

You nodded again, “I know that too.” Yelena’s jaw twitched. She looked like she was going to say something else, but then she just reached down, picked up your water bottle, and twisted the cap off. She took a sip and handed it back like nothing had happened. Like the training bay wasn’t holding the fractured pieces of your friendship in its concrete walls.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna miss you,” she muttered.

You smiled, soft and aching. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

She glanced at you again—this time longer. The look in her eyes was weighted, but steadier now. Not entirely okay, but… accepting. Like the fight had drained out of her and what was left was only the sharp sting of goodbye.

“You better not disappear,” she said quietly. “Or I will come find you. And I’ll drag your sorry ass back here kicking and screaming.”

You laughed–really laughed, even as tears burned behind your eyes. “Okay. Deal.” She stood then, brushing her hands on her sweats, and offered you one last look before she walked off.

It was simple. Wordless.

But it said everything.

And after the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The ache in your chest was still there. Still raw. Still full of Bob’s silence and Yelena’s resignation and the ghost of the team you were leaving behind.

But somewhere beneath it all…Was the first glimmer of peace.

———————————

That night, sleep didn’t come—it hovered just out of reach, like a memory you couldn’t hold onto. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind filled with static. Movement. Noise. A hundred moments pressing down on your chest all at once.

So you gave up trying.

The clock read 2:47 a.m. when you finally swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. You pulled on a robe, soft and worn from too many laundry cycles, and padded quietly across the room. The boxes seemed to watch you as you passed—silent witnesses to the pieces of yourself you were leaving behind.

You didn’t bother with shoes. It was spring, and the air was warm enough to touch your skin without biting.

The elevator ride up to the roof was quiet, but your stomach twisted tighter with every passing floor. You weren’t sure what you were hoping to find up there–maybe just some air. Maybe some stillness.

But when the doors slid open with a soft ding, your breath caught in your throat.

Bob was there.

He was lying back on one of the outdoor couches, head tilted up toward the stars, arms folded across his chest. The glow of the rooftop lights had dimmed to their nighttime setting–just enough to paint the space in soft gold. You could see the outline of his shoulders rising and falling, slow and deep.

At the sound of the elevator, he lifted his head slightly. His eyes met yours for only a second before he turned away again and let his head drop back down with a quiet thud against the cushions.

You stepped out onto the roof, swallowing the lump that was already forming in your throat.

“Bob…” You called softly, moving toward him, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t answer.

“You can’t just let me go without saying goodbye.”

Still nothing.

You moved closer, your steps careful, hesitant. When you reached the couch, you saw he had rolled halfway onto his side–facing away from you now, his back rigid, spine curved like he was holding the weight of something that wouldn’t let go. There was just enough space behind him on the cushions. You lowered yourself gently, wedging into the curve his body didn’t fill. Close, but not pressing. Not yet at least.

“C’mon, Bob…” You murmured. “Can you please just talk to me?”

You heard it first. A soft, quiet sniffle.

Then a voice, broken in half:

“Am I not wo–worth staying for?”

The question hit you like a punch to the ribs. You blinked hard, reaching toward him before you could stop yourself. Your hand rested on his chest, over the thin cotton of his t-shirt—his heartbeat thudding unevenly beneath your palm.

“Bob…” You said, your voice catching. “Of course you are. Of course you are. But I can’t stay. I can’t be a Thunderbolt anymore.”

He didn’t look at you.

But you saw the tears glistening on the bridge of his nose, catching in the faint rooftop light as they slid down into the fabric of the pillow.

“So why don’t you ju–just quit the te–team and stay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick and shaking. “Stay with me?” You closed your eyes, your thumb brushing gently back and forth against his chest.

“Because I need a clean slate,” You whispered. “I love you guys so much…But I can’t surround myself with these things anymore. I’m so tired of it.”

His hand rose shakily and settled over yours. His fingers curled around yours like he needed to hold onto something before it slipped away.

And his chest shook beneath your hand as he cried.

“I have been owned by people my entire life,” You said, your voice low and slow, every word weighted. “I never got to make decisions for myself. I never got the choice to be… who I am now. I was born into it. I didn’t get a say. I was punished for things I couldn’t control, and I had to pick up the pieces of myself that I never knew existed.”

Bob was silent, but his grip tightened slightly.

“I have never had a sense of normalcy,” You continued. “I’ve never experienced being on my own–really on my own–and being in control of my own life without the strict schedules of missions or handlers or daily combat briefings. I’ve been surviving for so long, Bob… And I want to live.”

You shifted closer, forehead resting gently between his shoulder blades, your breath warming the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m trying to find who I am outside of a weapon, outside of what I was raised to be. I need to know who that person is. Do you understand?” For a long time, he didn’t say anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the wind brushing across the roof, and the quiet, unsteady rhythm of Bob’s breathing.

Then, finally–so softly you almost didn’t hear it:

“I understand.” He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the side of his face. His eyes were rimmed red, lashes damp. “…But…” He whispered, voice cracking like a fault line beneath the surface, “I ca–can’t imagine living my life without you in it…”

The words struck something so deep inside you, you almost didn’t breathe.

Your heart seized.

A slow, aching twist that started in your chest and moved outward like a ripple through still water. Your eyes filled instantly, no warning, just heat behind your lashes and the sudden blurring of everything around him.

“Bob…” You breathed. The name didn’t even feel like a word–it was just grief in a single exhale. Heavy and fragile all at once.

But before you could say anything else, he moved.

His hand found yours, and with trembling fingers, he brought it to his mouth.

You felt his breath first–hot, unsteady. It fanned across your knuckles like the flicker of a flame. His lips hovered, trembling, and then your fingertips accidentally grazed the curve of his bottom lip. You flinched–barely–but the touch set your pulse reeling.

“Yo–You can’t say that,” You whispered, voice unsteady. “You can’t…”

He nodded, his eyes closed now, like he was bracing for impact.

“I kn–know,” He said, his voice thudding low in his throat. “But I need you to also understand the truth from my eyes as well… I ca–can’t keep that bottled in.”

A single tear broke free from your lashes and slipped down your cheek. You felt it trace your jaw, warm and cold all at once. You didn’t wipe it away.

And then–

His lips pressed to the tips of your fingers.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really.

It was something else.

Like a confession made in silence. A truth laid bare in skin and breath and trembling restraint. You felt the warmth of his mouth wetting your fingertips slightly, felt the tremor in his body as he held you there like he was hoping time might pause.

Like maybe if he just held on long enough, the rest of the world might forget to take you away.

The moment stretched, thick and reverent, until all you could do was whisper into it.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” Bob murmured, mouth still brushing your skin.

“I think I love you.” The words tumbled out before you could catch them–raw and stripped down and full of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

You felt him still beneath your touch.

Then he exhaled–shaky, wrecked.

“I do lo–love you,” He whispered, broken and sure and barely there.

Your throat closed around the sound.

He finally turned to face you fully then–his eyes red and glassy, the soft streetlight glow catching his hair. And the way he looked at you…God. You’d never been looked at like that before. Like you were everywhere in his world. Like you had taken root in the hollow behind his ribs and nothing–not even the grief–could pull you out.

You leaned forward, forehead brushing his, and for a second the two of you just breathed the same air. Sharing silence like it was the only language that wouldn’t break you. Bob wrapped his arms around you like he didn’t know how else to stay whole.

There was no hesitation anymore. He just pulled you into him–tightly, fully–like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against his body. His hand slid up your back and cupped the base of your skull, his fingers trembling slightly in your hair. You buried yourself in his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt warm from his skin, damp from his tears.

“I sh–should’ve said it sooner…” He whispered, voice frayed at the edges. “And I know it’s too late no–now… But I wanted you to know before you le–left…”

You pressed your face harder against him, your forehead nudging the hollow of his collarbone. His scent wrapped around you like a balm–soft and warm and impossibly sweet. He smelled like vanilla bean and the faintest trace of brown sugar, like the last page of a well-read book and fresh sheets on a summer night. There was a lingering note of coffee in there too–familiar, comforting, so Bob.

“I wa–want you to be happy,” He murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “And if th–this is the way you’ll be happy…Do what you need to do…”

A fresh wave of tears slipped down your cheeks, warm against his shirt, soaking into the cotton like ink into paper. You felt the rise and fall of his chest match your own–uneven and trembling, the both of you wrapped in grief you couldn’t outrun. Not this kind.

Neither of you spoke after that.

You just held each other, clinging to the fading moment, to the ache of what was about to be lost. The silence was thick, but not empty. It was shared. Like the pause between heartbeats before something new begins.

You didn’t know how long you sat there.

But eventually, when your sobs had softened to slow, silent exhales, you shifted your weight just slightly. Your hand moved to rest over his heart, and you tilted your head to look up at him, chin resting lightly on his chest.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I was able to go outside?” you asked softly.

Bob blinked down at you, his eyes still red and rimmed with salt. He shook his head gently, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand in a way that made your throat clench.

“I was in a lab in Nebraska,” you began, voice distant, like it was echoing down a hallway of memory. “I’d just been transferred there. One of the lab assistants was going through my records…Noticed how often I got sick, how reactive my skin was. All my charts said the same thing–chronic immune issues, recurrent infections, photophobia–but no one ever questioned why.”

You swallowed.

“They asked if I’d ever been outside. And I told them no. I didn’t even know what ‘outside’ really meant.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you in closer.

“They brought me out the next day. Just behind the facility, this patch of open field surrounded by chain-link and barbed wire. It wasn’t much, but it was sky. Real sky. And sunlight.” You exhaled slowly, remembering. “I stayed out there until my skin burned. My arms, my face, the back of my neck. I couldn’t stop shaking. But I didn’t care. I was sixteen. I had spent every day of my life inside a room with no windows. I wasn’t going to waste it. I wanted the full experience.”

Bob gave the smallest, broken smirk. It was laced with so much hurt, but also wonder. He was listening with his whole body.

And then you said, voice softer still:

“…When I first saw you in the Vault… I thought I was having the same experience.”

He blinked.

“You did?”

You nodded. “When you looked at me…I swear Bob, it was like I was seeing the sun for the first time…The awe…The ache in my chest…I knew from the moment I saw you…You were going to be someone special to me…Just like the sun.” His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something–but he didn’t have the words. He just stared at you like the world had stopped moving for a moment. Like you’d just told him something too big to hold.

Then–

Ding.

The soft mechanical chime of the elevator broke the stillness, and both your heads turned.

Bucky stepped onto the rooftop, eyes adjusting quickly. His brows raised when he saw you tangled in Bob’s arms, cheeks flushed, eyes swollen from crying.

He froze.

“…Sorry,” He said quietly. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You sat up slowly, gently pulling away from Bob–but not far. You looked at Bucky and gave a faint shake of your head.

“No,” You said softly. “You’re not.”

And that was where the conversation ended.

——————————

The quinjet loomed like a shadow against the early morning sky, sleek and still beneath the soft haze of sunrise. The compound’s landing pad was bathed in gold light, long shadows stretching beneath your feet as the team worked in quiet rhythm, hauling your boxes up the ramp one by one.

Everyone was there.

Except Bob.

You scanned the area again–half-hoping, half-desperate–but his tall frame was nowhere in sight. Not lingering by the cargo bay. Not leaning against the railing like he always did. Not even watching from a distance the way you knew he sometimes did when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Gone.

After everything you shared on the roof last night, part of you had believed–naively, maybe–that he’d come. That he’d meet your eyes one last time. That you’d have a goodbye that felt like something final and full and whole. Something sacred. But the empty space where he should’ve been said everything you didn’t want to hear.

And your heart cracked. Quietly. With no fanfare. Just a hollow snap beneath your ribs.

The last box clunked into place in the cargo hold. You stood at the foot of the ramp, hands hanging uselessly at your sides, watching the team slowly gather near you, one by one.

Alexei came first. He was cradling your coffee machine under one arm–comically oversized in his grip–and he set it down gently before reaching for you. His hug was firm. Solid. The kind of hug that wrapped you in safety without words.

His arms enveloped you fully, a wall of warmth and steady breath as he muttered gruffly, “Is always place for you at my table. No matter where that table is.” He squeezed once, hard, then stepped back like anything more would undo him.

Ava followed. Her hug was briefer, more reserved, but no less sincere. She touched your upper arms and rested her forehead lightly against yours. “You come visit when you can…We’ll miss you a lot.” You nodded, throat tight, and she offered a faint smile before stepping aside.

Walker surprised you.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, scratching the back of his neck like he was unsure whether a goodbye was earned between you. Then he stepped forward, arms spreading almost defensively like he expected to be swatted away. But when you let him hug you, he pulled you in–not hard, but secure. Not rigid, but genuine. His hand patted your back once, and he muttered under his breath, “It was fun working with you…And I hope you find what you’re looking for…”

You smiled, and let out a small breath, “Thanks, Walker.” Bucky was last before Yelena. He stood a little off to the side, arms crossed, jaw set. But when he stepped forward, it wasn’t with the stoic air he wore in the field—it was something softer. Tired. Human. He looked at you like he wanted to say more, but all he did was pull you into a single-armed hug, metal arm staying at his side.

“When you figure out what ‘home’ really means…Let me know…Maybe I’ll find mine too.” He murmured.

Your throat closed up. “You can visit anytime. Seriously.”

He nodded, releasing you gently, his lips twitching into something almost like a smile. “One day. I will.”

Then it was just Yelena.

And everything in you stilled.

She didn’t rush. She walked to you like she was measuring every step. Then she opened her arms without a word, and you crashed into them.

Her hug was everything.

Tight. Unyielding. Unapologetically emotional. Her fingers curled into the back of your shirt, and her breath hitched against your shoulder.

“I don’t forgive you yet,” She whispered shakily, “but I’m trying.”

You nodded, arms squeezing her just as tight. “I know.”

She sniffled, pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. Her mascara was smudged.

“I’ll call you once I land and get everything sorted,” You said, voice trembling.

“You better,” she said, and tried to blink away the tears. “Or I will track you down.”

You nodded again, unable to say anything else without falling apart.

And then–it was time.

You turned, climbing the ramp slowly. Every step away from them felt like it dragged a little piece of your heart behind. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave at all.

Inside the cockpit, you slipped into the seat, fingers shaking slightly as you ran through launch protocol. The quinjet hummed around you. Systems came online. The ramp sealed shut behind you. You typed in the coordinates for your new house, and pressed enter.

You stared out at the horizon, waiting for the weight in your chest to lessen.

But it didn’t, and as the jet lifted off–smooth, steady, rising into the quiet morning–you pressed your forehead against the glass and whispered so low only the sky could hear:

“Goodbye, Bob.”

And the clouds swallowed you whole.

———————————

The quinjet touched down in a slow, whisper-soft descent, the grass parting gently beneath it as though the land had been expecting you. You powered down the systems one by one, the low hum of machinery giving way to stillness–pure and uninterrupted. There were no voices. No distant alarms. No radio chatter or metal doors hissing open in the background.

Just silence.

When the ramp hissed open, the world met you with a breath of spring.

The air was cool–cooler than it had been at the compound–but not cold. It wrapped around your skin like a clean sheet pulled fresh from the line. There was a weight to it, not heavy, but full. Damp with dew. Sweet with the scent of tilled soil, blooming clover, and the soft tang of wild lilacs carried from somewhere far down the slope.

You stepped onto the grass, and the earth gave a little beneath your feet. The field rolled out around you like a green sea, golden in the sunlight. The quinjet stood in the middle of it like some strange, sleeping bird. A few feet away, tucked against a thicket of trees and set back from the gravel path, was your house.

Your house.

Your throat tightened as you looked at it.

It wasn’t grand. Wasn’t sleek or modern or fortified with anything but wood and love.

But it was everything.

A one-story farmhouse with soft grey-blue siding and white trim that had weathered seasons of wind and sun. The porch stretched across the front like open arms, its columns uneven and chipped but sturdy. A rickety wooden swing hung on rusted chains from one corner, moving slightly in the breeze. The railing was scuffed in places, like someone had leaned against it a hundred times to watch the sun go down. Ivy had started to creep along one edge.

There were windows everywhere.

Tall ones. Bare ones. Not a single one had bars. They were thrown open to the wind like someone had once opened them and never thought to close them again. Light poured from the inside, golden and warm, dancing over the warped floorboards of the porch.

You took a step forward.

And then another.

The mailbox stood on a crooked wooden post, its red flag bent sideways like a tired elbow. You popped it open and found the envelope tucked inside. Your name was written across the front in soft cursive. Inside: one brass key.

Your fingers curled around it.

It was heavier than you thought it would be. Not physically. Just…Symbolically. Tangibly. Like something final.

You climbed the porch steps slowly, savoring the sound of each creak under your feet. They weren’t sharp or alarming–just lived in. Familiar. You reached the front door and slid the key into the lock.

It turned with a quiet, satisfying click.

And then you stepped inside.

The warmth hit you first.

It wasn’t the kind of warmth that came from heat or sunlight. It was the kind that came from home. From a place that had been touched, loved, settled in–even if only by someone preparing it for you.

The floor beneath your feet was hardwood–old, slightly warped, but recently cleaned. A wide area rug stretched across the living room, woven in soft tones of sage, clay, and wheat. A couch was tucked beneath a large window, throw blankets tossed lazily over one arm. There were mismatched pillows, soft and frayed at the seams, like they had been used to prop up lazy Sunday afternoons.

To the right, the kitchen opened up–warm wood counters, a farmhouse sink with a deep basin, and cabinets painted buttercream yellow. A cast iron kettle sat on the stove. The window above the sink looked out into the field, and the breeze was gently lifting the gauzy curtains.

There was a small dining table tucked into the corner, set with two chairs. One of the seats had a tiny chip in the backrest. It didn’t look lonely. It looked like someone had pulled it out and sat there for hours, sipping coffee while the wind spoke against the windows.

You moved forward and set your keys in the ceramic dish that waited on the entryway table.

They landed with a soft clink.

You smiled.

It was the first real smile you’d felt in weeks. Maybe longer. A smile that didn’t ask anything from you. A smile that came from a chest slowly, slowly uncoiling.

You walked further into the house. Past the fireplace. Past the faded print on the wall of rolling hills and prairie skies. Past the stack of firewood and the tiny woven basket someone had left on the coffee table filled with lavender sachets and a handwritten note: Welcome home.

And that’s when you heard it.

A voice–low and familiar, carved with hesitation, but laced with that gentle brand of humor only one man ever used on you.

“You’re going to ha–have to get a better security system…” You stopped mid-step. Every hair on your body stood up. The air shifted around you–suddenly warmer, suddenly sharper. You turned slowly, your feet rooted to the hardwood, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your ribs.

The voice had come from the back hallway.

From the open doorway at the far end.

And when you stepped into the frame and followed it with your eyes–you saw him.

Bob.

Leaning casually against the bedroom door frame like he belonged there. Like he’d always been there. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a navy blue crewneck, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the lines of his hands–familiar, scarred, warm. His hair was tousled, and wind-tangled. And his mouth–God, that soft, crooked smile was already stretched across his face.

His eyes flicked over your expression, and something about the way he looked at you made the shock in your chest soften. Melt. Like the earth had tilted just slightly under your feet but settled in a better position.

“I th–thought,” He started, his voice cracking slightly, “Instead of saying goodbye…I’d be the fi–first to say hello.” Your mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.

You blinked in shock.

And then–your smile broke through, wide and disbelieving, laced with something just this side of laughter. “How did you… How did you know? And how the hell did you get here?”

He pushed off the doorway with one shoulder and walked toward you slowly, like he didn’t want to spook you. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his sweats, and his eyes never left your face.

“Well…” He said, shrugging, “I as–asked Val.”

You raised your brows, still trying to catch up. “You asked Val?”

“She’s still ki–kind of scared of me snapping, so she…” He gave you a sheepish, apologetic glance. “Gave me the information pretty fast.”

That made you huff out a laugh.

He paused a few feet away, then looked down for a second. “Then I just…Fl–Flew here.”

You stared at him. “You used Sentry?”

He nodded once. No shame. “Of co–course I did.”

Your hand rose to your mouth, trying to hide the slow, surprised grin spreading across your face. “Jesus, Bob.”

He shrugged again. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like flying to you was as natural as taking the subway. There was a pause. Just the two of you standing there in the middle of your new living room, the breeze moving through the open windows, the quiet pulse of shared history hanging between you.

Then Bob added, voice softening:

“Af–After you told me about that story yesterday…I thought you were go–going to be moving here.”

You tilted your head at him, warmth blooming slow and thick in your chest.

He smiled again, smaller this time. “Glad I caught on and that you didn’t just ra-randomly tell me that story about Nebraska for the hell of it.”

You laughed under your breath, a sheepish little sound, and rolled your eyes. “Even though it was still relevant…”

“Mhm,” He hummed, and then his gaze drifted past you, scanning the space like he was seeing it all for the first time–the porch swing, the chipped paint, the breeze in the curtains, the scent of lavender and old wood. “It’s ni–nice.”

You nodded. “It is.”

He looked back at you. His eyes were soft, and gentle, glistening in the lighting.

“Is it okay…If I st–stay for a little?” He asked.

Your breath hitched–just for a second–but the answer was already in your chest before he’d finished the question. You nodded once, slow and sure, the weight of your breath caught just beneath your ribs.

“Of course…” you murmured, voice soft. Then–after a beat, after a shift in the air that felt impossibly delicate–you added, “But I need to do something that I should’ve done last night.”

Bob blinked. His eyes searched yours—gentle, uncertain, wide like he hadn’t dared to hope for this exact thing. His hands slid a little deeper into his pockets, like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you on instinct.

You stepped forward. Just one step. Then another.

And when you were close enough to feel his breath on your face, you looked at him–really looked at him.

At the soft barely–there freckles scattered across his cheeks, at the faint lines beneath his eyes from sleepless nights, at the way his bottom lip trembled just slightly, as if bracing for something too good to be true.

“I should’ve kissed you last night,” You whispered.

His breath caught.

The seconds that passed between you then were slow and golden and suspended in something you couldn’t name. Something like awe. Something like gravity giving you mercy.

And when you rose onto the balls of your feet and brought your hand to the side of his face–fingertips ghosting along his cheekbone–he leaned into it like it was instinct. Like he didn’t remember how to breathe without you.

Your noses brushed.

His lashes fluttered.

And then, finally–

You kissed him.

It was slow. Soft. Barely a breath at first.

But God, it was everything.

It was months of unsaid words, of near-misses and held-back glances and aching silence pressed into a single point of contact. It was the exhale of something sacred. The kind of kiss you only get once in a lifetime. The kind that feels like a promise made in a language no one else will ever speak.

Bob’s lips were warm–tentative at first, trembling slightly against yours like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. But then he sank into you, deepening it just a little. One hand lifted–hesitant, reverent–and cradled your jaw like you were something precious. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone. His nose bumped yours gently.

You sighed against his mouth. A sound that was equal parts relief and wonder.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together, your noses still brushing, breath shared in the quiet space between your mouths.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“…Wo–Worth the wait.”

You smiled–soft, a little wrecked, fully his. “Yeah,” you breathed. “It was…And I’m glad you came…”

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yuwritesstuff · 2 days ago

Text

Headcanons about Satoru as a Girl Dad 🌺✨

He cried the first time he held her. Not in front of anyone else — he was joking and cocky and obnoxious at the hospital, trying to hide all the worries. But when it was just the three of you and she curled her tiny fingers around his pinky, he broke. Quietly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he cradled her and smiled happily. He had the whole world in his arms, given to him by his loved one.

She’s the only one (except her mom, of course) who can boss him around. “Daddy, sit.” And he does. “Daddy, today I choose what you’re gonna wear!” And these are the most mismatched pieces of his wardrobe, an absurd combination. But he puts these on and goes to meet with the higher-ups. “Daddy, put me on your shoulders!” And the world becomes even more interesting for her from the perspective of his height.

He’s obsessed with her laugh. He’ll spend hours doing the dumbest things just to hear it — ridiculous dances, jokes, and parodies. That sound is his favorite in the world. It means she’s safe. She’s happy. She’s so real, his little sweet baby. He hopes that this will be one of the things she’ll remember best from her childhood. That laughing is always allowed, even for adults.

She’s just as sharp as him — and it terrifies him. One time, she tricked him into giving her dessert before dinner. A four-year-old. He was both horrified and deeply, deeply honored. “She’s definitely my kid,” he said, wiping away a proud tear. But of course, he often falls for her tricks just because he likes to spoil her.

He teaches her how to stand up for herself. From day one, he tells her: “You don’t have to shrink for anyone. You don’t owe the world softness unless you choose to give it.” And she listens. She learns. It’s like a protective mantra that he whispers to her as she falls asleep, hoping that these words will stay with her and she will realize its meaning later.

He has zero resistance to her tears. If she starts crying, his whole world stops. No jokes. Just soft panic and immediate scooping up. “Who do I have to fight?” he whispers. “What made my baby cry?” His heart is aching, and he’s ready to do anything to make her feel better. It’s hard for him to say “no” if it’s tears of demand, so she’s already spoiled by him from a very young age.

He sees her mother in her constantly. Sometimes he quietly watches her, observes her gestures and behavior, and sees you in her. Mom’s features are intertwined with dad’s, and it strikes him to the core — this is a little person made of both of you. You soulmated so hard that you created another heart, a cute little friend for both of you. She’s everything.

Oh, but she definitely has his temper too. She once looked up at him mid-lecture and said, “Is this gonna be long? I have blocks to build.” He nearly exploded with laughter. “Siblings? What are the pros and cons of that?” she wonders seriously when you ask if she wants a brother or a sister. “If they’re as cool as me... hmm, I’ll think about it!” she sticks out her tongue and giggles. His little smartass.

He keeps her drawings in his wallet. Folded, worn, cherished. Even when he’s across the world on duty, her crayon versions of the three of you remind him why he fights. When he comes back from work, they draw together, and his own drawings are no better than a child’s spontaneous doodle, but she praises him so sincerely that he melts.

They have wild inside jokes no one understands. Even you, her mother. It drives you crazy sometimes because they act like real idiots. But they’re your favorite idiots. Like synchronized “dramatic faints” at the breakfast table. Or gossiping about you quietly with a sly smile on their faces. Or their secret handshake that takes 40 seconds (you counted). Sometimes they just treat life like a game they’re winning together.

She shares his love for sweets. He buys her all kinds of goodies and treats her with the best desserts in the city, on weekends he pampers her with custom-made sweets from a pastry shop. So when it’s time to visit the dentist, you send him with her to the doctor as a lesson. He taught her to brush her teeth well. It’s nobody’s fault she has a sweet tooth like him!

He loves to put her to bed. He reads her fairy tales and tells her funny stories, assures her that there are no monsters under the bed and checks it several times if she’s scared. “Your daddy is the strongest monster fighter!” he winks. And when she falls asleep, he kisses her on the forehead and just lies next to her for a while before going to his beloved wife to make another such cutie pie.

He talks to her like an equal — always. He doesn’t baby her thoughts or shield her from the truth. He explains the world gently but with honesty. She asks hard questions. He never lies. It’s not easy when she realizes what a complicated world she lives in. Every time something inside him breaks when she gets a little more mature. But he knows that this is part of the journey too.

He’s incredibly protective, but in stealthy ways. He won’t be the loudest dad at school (surprisingly). Instead, he’ll silently ward off anyone who makes her uncomfortable — a quiet glare, a sudden presence. Nothing gets past him. He doesn’t want to get into things that she has to experience on her own, but he also doesn’t want to be on the sidelines if something hurts her.

He’s terrified of failing her. Beneath the jokes and playfulness, he carries a deep fear — that the world will hurt her the way it hurt him. So he watches closely, listens deeply, holds tighter when she sleeps. He knows that there will definitely be challenges and pain in life, but while she is so young, he will protect her and her childhood with all his best. She will have a different, better life.

He tells her every day: “You’re loved. Always.” Not just “I love you” — but “you are loved”. By him. By her mom. By the universe itself. He wants her to know it, feel it, believe it in her bones. Despite all the hardships, there is so much beauty in the world, and it’s a true miracle that we are all here, so fragile and eager for love and validation. He deeply realizes it when he becomes a father. And he wants her to feel it too.

He dreams of seeing who she’ll become. Whether she becomes a sorcerer or an artist or a chaos gremlin scientist — he’s there. Sometimes he forgets about all his bravado and feels something that he hasn’t felt much before. Fear of leaving this world too soon, not being a present father and partner. He wants to have a future in which he will see his child grow up. Happy, no matter what path she chooses. “This is her story now, and I just wanna be a part of it for as long as possible!” he smiles.

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rafecameronssl4t · 21 hours ago

Note

Can you do more of reader x rafe that involve Sofia.

Calm down || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @tetragonia

Summary: basically based off this scene in s4 ep 2 but ofc including reader

Warnings: none rlly!!

Word count: 1,986

MASTERLIST

The music was too loud, the air was too thick, and the vodka in your cup wasn’t nearly strong enough to make any of this bearable. “So… how have you and him been?” Ruthie asked, her tone loaded despite the way she lazily twirled the straw in her drink.

You rolled your eyes, already annoyed at the direction this conversation was heading. “Rafe and I?” you echoed, lifting your glass and swirling the half-melted ice like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Haven’t talked to him since that bonfire a month ago.”

Your voice was clipped, tone dismissive, but Ruthie was looking at you too closely. The kind of look only a friend who’s seen you at your worst would know how to give. You hated it. “I’m just so over it,” you added quickly, hoping it sounded convincing.

“Can’t believe he stooped that low,” she muttered, snorting into her drink. “A pogue, seriously?” You didn’t answer, but your jaw tensed slightly. You gave a loose shrug, feigning indifference. Like it didn’t burn every time you heard his name. Like you didn’t still dream about that night—his hands, his mouth, the way he said your name like it meant something.

The sound of laughter and shouting swelled around you, and you looked up just in time to see Topper sink a perfect shot into the last cup on the beer pong table. His friends exploded in cheers. “Let’s go, baby!” Topper bellowed, arms thrown up in drunken victory.

Ruthie squealed and immediately threw her arms around her boyfriend in exaggerated celebration “Oh man,” Topper slurred as he staggered over to the two of you, a goofy grin plastered on his flushed face. “It’s just a little harmless celebration, right?” You couldn’t help but laugh at how absolutely wrecked he already was.

“Oh, absolutely. You need another beer.” Topper laughed, leaning heavily against you. He slung an arm around your shoulder, the scent of cologne and whatever he spilled on himself earlier clinging to his shirt. “You know me so well, Y/n. Fuck, I love you.”

You rolled your eyes but let him kiss your head anyway, playing along like always. Ruthie giggled beside you, probably just as tipsy but much better at hiding it. Then—“Hey!” The loud voice cut through the buzz of conversation, music, and drunken laughter. You turned instinctively, and your entire body went stiff.

Rafe. Making his way toward the group with that same confident swagger like he owned the place. Your stomach dropped. “Yeah, my brother!” Topper hollered, practically leaping forward as the two of them pulled each other into a half-hug, half-clap-on-the-back. “There he is! How are you, baby?”

Rafe actually lifted Topper slightly off the ground before setting him down again, both of them laughing like this was any other night. Like everything was normal. You fought the eye-roll threatening to escape and instead focused on sipping your drink. Then Ruthie nudged you sharply.

You glanced at her and followed her gaze. Sofia. Standing just a few feet behind Rafe. Hair perfectly curled, but her posture stiff—like she knew she didn’t belong but was pretending otherwise. Her eyes darted around the crowd before finally landing on you. She gave you a small, awkward smile.

You stared for a second too long before mustering the fakest smile you could manage and looking away. Arms crossing tightly over your chest. “Of course she’s here,” you muttered under your breath, venom lacing every word. Ruthie raised her brows and leaned in. “I swear she follows him around like a lost puppy.”

You didn’t respond, because when you glanced back at Rafe—he was already looking at you. The smirk was gone now. No bravado, no cockiness. Just that unreadable look he’d perfected. The one that made you wonder if he regretted everything… or nothing at all. “Hey,” he said quietly.

And that was enough to make you snap out of it. Without acknowledging him, you picked up your drink, turned on your heel, and walked away. “Wait,” Ruthie called, rushing to follow you. You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to deal with him. Not tonight. Not with Sofia hovering awkwardly in the background like some replacement you never agreed to.

He knew it pissed you off—seeing them together, acting like what the two of you had wasn’t even worth protecting. And the worst part? He brought her anyway. You made it to the bar, needing something stronger than the half-warm cocktail melting in your cup. You pushed your way through the cluster of sweaty Kooks and grabbed a beer from the tub of ice, popping it open with a sigh. Ruthie stood next to you, her eyes scanning the crowd with laser focus.

“God,” she muttered, leaning against the bar as she sipped her drink, “she stands out like a sore fucking thumb.” You followed her gaze. Sofia. She was lingering near Rafe, too close for comfort but still visibly uncomfortable. Her posture was tense, her smile unsure. She looked like she was trying to blend in, but everything about her screamed not from here.

You took a sip of your beer, eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Wait—wait. Do you think he pays her to hang around?” Ruthie whispered, mischief dancing in her voice. But before you could even laugh, a sharp voice sliced through the bass-heavy music. “What did you say?” You both stopped. Looked up. The tone was unmistakable.

Rafe. He was standing near the entrance, voice raised, jaw locked, shoulders squared. Your chest tightened. “You got something to say?” He was talking to someone now—a girl who looked vaguely familiar. Local. Not a regular. Maybe a plus-one of a plus-one. Whatever he was, he clearly hadn’t learned one of the unspoken rules of Figure Eight: Don’t talk shit where Rafe Cameron can hear you.

“Hey, listen, if you want to say—” “Back off, Rafe!” The guy close by shoved him. Ruthie slapped her hand to her mouth. Your beer paused mid-sip. “Holy shit,” she gasped. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just shook your head slowly. “Typical. Always picking a fight.” You took another swig as Rafe’s voice rose, chest heaving as he advanced.

“If you wanna whisper some bullshit behind my back, why don’t you say it to my face? I’m standing right here.” He stepped forward again, pointing aggressively. Topper lunged in, grabbing him by the shoulder with a grunt. “Rafe, chill, dude—” “You got something to say? Say it to my fucking face!” Rafe barked again, leaning in, slapping his own cheek like some unhinged invitation.

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Here come the theatrics.” Topper finally got a better grip, dragging him back slightly. Sofia hovered awkwardly nearby. Her face was blank, expression unreadable. When Rafe stumbled back, she stepped in and helped Topper steady him.

She said something to him—probably trying to calm him down—but you couldn’t hear over the shouting. Then, as if the chaos couldn’t escalate further, Rafe’s voice boomed again. “He was a great man!” You blinked. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “He’s spiralling,” Ruthie said, half in awe.

Before you could agree, the clatter of bottles jolted you. You turned just in time to see Rafe storming toward the bar—your bar. “Hey,” Sofia said behind him, her hand catching his arm, gentle. “Don’t listen to them,” she murmured. You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Not really. He wasn’t exactly being discreet.

“Don’t listen to them? Don’t listen to them?” he echoed bitterly. “Kind of hard when they do it in front of me. I mean, I expect that shit from the Cut—but not here.” You exchanged a quick look with Ruthie. There it was. The line.You could practically see it hit Sofia in real time—the flicker of something breaking in her face.

She recovered quickly, but not before you caught the sting in her eyes. “Shit,” Ruthie whispered. “He doesn’t even realise he just insulted her.” Topper reappeared like a storm-drenched lifeguard. “What is this bullshit, man?” Rafe asked, exasperated. “Who do you have at your party?” Rafe shook his head like a wet dog, pacing, seething.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m just—getting a drink.” And that’s when it happened. As he turned, his eyes found you. Locked. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t look smug. Just stared. Something unreadable flickering beneath all the anger—something dangerous. You raised your brows but didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.

Just took a slow sip of your beer, eyes never leaving his. Almost daring him to say something. He walked right past, close enough for your shoulders to nearly brush. Then Sofia stepped forward. Still lingering behind like she didn’t know where else to go. Her movements were stiff.

And when she looked up, her gaze met yours. It wasn’t awkward this time. It was deliberate. You stood there, holding her stare, bottle in hand. And then—Sofia started walking toward you. Ruthie leaned in, voice low. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me she’s about to start something.”

She stood beside you, just barely within arm’s reach, her presence cutting into the thick air around the bar like a cold gust through summer heat. You didn’t look at her at first—not until she said something. Not until she spoke. “How did you do it?” You paused mid-sip, the neck of the beer bottle still against your lips.

Slowly, you lowered it and turned your head, brows furrowing as your eyes met hers. “Do what?” you asked, voice even but laced with confusion. Sofia’s eyes didn’t move from Rafe—still visible a few feet away, his shoulders tense as he paced near the cooler, Topper doing damage control.

“Calm him down,” she replied, quiet but clear, the weight of the question hanging between you like smoke. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh through your nose. A snort, really. You and Ruthie turned to each other instinctively—your best friend’s eyes wide, eyebrows raised, lips twitching in amused disbelief like is she for real?

Was she seriously asking that? You blinked, looked back at Sofia. She was still watching Rafe like he was a ticking bomb she hadn’t figured out how to disarm. Like you were the only one who ever knew where the wires connected. “You think I knew how to calm him down?” you said, the edge creeping into your voice now.

“He’s Rafe, Sofia. No one calms him down. He decides when he wants to stop.” Her brows pulled together, and for a second, you saw something real flash across her face—something like defeat. Or maybe just realisation. Maybe she thought there was some secret you had. A trick. A formula. But there wasn’t. There never had been.

“It didn’t look like that when you were with him,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to her drink. You exhaled sharply, leaning one arm on the bar, facing her now. “Yeah, well,” you said, “that’s because he and I are alike.” Sofia blinked. Hard. And in that second, you almost felt bad for her.

Almost. But then Ruthie spoke, cutting through the tension with her usual bluntness. “He’s not a project you get to fix, babe. Trust me, she tried.” You didn’t correct her. Sofia stared at the condensation sliding down her glass. “He said he was different with you,” she murmured.

“He was,” you answered simply. “But he fucked it up so there’s that.” And for a moment, the silence between the three of you felt heavier than the party around you. The laughter, the music, the clinking bottles—all of it felt far away. Sofia nodded once, almost like a thank you—but more like a quiet resignation.

Then she turned, walking back toward where Rafe stood—his jaw still clenched, eyes wild, not looking at her. Not looking at anyone. Ruthie sighed beside you. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”You took another swig of your beer, finally letting yourself breathe again.“Nope,” you muttered. “Just another night in paradise.”

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revelboo · 1 day ago

Note

I had terrible PPD when my son was born. It was so bad that I was almost hospitalized. I lied through my teeth to get out of it, because I didn't want to leave my son. But man, that crying did something to me.

May I request a scenario where reader and Megatron both get PPD? As always, you don't have to if you don't wanna. Thank you!

P.S. We all survived. The baby will be 18 soon. :)

Sure- I can only imagine that would be particularly stressful if they won’t stop crying

Stress

TFP Megatron x Reader

• “Please, please stop,” you whisper, sitting crosslegged on the berth with your son in your arms, rocking him and yourself as you curl forward around him. And his venting is hitching noisily as he wails and he’s been at it so long, he’s rasping now, optics squeezed shut and tiny servos curled in fists. It’s you. It must be you, you’re failing him. Not cut out for this as the anxiety cranks higher until you’re crying, too. Bent forward over him sobbing. “I’m trying.”

• Freezing when he lets himself into the habsuite and he’s greeted with his sparkling screaming, his jaw clenches. Half tempted to just go right back out, because he can’t take that spark wrenching noise. And you look up, eyes red and tears running down your face. Sees the fear and panic in your eyes, the way your shoulders hunch and it’s like a physical blow that you act like you think he’s about to yell at you. Head lowering as your shoulders tremble, tears dripping on his son’s head as you cup the sparkling to you and Megatron crosses the floor, mass shifting to join you. Doesn’t know what to do with this, how to fix it, both of you sobbing brokenly. Hurting. Reaches for you and you flinch, still not looking at him. Do you really think he’s that much of a monster? Except, that is how he’s acted, isn’t it?

• Wails faltering into hiccuping chirps and ragged hisses as soon as your son spots Megatron, you go limp and docile as he sits and drags you into his, his thighs on either side of you. Because the only time he’s not screaming is when he’s hissing at his big, asshole sire. Everything about this wrong. You’d loved your son the second you’d held him in your arms, but you feel like you’re failing him. That’s why he’s screaming, it’s you. It has to be you. “He won’t stop,” you whisper, sobbing as Megatron’s chin brushes your head and you hang onto his arm.

• Almost resents his own sparkling, almost despises him for hurting you like this, because you faced him head on. Never backed down even when you were scared, but this is breaking you and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Hears his son hissing and clearing his vents in little coughs, upset and stressed. And you’re crying, holding the sparkling and shaking against him. “I can’t do this,” you sob and he presses his mouth against the top of your head.

• Need him, need the warmth of that little frame against you. Those little servos clinging to your fingers or Megatron’s harness. But you feel like you’re unraveling every time he cries and you don’t know how to make it better. Shouldn’t you just know? Instead you’re struggling, depressed and anxious and failing him. And Megatron’s arms come around you even as your son warbles his distress and your big mate is rocking you, cheek sliding against your own. “We’ll figure this out,” he growls, voice gruff as your son’s face crumples and he wails even louder.

#transformers x reader #megatron x reader #tfp megatron

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barnesonly · 2 days ago

Text

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: about 13k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, dirty talk, praising kink, semi-public sex, fingering, PiV, unprotected sex.

Part 6 | Previous Part

The morning light slanted warm and golden through your dorm window, stretching across the floor like a sleepy cat. You were at your desk, hands brushing a light layer of powder across your face in the small mirror propped up against the textbooks you still hadn’t quite tackled over the weekend.

Your hair was mostly dry after your quick shower, and you ran your fingers absently through it while you stared at yourself, making sure you didn’t look as tired as you felt. Despite spending most of the weekend tangled up with James—doing everything but sleeping—there was that pleasant sort of ache lingering in your body and the tired-but-happy hum that had followed you right into Monday morning.

Behind you, Sarah was in full chatter mode, her voice like a familiar, upbeat soundtrack you’d learned to listen to and tune out at the same time.

“…so then Maddie texts me at like two a.m.,” she was saying, already rummaging through her bag, her phone lighting up her hands every few seconds with new notifications. “And I’m like, girl, you cannot come over now—I have class at eight. Get your shit together.”

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured distractedly as you capped your lip balm, then grabbed your hoodie off the back of your chair.

Sarah paused mid-rant to look up at you. “You okay? You’re quiet this morning. Did you even sleep?”

Your heart skipped—for a split second you wondered if you looked as lovesick as you felt. “I’m fine,” you assured her, slipping the hoodie on and checking your reflection one last time. “Just… had a long weekend.”

That was the understatement of the century.

Sarah grinned, clearly satisfied with your answer as she went back to typing on her phone. “Well, you better wake up. Professor Carter is a nightmare on Mondays. Remember that time she threatened to give a pop quiz just because nobody answered her?”

You laughed under your breath and started packing your bag—laptop, notebook, pen, water bottle—making sure you had everything you needed. The room felt comfortably familiar as you moved around it, Sarah humming to herself and the light outside shifting slowly into full morning.

“You know,” Sarah added offhandedly, “I feel like you’ve been… I dunno, a bit happier lately.”

You froze for a second before tugging the zipper on your backpack closed. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased, her grin mischievous as she finally glanced up at you. “Your guy must have been nicer lately…”

Your face warmed and you rolled your eyes, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you headed for the door. “You have no idea,” you muttered, mostly to yourself—a little smile pulling at your lips despite your best effort to hide it.

“See!” Sarah laughed, breezing past you into the hall. “That’s exactly what I mean. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

And as you followed her, your heart thudded just a little faster—already knowing this Monday was going to be very, very different.

You and Sarah fell into step together as you crossed the campus, the morning air crisp and bright. Students were already crisscrossing the pathways like hurried birds, backpacks bouncing and phones glued to hands.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me for coffee after class?” Sarah asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’d love to,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, “but I have that lecture right after. Next time?”

“Next time,” she agreed easily, already spotting one of her friends up ahead. “Alright, gotta run—see you later!”

“Bye!” you called after her as she broke away into the crowd.

You slowed your pace, enjoying the brief pocket of solitude before your next class—until a familiar voice called out your name.

“Hey!”

You glanced over your shoulder and spotted Theo jogging up to you, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his jacket, a boyish grin on his face. “Hey,” you greeted him back.

“Going to Barnes’ lecture?” he asked, falling into stride with you.

You nodded, hoping the heat you felt in your cheeks wasn’t obvious. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Theo replied. “Figured I might as well go with someone who knows where they’re going.” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile at his easygoing energy.

“You act like you haven’t been on this campus long enough,” you teased.

He just shrugged. “I may or may not have a bad sense of direction.”

You laughed softly as you followed the familiar path toward the arts and humanities building together, making light conversation. But under the surface, you couldn’t help feeling a flicker of anticipation—knowing exactly who was going to be waiting at the front of that lecture hall.

Theo pushed the door open for you when you arrived, and you murmured a quick “thanks” as you slipped inside.

Your heart gave a small, involuntary thump as you scanned the mostly empty rows, the professor’s desk already neatly arranged with papers.

And sure enough, there he was—James—leaning against the podium, looking up just as you walked in.

The tiny, fleeting smile that crossed his face when his gaze found yours was enough to make your stomach flip—right before it faded into something more neutral as his eyes briefly shifted toward Theo.

You felt James’ gaze follow you as you and Theo moved further into the room. Students were slowly trickling in, voices murmuring, chairs squeaking.

You chose your usual seat and Theo—still chatting as he pulled out his laptop—slid into the chair right beside you.

The second you glanced up toward the front again, you caught that subtle shift in James’ expression. His brow tightened, gaze fixed on Theo just long enough for you to feel a flicker of guilt, even though you hadn’t done a thing.

“Looks like Barnes is in a mood,” Theo whispered, leaning closer.

Your lips twitched. “You shouldn’t be complaining. Especially after last week.”

Theo grinned at that, but you felt the heat creep up your neck anyway.

„I’m not,” he huffed.

You busied yourself setting your notebook on the desk, all too aware of the professor’s stare. And sure enough, as the last few students took their seats and the room quieted, James pushed off the podium with that measured grace you’d come to recognize—hands tucked into his pockets as he began pacing slowly at the front.

“Alright,” he started, his voice warm and smooth and unmistakable. “Let’s pick up where we left off last time.”

As he spoke, that dark blue gaze kept drifting toward you. You could feel it like a physical touch, stirring a familiar ache low in your belly.

You shifted in your seat, telling yourself to focus—but that was easier said than done.

James kept lecturing—smooth voice spilling across the room as he flipped slides and scrawled points on the board—yet every so often, his gaze would drift back to you. It was subtle, practiced, like he knew exactly what he was doing without even thinking about it.

And god, every glance had your heart skipping in your chest.

By the time the lecture was winding down, you were already gathering your things slowly, hands unhurried as you tucked your pen into your pencil case and stacked your notebook neatly.

Beside you, Theo was shoving his laptop into his backpack.

“You ready?” he asked, casual.

You paused. “Um—you can go ahead,” you said quickly, trying to sound breezy. “I’ve gotta talk to Professor Barnes about something.”

“Oh,” Theo blinked, shrugging a strap onto his shoulder. “That’s cool. I’ll wait for you.”

Your stomach dropped.

Of course he’d say that.

You forced a smile. “No, seriously—you don’t have to wait for me.”

But Theo was already shrugging again, leaning back against the seat. “Nah, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Your gaze flicked toward the front of the room just as James dismissed the class.

Students shuffled past him toward the doors, voices loud and chairs scraping—but his eyes were already on you, sharp and knowing.

And just as Theo was texting something on his phone, James pushed off the desk and crossed the room toward you, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze burning a path straight to you.

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly as he stopped at your row, his voice lower now, carrying that unmistakable edge. “Can I talk to you for a second? About your grade—the B- one?”

Your breath caught.

Your eyes slid to Theo, then back to James.

He held your gaze, but a second later, his eyes shifted—pinning Theo with a look so blank and unimpressed that Theo straightened up a little.

“Oh,” Theo said, like he’d finally gotten the message. “I’ll—I’ll wait outside then.”

James inclined his head in a curt nod, and only after Theo grabbed his stuff and slipped past him into the hall did James finally look at you again—a muscle flexing in his jaw as he spoke.

“God,” you breathed out, a soft, relieved laugh slipping past your lips. “I thought he was never going to leave.”

James’s gaze softened, just a little, as one brow arched. “Persistent guy,” he murmured, voice quiet but laced with amusement.

You chuckled, tucking your notebook into your bag and swinging it onto your shoulder. “He means well, I guess,” you said, then glanced up at him properly, your lips twitching into a smile. “But I’d much rather be here with you.”

That pulled the corner of his mouth up into a subtle smile—that one only you ever seemed to see. “That’s good,” he replied, hands slipping into his pockets as he shifted his weight comfortably. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever get rid of him.”

Your heart did a little flip at the faint possessiveness in his tone, and you tilted your head at him, feeling that same flutter you always felt around him.

“You didn’t need to worry,” you said softly.

James held your gaze for a lingering moment, his eyes warm despite the professor mask he always wore. “I’m not,” he answered, then let out a breath that was almost a quiet laugh. “Not really.”

You smiled, fingers brushing the strap of your bag as you stood there together, the quiet hum of the emptying hallway around you like its own little world.

James’ gaze stayed fixed on you, his voice dropping a shade lower as he spoke. “You know…” he began, eyes searching yours, “my last lecture today got canceled. You can come by my office if you want.”

Your breath caught, a familiar thrill sparking in your chest at the invitation. “Is that so?” you teased lightly, brow arching as you bit back a grin.

He shifted a little closer, hands still tucked casually in his pockets but his tone warm, intimate in a way that was meant only for you. “Mm,” he murmured. “Figured we could use the time. Unless,” his mouth tilted in that way that made you weak, “you’d rather spend it with Theo.”

You let out a quiet laugh at that, stepping closer yourself so there was hardly any space left between you. “That’s not even a question,” you replied, voice soft. “Your office sounds a lot better.”

James held your gaze for a long, charged moment, that little satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he said, voice a low hum. “I’ll be waiting.”

And god, the way he looked at you—warm and possessive all at once—had your heart racing as you nodded and followed him down the hall.

Your cheeks heated just a little, and you had to look away before you gave too much away in the middle of an empty classroom. “See you later, Professor,” you murmured, savoring the title like an inside joke.

“See you,” he replied, gaze lingering on you as you finally turned toward the door.

The quiet of the hallway greeted you as you stepped outside, the usual buzz of students a few doors down. And of course, there was Theo—hands tucked into his pockets, one shoulder against the wall like he had nowhere better to be. The moment he saw you, his face brightened.

“There you are,” he said casually, straightening up and brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “So, are you gonna fix that grade or what?”

Your lips twitched into a smirk before you could stop yourself, all too aware of what you’d really been up to over the weekend. “I already did,” you replied breezily.

Theo’s brow arched, his easygoing grin making a brief appearance. “Oh, is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” you said, shifting your books in your arms and tugging your bag higher on your shoulder as you started to walk toward the stairs. The sound of your heels clicked softly against the tiled floor. “Wrote up some extra credit. Took care of it over the weekend.”

He fell into step next to you, hands still in his pockets. “Huh,” he muttered, sounding half-impressed and half-curious. “That was fast.”

“Yeah,” you agreed simply, your smile impossible to hide as you kept your gaze trained ahead, savoring the unspoken secret that still made your pulse race.

“Good,” he replied at last, a touch of amusement in his voice as you rounded the corner toward your next lecture together—him completely oblivious to what “extra credit” had really involved.

———

A few lectures later you were free.

You took your time packing up—sliding your notebooks into your bag one by one, lingering over each tiny task as your heart thudded with anticipation. It wasn’t like you had anywhere else to be. Except, of course, back with him.

The familiar thrill rushed through you as you wove your way across campus. The afternoon light glinted across the windows as you cut through the halls, feet carrying you almost automatically toward his classroom. Every step felt like a secret, every corner you turned making your pulse jump a little faster.

When you reached his door, you paused for a breath, fingers toying with the strap of your bag like you weren’t dying to just go in already.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you eased the door open and slipped into the empty classroom. The door clicked softly behind you, sealing the world outside, and there he was.

He glanced up the second you stepped inside, his gaze locking onto you like you were the only thing that mattered. The tension in his shoulders eased instantly—a look you’d come to recognize—and a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.

“There you are,” he greeted, voice rich and low as he set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“Here I am,” you echoed, your lips curving as you locked the door.

For a heartbeat, you just stood there, drinking him in—sleeves pushed up to his elbows, collar undone just enough to hint at warm skin, dark eyes fixed on you like you were all he could see.

And then you moved.

You crossed the room slowly, savoring the way his gaze followed you, and with a deliberate softness you hopped up onto the edge of his desk. Paper rustled under you, but neither of you cared.

James was already pushing back his chair, unfolding to his full height as he closed the small distance between you.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured as he came to stand between your knees.

His hands were gentle at first—one cupping your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone like you were something fragile—and you couldn’t help leaning into his touch.

“Missed you too,” you whispered, eyes fluttering as you felt his breath warm against your lips.

He bent his head and kissed you—slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every second, mouth melting into yours with a possessive sweetness that made your heart stutter.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left, only the quiet sound of your breaths catching and the delicious pressure of his mouth against yours.

“I thought about you all day,” he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding up into your hair, tilting your face just the way he liked so he could deepen the kiss.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” you admitted breathlessly against him, legs locking loosely around his waist, feeling him hum low in his chest.

“That’s my girl,” he growled softly, lips dragging down your jaw as one broad palm flattened against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured into the curve of your neck, and you let out a shivery little sigh, arching into him as his mouth pressed a trail of warm, deliberate kisses along your throat.

Your hands slid up to cradle his face, tugging him back up so you could kiss him again—deeper this time, a kiss that told him you’d thought of nothing but this since you left his class earlier.

He broke the kiss slowly, lips brushing yours one last time before leaning back just enough to look into your eyes—gaze dark and full of heat.

“God, I missed having you like this,” he murmured, hands still possessive on your hips. Then his gaze dropped, roaming down your body with a hunger that made your breath catch.

“Let me see you,” he coaxed, voice low and rough as his hands slipped lower, fingers brushing the hem of your skirt.

Your lips parted in a shaky breath as he began to ease the fabric upward, slow and deliberate. “That’s it,” he murmured, thumbs stroking circles into your thighs as more of your skin was revealed inch by inch.

You gripped the edge of the desk, pulse fluttering as he finally bunched your skirt up around your waist, dark eyes fixed between your legs.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he told you, voice edged with something deliciously raw as one hand drifted up your inner thigh. “Look at you… already trembling.”

A quiet whimper slipped past your lips as his fingertips skimmed higher, teasing up the softness of your inner thigh before finally hooking into the waistband of your panties.

“Lift for me, sweetheart,” he urged, eyes locking onto yours as you obeyed, hips tilting up just enough for him to draw your panties down your legs—agonizingly slow, the fabric sliding across your skin like a caress.

“Good girl,” he praised huskily, hands steady and sure as he tugged them all the way off, then tucked them into his pocket like they belonged there.

Your cheeks were burning, breath unsteady as he stepped back just a fraction, gaze drinking you in—skirt pushed up around your waist, legs spread for him, every bit of you aching.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, hands trailing up your bare legs again—feather-light at first before his palms settled warmly on your knees and began to ease them further apart.

“Already so wet for me too,” he added, voice turning darker as his thumb brushed against you, making your whole body jump.

Your hands were trembling against the desk now, breath catching as you nodded, eyes fixed on his face—and the wicked glint in his eye as he bent a little closer.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thumb stroking slow and deliberate. “Just keep those pretty legs open for me, baby. Let me take my time.”

And god, you were going to let him do whatever he wanted.

He held your gaze for a charged moment longer, thumb tracing a slow, tantalizing path up the slick heat between your thighs before he finally pressed just a bit more firmly—enough to make your hips jerk, breath spilling from you in a trembling gasp.

“That’s right,” he growled under his breath, utterly captivated by every tiny reaction. “You’re so sensitive already… can’t hide a thing from me, can you?”

Your fingers dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles going white as he began to circle your clit with that maddeningly deliberate touch. Warmth rushed through you in waves as your legs threatened to close—and he just spread you wider with his hands, gaze locked on where you were most exposed.

“Uh-uh,” he chided, low and dark, one corner of his mouth twitching into a wicked smirk. “Keep them open, sweetheart. Want to see you.”

Your body was trembling now, heat racing up your spine as he kept going—slow, practiced strokes that built the pressure in your belly until it was dizzying.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss along the curve of your jaw as his fingers moved faster, slick and sure. “And I love knowing you’re mine, every inch of you… mine.”

You tilted your chin toward him, lips parting for his kiss even as you squirmed against his hand. The way he kissed you—deep and possessive, all heat and hunger—only added fuel to the fire licking through you.

“You feel that, baby?” he murmured into your mouth as one finger pressed inside you, followed by a second, setting a steady rhythm that had your back arching into him. “That’s it—take me so well, just like you always do.”

A shivering moan broke free from your lips and into his, your hands clutching at his shoulders now for something solid to hold onto as his fingers curved just right, stroking that perfect, aching spot inside you.

“You’re gonna come for me right here,” he ordered—voice so low and sure it sent a thrill straight to your core. “And when you do, I want you looking at me. Got it?”

Your nod was desperate and breathless. “’Mm-hmm, James—please,” you gasped, every nerve burning, every movement of his hand winding you up tighter and tighter.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised with a dark, satisfied murmur, mouth brushing your ear as his fingers drove you higher. “Come on, baby… let go for me. Let me feel you.”

And with a trembling, helpless cry of his name, you shattered around him—his fingers still moving through your release as you clenched around him again and again, his other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close while you fell apart.

Your trembling hadn’t even fully stopped before you felt him shifting closer, his hands still warm and sure against your skin.

“You did so good,” he murmured into your hair as you clung to him, your breath shaky and your body still humming from the aftershocks.

And then you heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling—slow and deliberate—as he stepped back just enough to free himself.

Your eyes locked onto his hands for a breathless second as they moved to his zipper, anticipation making your stomach twist with a deeper, needier ache.

“You want it, baby?” he asked, voice dark as his hands slipped around your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the desk, his thumb tracing the inside of your knee.

You could only nod, lips parting on a breath that felt like a prayer.

With a quiet growl, he guided himself to you—hot and hard and so perfectly familiar—and then he was pushing into you inch by slow inch.

Your lips fell open on a soft gasp as you took him, hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

“There you go,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands tightening on your hips to keep you anchored.

He paused when he was fully seated inside you—so deep you could feel every ridge and heat of him—and pressed a kiss to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped as he began to move, long, deep strokes that had your thighs trembling and your back arching into him.

Every slow thrust pulled a new sound from you, his name whispered into the quiet, dim light of his office.

“You’re mine,” he groaned against your neck, one hand threading into your hair as he rocked into you—unhurried, deliberate, making sure you felt every perfect inch of him.

And you were, god, you were—his low voice in your ear, his hands on you like you belonged nowhere else, the deep, devastating slide of him through you over and over until you were dizzy with it.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and all you could do was hold on as he fucked you slow and deep—like he had all the time in the world to unravel you completely.

His hands were gripping your waist so tight you were sure you’d wear his fingerprints for days. The two of you moved together like it was the most natural thing in the world—your bodies perfectly in sync, the slick slide of him making you bite back whimpers every time his hips ground into you just right.

You were clinging to him, eyes fluttering, lips parted against the sharp edge of his collar as you fought to keep yourself quiet in the empty classroom. The blinds were pulled, the door locked—the entire campus might as well have disappeared.

“You’re perfect,” he growled under his breath, voice like gravel as he kissed a trail up your throat.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him in closer, moaning into his mouth as he fucked you deeper and slower, every deliberate thrust lighting up your whole body.

“God, James—” you breathed, rocking into him, already trembling on the edge of losing it entirely.

And that was when the knock came.

Both of you froze like you’d been plunged into ice water—your heart jumping into your throat.

Your eyes went wide, breath held as James’s hands instinctively covered your mouth, his gaze pinned to yours.

A sharp voice from the other side of the door followed.

“Professor James? Are you there?”

You couldn’t help the panicked shiver that went through you—feeling him still hard and pulsing inside you, both of you trapped in this perfect, terrible tension.

James stayed perfectly still, his palm firm over your lips as if expecting you to cry out just from the adrenaline. His dark eyes were locked on yours, his brow drawn together in a fierce frown.

Your hands tightened on his shoulders, nails pressing into him, every nerve on fire as you tried not to breathe too loudly.

Another knock—louder this time—and you heard a faint rustle outside like someone was leaning closer to the door.

“Professor?” the voice called again. “Sorry to bother you, just need a quick word.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you felt dizzy, eyes pleading up at him in a mixture of lust and fear, a trembling ache still humming between your legs even as you were scared out of your mind.

James’s thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, his lips ghosting your ear as he whispered so low you could feel the vibration of it through your entire body:

“Not a fucking word.”

And you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to go utterly still—trapped in that dark, dizzying hush together as someone stood just on the other side of the door, so close they could have heard your racing hearts if they listened hard enough.

Your breath was caught halfway up your throat as you stared at him, pulse thundering in your ears, still trembling from the aftermath of what you’d just been doing.

James pulled out of you carefully—his hands still gentle even though there was a sharp edge of panic tightening his movements—and you bit back a sound at the loss, hastily tugging your skirt down over your aching thighs.

The knock came again—sharper this time—and James cursed under his breath before leaning close.

“Window,” he whispered urgently, eyes dark and serious.

Your stomach flipped. “What?!”

“Go out through the window,” he hissed, already reaching to straighten his belt and smooth his hair with a hand.

You stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “James—are you serious? What if someone sees me?!”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the window as you tried to fix your shirt. “I don’t know—be careful,” he urged, his voice a fierce whisper as another knock sounded.

“Oh my god,” you whispered back, feeling the adrenaline surge like fire through your veins. “You want me to jump out like a fugitive?!” you squeaked, heart racing, the whole thing so absurd you could hardly believe it.

James shot you a wild look over his shoulder as he moved to intercept whoever was knocking. “That’s exactly what I want,” he muttered. “And don’t break your neck, please.”

You swallowed hard as you crossed the short distance to the window. Thank god this was the ground floor—you only had to swing a leg over the sill and drop a few feet into the grass.

Your hands trembled as you undid the latch, the cool breeze instantly spilling into the room.

“God,” you whispered to yourself, heart thudding as you hitched your skirt up and swung one leg over.

“Careful,” James urged in a rushed whisper.

You slipped outside, crouching as you hit the grass and glanced up at him one last time.

“Don’t get caught,” he mouthed.

Your lips twitched despite the panic as you pulled your jacket tighter around you and hurried along the wall—trying to look as casual as possible—heart pounding, breath shallow, feeling like you’d just pulled off a prison break as you disappeared around the corner.

And up in the classroom, James was finally unlocking the door, already fixing his face into an innocent, professional expression as if nothing at all had just happened.

Your heart was still thudding painfully against your ribs as you hurried across the quad, weaving between scattered groups of students without really seeing any of them. The chilled air didn’t help—your hands were trembling as you dug your keycard out of your pocket and pushed into your dorm building, your face feeling too hot for comfort.

God, that was so fucking close.

Your steps were quicker than usual as you took the stairs two at a time, every sound around you feeling too loud. Every time someone glanced your way in the hallway, your stomach flipped—as if they somehow knew what you’d just been doing, like they’d seen you slip out of that window.

Or worse—like whoever had knocked had heard something before you two had stopped.

Your brain was racing as you reached your door, key sliding into the lock with shaky fingers. What if someone really did see you sneaking out? What if they went back and told someone? What if they connected the dots?

The door clicked open and you stepped into your room, leaning against the wood as you shut it behind you and pressed your palm flat over your pounding heart.

Your thoughts kept circling: who was that outside? Did they wait long enough to hear anything? Could they recognize you if they looked back outside and caught you rounding the corner?

God, you hoped not.

“Are you okay? You look like shit.”

You spun around to see Sarah sitting cross‑legged on her bed with her laptop perched on her knees, eyes narrowed at you like you’d just stumbled in from a war zone.

“Oh—hey,” you managed, breathless as you set your bag down a bit too carefully.

Sarah raised a brow. “Hey? That’s it? You sure you’re okay? You look like you just ran a marathon.”

Your hands went up in a vague shrug as you kicked off your shoes. “Long day,” you offered, hoping your voice didn’t give you away.

“Long day,” she echoed slowly, leaning forward. “And by long day you mean what exactly?”

You avoided her gaze, rubbing at the back of your neck as you tried to keep your face neutral. “Nothing crazy,” you mumbled. “Just… had to deal with some stuff on campus. Took forever.”

“Uh-huh.” Sarah’s suspicion didn’t waver, lips twitching like she wasn’t buying it one bit.

You grabbed your phone and tossed yourself onto your bed, face buried in a pillow to hide the heat creeping up your neck. The ghost of his hands on you still tingled across your skin, and you couldn’t stop replaying the frantic moment over and over again—the knock at the door, the sound of someone calling his name, the two of you freezing like deer in headlights.

Your phone buzzed against the sheets, yanking you back to the present. Heart skipping, you rolled over and grabbed it.

James | 3:21PM

God, that was close.

Your heart gave a painful thud.

You | 3:21PM

Yeah. No shit.

A moment passed before another message came through.

James | 3:21PM

You okay?

You stared at the question for a long second, lips pressed together. Were you okay? Almost getting caught like that had scared the hell out of you—your hands were still a little shaky.

You | 3:22PM

More or less. That scared the crap out of me. Pretty sure I aged ten years.

His reply was almost instant.

James | 3:22PM

Me too.

That one admission hit you hard—especially coming from him. Calm, composed, always so sure of himself. Except this time, he was just as shaken as you.

You | 3:22PM

That was too close, James. Way too close.

There was a long pause this time. You could picture him, brow furrowed, running a hand through his hair the way he always did when he was thinking too much.

Finally:

James | 3:24PM

I know.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you searched for the right words. The room felt too quiet, your heart thudding loud in your chest.

You | 3:24PM

What if someone heard? What if they saw me leave?

More typing bubbles appeared and disappeared before his next text.

James | 3:25PM

They didn’t. You’re safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

Your stomach twisted—you knew he meant it. But this wasn’t some easy game. One slip, one wrong move, and everything could blow up in both your faces.

You | 3:25PM

That was way too close, though. Too risky.

That message hung in the silence for what felt like forever before his final reply appeared.

James | 3:26PM

I know.

And you could feel the weight behind those two words as if he were right there beside you—knowing that what you had was dangerous and fragile and so damn close to breaking if you weren’t careful.

You let your phone drop onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, breath shaky, heart still pounding as the reality of what almost happened began to fully sink in.

———

By the next morning, the knot in your stomach still hadn’t disappeared. The entire walk across campus felt surreal—like you were on autopilot, hands tucked into your pockets, your thoughts still spinning wildly around yesterday.

And him.

Theo kept up a steady pace beside you, backpack slung over one shoulder, humming something under his breath. But you barely heard him. Every little detail from yesterday—the rush of hands and lips, the sudden knock at the door—was on repeat in your mind like a song you couldn’t shut off.

“You okay?” Theo’s voice cut in gently, making you blink.

You glanced at him. “Yeah, yeah,” you answered a bit too quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite feel real.

He didn’t look convinced but let it slide as you crossed into the lecture hall together. Students were already filing into their seats, the usual hum of conversation filling the room.

And then you felt it—that magnetic pull.

Your eyes drifted up to the front of the classroom where James was leaning against his desk, hands gripping the edges casually, gaze scanning the room as if nothing had happened yesterday. Nothing at all.

But when his eyes found you, the smallest flicker crossed his face—so fast it was barely there.

Your heart thudded in your chest.

Theo followed your gaze without thinking and then glanced back at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, lower this time.

You swallowed and nodded, breaking eye contact with the professor as you pulled out your chair. “I’m fine. Really.”

Theo watched you for a beat longer before shrugging and slipping into the seat next to yours.

He set his backpack down with a quiet thump and began pulling out his notebook, but his gaze kept straying toward the front of the room.

Every so often, almost like clockwork, you glanced up at James—a quick flicker of your eyes that lasted a heartbeat too long before you made yourself look back at your notes again.

Theo didn’t comment.

He sat there, tapping his pen lightly against the edge of his desk, and you were too busy flipping blankly through your notebook to see the way his brow had creased, or the way his mouth had pressed into a thin, thoughtful line.

Out of the corner of his eye, he kept watching you—the subtle way your shoulders tensed when James spoke, the way you held your breath when those sharp blue eyes scanned the classroom, and how you immediately seemed to exhale when they moved on.

He noticed the tiny things you probably thought you were disguising.

Your hands fidgeting in your lap when the professor walked past your row. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear even though it wasn’t in your face. The faint color high on your cheeks that didn’t match the chilly morning outside.

And most of all, that careful, too-casual way you weren’t looking at him.

Theo didn’t say a word—not then, not as the professor started his lecture in that same measured voice that filled the hall, nor as you stared straight ahead like you were giving the class your full attention.

But Theo’s gaze kept returning to you.

The puzzle pieces were starting to fit together in his head, slowly and quietly.

And you had no idea at all.

You were too caught up in the lingering buzz under your skin, in the way yesterday kept playing over and over in your mind—hands and lips and whispered warnings you probably still felt against your neck—to notice the way Theo was studying you like someone trying to read between the lines.

He never broke the silence. Never asked the obvious questions that had started to form at the back of his mind.

He just sat there, listening to the scrape of his pen on his notebook and the professor’s deep voice as it filled the room—and kept his thoughts to himself.

The professor’s voice cut through the din of the crowded lecture hall one last time—“That’ll be all for today”—and just like that, the spell was broken. The usual shuffle of students packing up, murmuring to each other, and dragging their feet toward the door filled the air.

You took your time, hands moving slowly as you tucked your pen into your notebook, feeling strangely detached. The faint scratch of your zipper was louder than you expected as you closed up your bag, pulse a little too fast for such an ordinary moment.

When you finally glanced up, Theo was already watching you—leaning casually against his chair, one brow arched ever so slightly.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound more breezy than you felt.

His mouth curved into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he replied, voice light. Too light.

That one word hung there between you, deceptively simple, and something about his steady gaze made you suddenly feel like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

Your eyes flicked toward the front of the room before you could stop yourself.

James was leaning against his desk in that effortless way of his, hands braced against the edge as a couple of students clustered around him with questions. Even from this distance you could see the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint smile that tugged at his lips as he spoke.

Your chest tightened just looking at him.

And when you dragged your gaze back to Theo, his brow had twitched—just a tiny shift. He held your gaze for a beat too long then glanced toward James, then back at you. “You wanna go up there and ask him something again?”

Your stomach flipped.

There was nothing accusing in his voice. In fact, if someone overheard, they’d probably just assume he was offering to wait while you clarified an assignment. But under that casual tone, there was an unspoken weight, an observation threaded between every word.

Your lips parted, then pressed together, a faint flush prickling up your neck.

“No,” you answered, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel as you hitched your bag higher onto your shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Theo said simply.

He fell into step beside you as you moved toward the exit, hands in his pockets, gaze straight ahead—unbothered, at least on the surface.

And as the door swung shut behind you, you felt the weight of his quiet scrutiny lingering, sharp and discerning. Whether or not he had you figured out completely, one thing was clear: Theo wasn’t as oblivious as he let on.

The hall was busier now, students spilling out of classrooms, voices bouncing off the high ceilings as everyone shuffled toward their next lectures. Theo matched your pace easily, hands stuffed into his pockets, his stride loose and comfortable like nothing was on his mind.

“You really pay attention in his lectures,” Theo commented casually, his tone light—almost offhand—as if he were making small talk.

Your heart skipped, hands tightening around your bag strap. “I do?” you shot back, forcing a little laugh as you kept your eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Mm-hm,” Theo mused, that easy little hum of his making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Every time Barnes looks your way, you seem to straighten up like you’re about to be quizzed.”

Your stomach fluttered nervously. Every time? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye but Theo was just strolling along like this was nothing, like he hadn’t noticed more than he was letting on.

“I mean, he’s a good lecturer,” you replied carefully, trying to sound breezy. “Makes it easier to focus.”

“Easier to focus,” Theo echoed, his lips quirking. “That’s one way to put it.”

You felt heat crawl up the back of your neck and shifted your bag higher onto your shoulder. God, had you been that obvious?

“You seem to like him,” Theo continued, his gaze fixed ahead as the two of you maneuvered around a group of students huddled outside a classroom.

“Don’t most people like him?” you asked, maybe a bit too quickly.

Theo only gave a small shrug. “Some people do. Some people don’t. You, though…” His voice trailed off just long enough to make you look at him.

He was watching you then, one brow raised ever so slightly, eyes thoughtful—not accusing, not teasing. Just… curious.

“You look at him different,” he said finally, voice pitched so low it was almost lost beneath the hum of nearby conversations.

Your heart thudded hard at that, hands curling into fists around the strap of your bag.

“I do?” you replied softly, hating that your voice sounded smaller than you intended.

Theo’s gaze lingered on your face for a breath before the corner of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile. “Hey, I’m just saying,” he added lightly, as if he hadn’t just peeled back a layer you’d been carefully guarding. “He’s kind of… intense. A little hard to read. Makes sense someone might be drawn to him.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, searching for any sign that he knew more than he was letting on—but Theo only smiled a bit wider before pushing open the door to your next classroom.

The familiar hum of conversation and the scrape of chair legs against the floor greeted you as you followed him inside. It felt strangely loud against the nervous energy still buzzing in your chest.

“You grabbing this one?” Theo asked, jerking his chin toward the back row—your usual spot.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile as you slipped into the seat.

He slid into the chair next to you, casually dropping his backpack at his feet and pulling his laptop free.

Your hands were already reaching into your own bag for your notebook when your phone vibrated in your pocket—just once, sharp and insistent enough to make your heart jump.

You glanced at the screen under the desk.

James | 9:31AM

Hey, I thought you were gonna stay for a moment after the lecture. Everything okay?

Your stomach flipped.

Of course he’d noticed you hadn’t come up to him—usually you’d catch him before leaving, even if just for a quick word.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard as you glanced sideways at Theo. He was already logged into his laptop, eyes fixed on his screen, but there was that subtle, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth that made you feel like he was more present than he seemed.

You lowered the phone into your lap and quickly typed back.

You | 9:32AM

Sorry, wanted to but Theo was waiting for me. Didn’t want him to catch on.

You paused before hitting send, heart thudding as you reread it.

The message disappeared with a tiny whoosh.

You stared at your phone for a long second, nerves tangled up as you waited for the typing bubble to appear.

Beside you, Theo shifted in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on his laptop like he had no interest at all in what you were doing—but every part of you felt hyper-aware of him.

And just as the professor walked in and started the lecture, your phone vibrated again in your palm.

James | 9:33AM

Figured. Don’t worry. We’ll catch up later. Come to my office when you’re done with your lectures, okay? Wanna talk about yesterday.

You bit your lip, a small smile tugging at your mouth even as guilt pricked at you.

That familiar ache settled into your chest as you tucked your phone away and glanced up at the front of the room, forcing yourself to focus on the professor’s voice—all the while feeling the weight of Theo’s unspoken questions and the lingering, secret heat of James’ message under your skin.

———

By the time the last lecture of the day wrapped up, your head was already somewhere else. The professor’s parting words barely registered as you slid your notebook into your bag, hands moving quickly—more quickly than they needed to.

Your phone felt warm in your pocket, that last message from James still lingering in the back of your thoughts like an invitation you couldn’t wait to answer.

“Hey,” Theo’s voice pulled you back as you stood, shrugging your bag onto your shoulder.

You glanced up to see him already waiting for you at the end of the row, hands tucked into his pockets in that easy, casual way he always had.

“Yeah?” you replied, forcing a light smile as you fell into step with him toward the door.

“You free now, right?” he asked, pushing the door open for you and matching your pace as you moved into the hallway. “I was thinking we could grab some lunch—or maybe coffee? My treat,” he added with a shrug.

You paused just long enough to register the offer. Normally, you’d say yes without a second thought—Theo was easy company, someone who never pressed too hard—but right now your chest felt tight with an entirely different kind of anticipation.

“Oh,” you began, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you kept your gaze trained ahead of you, avoiding his eyes. “That’s really nice of you, but, uh… I actually have to take care of something after this.”

“Something?” he echoed, tone light but laced with curiosity as you descended the staircase together.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, hoping it sounded casual. “Nothing serious, just—stuff for a friend.”

And god, even saying it out loud sent a thrill up your spine—one you hoped he couldn’t hear in your voice.

Theo was quiet for a moment as you wove past a couple of students hurrying the other way. Then he nodded, lips twitching into a small, knowing smile as he glanced at you sidelong.

“Ah. Friend… Got it,” he drawled, like he was letting you off the hook. “Guess I’ll catch you next time then.”

“Next time,” you agreed, breath slipping out in a subtle sigh of relief.

But as you kept walking, you felt the weight of his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he finally peeled off toward the courtyard, hands in his pockets, that easy posture never quite fading.

Your heart thudded faster as you kept going—past the familiar halls, past the windows that let in the bright spill of afternoon light—and all you could think about was him.

James.

By the time you reached his classroom, you paused for a breath and glanced around, making sure no one was lingering nearby. Satisfied, you knocked softly and pushed the door open, stepping inside and easing it shut behind you before turning the lock with a quiet click.

He was already watching you, gaze steady and unreadable as you crossed the room.

“You came,” he murmured, and you felt a tiny, breathless smile tug at your lips.

“Of course,” you replied, hands twisting around the strap of your bag before you set it down on one of the front desks. “We didn’t really talk after… yesterday.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing a palm over the back of his neck as if there was a tension there he hadn’t shaken.

“About that,” he began, voice pitched lower now—serious in a way that made your stomach flip. “That was close. Too close.”

Your mouth went dry as you glanced up at him, remembering the knock on the door, the way his hand had clamped over your mouth…

“God,” you breathed, heart skipping, “I thought we were screwed.”

James’ eyes darkened, hands braced on the edge of his desk as he studied you. “It was one of the other professors,” he explained. “Looking for me. Nothing more—and I don’t think she heard anything.”

That knot in your chest loosened a fraction at his words, but the unease still coiled there.

“You sure?” you asked quietly.

He held your gaze for a moment before answering. “I’m sure,” he said, but then his brow furrowed, and there was a flash of something rawer in his eyes—something like guilt. “Still, it was too fucking close.”

Your fingers traced the smooth grain of the desk as you listened, lips pressing together. “Yeah,” you agreed softly. “Way too close.”

James exhaled, pushing off the desk and stepping toward you until there was hardly a breath between you. His hands rose—gentle this time—to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like he was grounding himself.

“If something had happened,” he began, his voice a hushed rasp, “if someone had walked in and seen…”

Your heart thudded harder at the thought, breath catching as you looked up into his gaze.

“James,” you whispered, hands lifting to circle his wrists, “nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened,” he echoed, leaning his forehead to yours, his warm breath feathering across your lips. “But if it had—if someone had heard or seen you—I don’t…” His jaw tensed as the words trailed off, leaving the thought hanging between you, thick and unspoken.

Your chest ached with a strange mix of affection and fear, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I know,” you murmured, the tension trembling in your voice. “And I hate that we have to worry about this.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved—he just held you like you were something fragile, like if he let go, the world might come crashing in.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said finally, his hands trembling ever so slightly against your skin. “Any of it. I hate that I put you in this position.”

Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, holding him just as tightly. “Hey,” you whispered, voice fierce despite the softness of the moment, “you didn’t put me anywhere. I chose this. I chose you.”

That broke him.

James’ eyes searched yours like he couldn’t quite believe you—like he needed to feel it in his hands, taste it on your lips to make sure it was real. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he breathed, voice strained with honesty. “God, if anything ever did because of me…”

You reached up and threaded your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer until your lips brushed his. “Nothing will,” you murmured, kissing him gently, lingeringly—hoping he felt every bit of the trust you felt for him.

And when he kissed you back—slow and aching and careful—you felt it too. The weight of his fear, his devotion. The fragile, secret thing you were both holding onto with everything you had.

Your hands stayed tangled in his hair as you pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him—at the faint crease between his brows, the way his mouth was set in that tense, guarded line you’d come to recognize when something was weighing him down.

“James,” you whispered, voice trembling with the weight of everything swirling in your chest. “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

That admission was raw and naked—and you felt it in your ribs, in your bones, like a trembling thread pulling you toward him no matter what.

But instead of melting into your words like you hoped, he closed his eyes and gave the slightest, aching shake of his head.

“Don’t say that,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your face as though he needed the contact to stay upright. “You deserve so much better than this—better than sneaking around, better than worrying every second if someone’s going to walk in.”

Your heart squeezed painfully at the way his voice broke around the edges.

“James,” you urged, hands smoothing down from his neck to cradle his face, thumbs brushing along the sharp curve of his cheekbones. “Stop. Please.”

But he didn’t stop.

“You deserve someone who can kiss you in the middle of the street,” he went on, his gaze flicking away like he couldn’t bear to look at you as he spoke. “Someone who can take you to dinner, who can introduce you without fearing they’ll lose everything—without fearing they’ll drag you into the fire too.”

That was what this was, you realized in that instant—it wasn’t just worry for himself or even the secret you’d been keeping together. It was guilt.

He thought he was ruining you just by loving you.

Your throat tightened, eyes stinging as you watched him wrestle with it—all the quiet, relentless weight he carried just to have you in his life.

“James,” you said again, softer this time, forcing him to look at you as you smoothed your hands along his jaw. “I don’t care about any of that. None of it. None of the things you think I deserve—none of that matters to me if it means I don’t have you.”

His blue eyes searched yours, pain flickering across his face—like part of him still tried to believe you but the other part was too scared to.

“You don’t see what this is,” he murmured, hands trembling faintly as they held you. “What it could do to you if it ever went wrong.”

You did. And you hated it. Hated that this was where you’d ended up—tangled together in the shadows of his empty classroom with fear nipping at your heels, when all you wanted was him.

When all you ever wanted was him.

“I see you,” you told him fiercely, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his. “And I see everything that could go wrong. But I also see you every time you touch me like this—like I’m all that you’ll ever need—and I swear to God, that’s enough for me.”

James’ brow furrowed deeper at your words, his breath hitching as he listened, and you felt his hands flex against your skin like he was holding on by a thread.

“You are enough,” you whispered. “More than enough. And I’d take this—take you—every single time.”

For a long moment, he was utterly still, his eyes locked on yours as though he was looking for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt—and when he didn’t find it, when all he saw was you looking at him like he was the only person in the world, something in him finally gave.

His hands slid back into your hair, tugging you close, his mouth crashing into yours with a low, aching sound you felt all the way to your heart.

And you kissed him back, hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt, holding him like you never wanted to let him go—like you’d take every shadow, every risk, as long as you could keep this one, fleeting thing that mattered most.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, hands still trembling against his chest as you held his gaze.

“I really mean it, James,” you whispered, voice thick with all the feelings crowding your heart. “I want you. Always and forever. I love you and I don’t care about anything else.”

The way he looked at you then—like he was terrified you’d change your mind—made your chest ache. His hands were still tangled in your hair, thumbs stroking the side of your face so carefully you felt it all the way to your fingertips.

“You have no idea,” you continued, breathless but steady, “I’d do anything to make this easier. God, maybe I could transfer. Or drop this whole thing and just—”

He cut you off before you could even finish, a sharp breath leaving him as he shook his head, eyes dark with something that looked too much like fear.

“God, no,” he murmured fiercely, leaning in so close his forehead brushed yours. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you even think it.”

You blinked up at him, heart thudding hard in your chest as you felt his hands tighten against you.

“You’re so fucking talented,” he went on, his voice hushed but so full of intensity that it sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re brilliant. Don’t ever throw that away for me.”

And there it was—all the weight he’d been carrying, every ounce of guilt that kept him up at night. You saw it all in the way his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed into a tense line, like it physically pained him to even imagine you giving up your future for him.

“You’re going to do amazing things,” he whispered, thumb grazing along your cheekbone like he could memorize the feel of you. “And I’m not going to be the reason you lose that.”

Your heart twisted at his words—because god, didn’t he see? Didn’t he know that none of those things mattered if you couldn’t have this too?

“You don’t understand,” you whispered back, hands gripping the front of his shirt as though you were scared he might disappear. “None of that feels real without you in it.”

He held your gaze, something raw and aching flickering in his eyes as he searched your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

And then, so softly you almost missed it, “That’s exactly why I can’t let you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment you could only stare at him—feeling that bittersweet swell of love and sadness all tangled together.

“You mean that much to me,” he added, hands trembling just slightly as they framed your face. “More than anything. Even if it means I have to wait. Even if it means I have to watch you chase every dream you ever wanted first.”

Your eyes burned, hands fisting tighter into his shirt like you could will him to understand—but he already did.

And when he bent his head to kiss you again, so gentle and so careful like you were something priceless, you felt it in every inch of your soul.

That no matter what happened—no matter where this all led—James would put you first. Always.

He rested his forehead against yours for a long, aching moment, breath fanning gently over your lips like he was trying to find the right words. When they finally came, his voice was quieter—softer—but trembling with the weight of them.

“Maybe…” he began carefully, hands still cradling your face like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. “Maybe we need to slow this down.”

Your heart stalled, a strange cold blooming in your chest as you searched his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

James exhaled slowly, thumb brushing your cheek as though he could soothe you with that one small touch. “I mean—we need to take a step back,” he murmured. “Not because I want to, god knows I don’t. But you deserve to focus on your future without worrying about someone finding out. About me ruining this for you.”

The words hit you like a chill. Slowing down was the last thing you wanted. Every time you were apart, it felt like you were holding your breath until you could see him again. Every stolen kiss and whispered conversation had felt like lifelines—not distractions.

You stared up at him, hands trembling at your sides. “James…”

He kissed your temple so gently you almost broke. “I just want to do this the right way,” he continued, voice low, threaded with guilt and fierce, protective care. “And god, I hate the idea of making you feel scared or trapped. You mean too much to me to ever risk that.”

Your eyes burned as you looked at him, heart aching with a kind of impossible softness. The way he was looking at you—as if your happiness mattered more to him than his own—it took all the air from your lungs.

And even though every part of you screamed that you never wanted to slow this down, that you didn’t care about the risk, you could see what this was costing him too.

“You really mean that,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

He nodded, pressing his forehead back to yours like it was painful to hold back. “I do.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you couldn’t help yourself. “I hate it,” you confessed softly. “I hate the thought of not seeing you as much, of not—”

Your voice broke, and he held you closer, hands rubbing up and down your back like he wished he could take it all away.

“Me too,” he breathed, voice rough. “More than you know.”

And you believed him—you could feel it in the way his arms stayed wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go, in the way he held his breath when you finally whispered:

“Okay.”

That single word felt heavier than anything you’d ever said, but you knew it was what he needed to hear. Even if it shattered a part of you inside.

James’ hands flexed against you, lips brushing your hair like a quiet thank you. “You’re so fucking brave,” he whispered. “And I promise you, sweetheart, this is not forever.”

You closed your eyes and pressed your face into his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat ground you as you nodded.

“Okay,” you breathed again—softer this time, like you were trying to believe it too.

“You should go,” he said again, this time softer, hands slipping reluctantly from your waist as though his touch was already a memory. “Before anyone sees.”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of it—so final, so careful—like a door swinging shut that neither of you wanted to close.

For a moment, you just stared at him, lips parted, a hundred things you wanted to say swirling in your chest. But the knot in your throat was already making it hard to breathe, and his gaze—that gentle, tired sadness in his eyes—told you more than words ever could.

“Fine,” you finally managed, voice trembling as you forced a shaky smile you didn’t feel.

He held your gaze like he might reach for you again, hands flexing at his sides, the muscle in his jaw ticking like this was hurting him too.

And god, it was.

You slipped your bag over your shoulder, every movement slow and aching, like you could stretch this last fragile moment forever if you took your time. But then James gave you a small nod—the kind that left no room for argument—and you knew you had to go.

“See you,” you whispered, stepping backward toward the door, hands trembling against the cold knob as you forced yourself to turn away.

The hallway felt too bright, too loud, like stepping into a different world.

Your fingers dug into your bag’s strap as you moved on autopilot, one foot in front of the other. Every sound around you—the scrape of lockers, distant laughter, someone pushing past—felt muted beneath the dizzy hum of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

By the time you made it outside into the crisp air, you were trembling—shoulders hunching instinctively as if to hide.

God, you hated this part—hated leaving him, hated how much it already hurt.

Your breath hitched, the ache you’d been holding back burning its way up your throat until it was impossible to breathe around it.

You kept your eyes fixed on the path in front of you as you hurried across campus, head down, vision going glassy with tears.

Every step back toward your dorm felt heavier, your chest tighter, like something fragile and vital had been left behind in that classroom—wrapped up in him and his hands and his voice.

And god, you felt so empty without it.

By the time you reached the dorm building, you couldn’t fight it anymore.

You paused halfway up the staircase, leaning into the wall, palm pressed to your face as a shaky breath broke loose—then another—until a choked sob slipped out before you could stop it.

Tears pricked hotly at your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the cool wall and fought to catch your breath, trembling with every ragged inhale.

And all you could do was stand there for a long, aching moment, hands trembling against your damp cheeks, knowing that walking away hadn’t made anything easier—it had only left you feeling raw and hollow in a way that scared you.

When you finally made it back to your room, your hands were trembling so hard you fumbled with your key in the lock. Every breath felt too short, your chest too tight, and you didn’t even realize there were tears on your face until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the tiny mirror by the door—eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling, shoulders tense.

When you pushed the door open, Sarah was sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through some notes, humming under her breath—but the second her gaze lifted and took you in, her expression changed completely.

“Oh my god,” she was on her feet in an instant, crossing the space between you in two quick steps. “Hey—hey, wait—what happened? Are you okay?”

You could barely choke back a breath as she reached for you, her hands gentle but firm on your arms like she was scared you’d collapse. And maybe you would have.

Your lip quivered, chin trembling as you just shook your head, trying to hold it together. But the dam you’d been trying so hard to patch up all the way back was breaking, faster and faster, and you didn’t have the strength left to stop it.

“I…” you managed, voice wrecked and shaky before you broke off entirely.

Sarah pulled you into her arms without another word, wrapping you up so tight you could feel her heartbeat against your cheek. That’s when you really broke—a jagged, aching sob tearing up your throat as you buried your face against her shoulder.

“Hey, shhh,” she murmured into your hair, her hands rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’m here. I’m here. Whatever happened, I’ve got you, okay?”

You clung to her like a lifeline, shoulders trembling with each uneven breath, hands bunched into the back of her shirt as if she were the only solid thing left.

“I’ve fucked up,” you choked out after a few breaths, voice raw and shaky. “Sarah, I’ve fucked up so bad. I got into such a fucking mess.”

“Hey, hey,” she pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cupping your face gently so you had to meet her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Your lips parted, the words right there—all the tangled, messy feelings you’d been carrying for what felt like forever. The secret. Him. The way you loved him so much it scared you, and the way it had all started to feel like a house of cards just waiting for the smallest breeze to knock it all down.

But you couldn’t say it. You weren’t sure you even could if you tried.

Instead, you just shook your head again, eyes stinging as more tears threatened to spill. “I can’t,” you whispered, the words cracking. “God, I can’t even tell you. It’s just—it’s too much.”

Her brow furrowed, worry etched across her face, but she didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just gathered you up again without hesitation, one hand smoothing the back of your hair as you clung to her like you might disappear otherwise.

“It’s okay,” Sarah murmured against your temple, voice soft and sure. “I’m here. Whatever it is, you can tell me—I’m here.”

And you felt it in the way she held you—steady and warm, her presence solid enough to lean into when everything else was spinning out of control.

Part 7 soon 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404 @peanutbutt3rcup @heymydearheart @s-sh-ne

#barnesonly #marvel #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #writing #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #lust #professor!bucky barnes #professor!bucky #au #au fanfic #bucky barnes smut #smut #bucky barnes angst #angst

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darkmatilda · 2 days ago

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𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: truly awful day in every sense of the word — and then there’s him, spencer reid, armed with a small moral mission to make it at least a little better for you. the question is — will he succeed?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, light cat scratch on reader's face (nothing serious) reader being mad and frustrated at the entire universe (fair enough) mention of their little argument and the overall tension, “what happened to yearning—” ITS RIGHT THERE B* + neck massage xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.2k

𝐚/𝐧: request

That day started with a scratch.

And quite literally.

Somehow, your beloved fluffy muffin tiny bundle firstborn princess dearest kitten daughter managed to land her paws right on your face, leaving behind a souvenir running along your cheekbone. The first pain you felt that day. The second one settled in your neck and shoulders, taking the form of sharp tension — you and your flatmate had a rule of taking turns with the big, comfy bed, which meant that every other night you had to sleep on the couch.

In the morning rush, you didn’t even have time to properly look at the scratch — you simply covered it with a layer of makeup and headed…to the subway station. The car was in the shop, and it was going to stay there for a few more days. A solidly unfortunate start to the day.

Funny how everything that happened next turned into a real rollercoaster of bad luck, with people riding it, throwing their hands up in euphoric excitement and screaming whaaat dooo youuu saaay nooow biiitch!

The barista messing up your order — and on top of that, arguing with you that you must’ve given it wrong. Rushing into work late thanks to that argument. Spilling coffee all over your favourite shirt on the way to the lab. And a whole crowd of people collectively deciding that this was the perfect moment to cut their IQ in half, execute the last of their brain cells, bombard you with a stream of pointless, redundant questions and generally piss you off.

The ones who weren’t pissing you off got caught in the crossfire too. Poor Winchester had already been trying to tiptoe around you all day — bless him for that — but even that didn’t save him from the curse of this particular day.

By the time it finally ended, you made your way back to the apartment…also by public transport. Judging by the smell, the people around you had had a rough day too. A very sweaty one. And they all apparently shared a passionate disdain for that remarkable human invention called deodorant.

But even though you had a strong urge to just storm into the apartment and throw yourself onto the bed — which, for tonight, finally belonged to you — you hesitated for a second before putting the key in the lock. You and Spencer had…argued. The thing with you two was that you could argue loudly, dramatically, and passionately — about the most ridiculous, pointless topics, like the mother of the main character in a novel you both happened to read one after the other, which, frankly, wasn’t even that rare now that you shared an apartment, space, and therefore, a bookshelf.

But then there were the more serious fights. The quiet ones. The ones that echoed between you for days, even though barely a word had been spoken.

This…was one of those.

You hoped he wasn’t inside. That he got wrapped up in some time-consuming case and wouldn’t come back until you were already asleep. Just…hopefuly not a really hard case for him.

Spencer, of course, couldn’t have known about the hesitation happening on the other side of the door. It just so happened that he was waiting for her arrival and had sprung to life at the sound of the key in the lock, rehearsing a general script of the conversation he wanted to have. Above all, he wanted to apologize once more for slipping up to Penelope about their shared secret. Not that it would turn back time, but he felt it was necessary. Or at least it was something he could do to slightly melt the icy wall that had formed between them. He had no other ideas.

Standing in the living room, he froze for a moment, motionless. He heard it — the sound of the door closing with force and the abrupt toss of keys onto the dresser by the door. And that was all it took for him to retreat. Those were not signals indicating any desire for interaction with the person who had recently pissed you off and toward who you still held a grudge or let alone any desire for a genuine conversation.

He spun around in circles like an ant, a bit unsure of what he should do. His flatmate almost immediately went to the bedroom that was hers that day, she didn’t even stop to greet the cat, who was currently doing yoga on the TV cabinet. And that alone was a clear sign that something was wrong. Maybe the whole day was just off.

As he pondered what to do — mainly considering abandoning his apology plans altogether or postponing them to another time — his gaze landed on Marie stretching out her front paws, and he thought about how apologies didn’t have to be a huge, loud gesture with fireworks and a big red bow, they could also unfold more gently, evolving naturally.

He started by finding the TV remote and turning on RuPaul’s Drag Race show he absolutely didn’t understand at all, but knew she liked. He was careful with the volume: not too loud so it wouldn’t seem intrusive, but loud enough for her to hear and catch her attention. Then he went to the kitchen to grab two mugs and start brewing tea. He pretended to be completely focused on the process and acted as if he hadn’t heard her leave the bedroom and appear on the opposite side of the kitchen island, gliding her hand along it as she approached.

He looked up at her only when she was standing directly across, separated by nothing but the sharp edge of the countertop, her eyebrows raised suspiciously. “Watching my show?” she asked.

Spencer shrugged, the nonchalance and innocence in the gesture perhaps a little overdone.

“I’m just making some tea,” he replied calmly, pouring boiling water into the two mugs. “Maybe Marie accidentally stepped on the remote.”

He turned to put the kettle down just as she snorted.

“Definitely,” she commented sarcastically, pausing for a moment. “I don’t recall you ever drinking my tea before.”

“Well, I figured I needed some…” he dragged out the sentence, recalling what kind of tea it was. Lavender. What does lavender do? “Calming down.” Every tea is good for calming down.

She snorted again. Spencer turned back toward her.

“You must really need it if you made two cups right away.”

He parted his lips, staring intently at the mugs as if the second one had just materialized before his eyes.

“I have no idea how that happened. But since it’s here…” he nodded suggestively toward the cup that just happened to be her favorite.

He saw in her gaze that she perfectly understood why he was doing this, but she wasn’t about to just give in and forget how things stood between them. Spencer, however, felt unusually confident in his game, sensing this would soon lead to progress between them. Like it or not, she was already part of his teasing and that always spoke well of their relationship.

But that confidence and ease suddenly left him when he dropped his shoulders in surprise, noticing something odd on her cheek, gently emerging from beneath the hair covering it. Instinctively, unable to stop himself, he reached to brush it aside and reveal the scratch.

“What happened to your cheek?” he asked.

As he could have predicted, she turned her head, dodging his fingers.

“Nothing,” she replied.

Spencer didn’t stop staring, a little too insistently, so she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Marie scratched me when we were sleeping together. Somehow.”

Okay, he was willing to believe that version, but that didn’t mean he intended to drop the subject. Especially not after taking a closer look.

“Your nothing is all swollen,” he remarked.

Her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders rising slightly in a dismissive gesture.

“Because it was suffocating under makeup all day, which I only just took off. That’s why it’s swollen now.”

“That’s…not exactly reasonable from a medical point of view.”

“Oh, wow, what an absolute breakthrough,” she snapped at him so unexpectedly that he flinched a little. Her arms dropped to her sides in frustration, there was nothing dismissive about her posture anymore. “I know it’s swollen! And that it’s not exactly reasonable from a medical point of view,” she dropped her voice dramatically, twisting her face to mimic his expression.“But I had to deal with it somehow, because I had to leave the apartment in a rush since my car’s at the mechanic’s and it’ll be there for another week, which means I’m stuck with public transport full of people who apparently don’t believe in basic hygiene!”

Spencer didn’t interrupt that sudden crash out, letting it run its course as he listened to the string of bitter words spilling from her mouth. When she finally finished, a moment of heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of the cat jumping off the cabinet somewhere in the distance.

“I think you should take a shower,” he finally stated, slowly.

Her head recoiled slightly in confusion, followed by a dismissive wave of her hand.

“And on top of that, my flatmate telling me I stink.”

He couldn’t help it — he snorted. Gently.

“What I’m saying is, it helps. Public transport is literally a germ chamber, and that awareness always makes me feel gross for a few hours after I get off. And when I feel gross, everything feels overwhelming and frustrating. So, that’s my heartfelt advice,” he declared, patting his chest chivalrously.He watched her expression carefully, noticing it wasn’t nearly as sharp as before, so he risked adding, “And when you’ve showered, come back here. I’ll take a look at that scratch on your cheek.”

He saw the subtle bite to the inside of her cheek in thought, and how her arms returned to their crossed position over her chest. He expected a slight nod, maybe an enigmatic answer along the lines of we’ll see.

Shaking her head in clear refusal, she surprised him.

“No. Don’t forget we’re still not on good terms and I haven’t forgiven you for spilling to Penelope.”

Spencer pressed his lips together. He held her gaze, unsure what to say, until he realized…she hadn’t moved. She was still standing right there, eyes fixed on him. If they were really on bad terms, for starters, they wouldn’t even be living together.

So, he decided — a little impulsively — that he’d handle this by briefly assuming the role of a dictator. He grabbed the handles of both mugs.

“You’ll come. Otherwise, your tea will go completely cold and I’ll have to pour it out.”

With those words, he sent her one last expectant look before heading to the living room, where the episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race was just wrapping up.

When she actually went to take a shower and the next episode started, Spencer didn’t bother watching. Instead, he gathered the most basic items to disinfect the wound and ease the swelling.

He also put a great deal of effort into keeping his face from betraying any trace of triumph when she returned 15 minutes later with damp hair and dressed in more comfortable clothes.

With exaggerated, fake displeasure on her face — to show just how indifferent she supposedly was to his advice — though even in the way she moved, there was a clear, undeniable hint of relaxation.

She sat down, tucking her heels onto the couch and taking a sip of the still-warm tea. Spencer allowed himself to take advantage of the moment to gently, with literally one finger, brush the damp strands of hair away from her cheek and carefully spray it with disinfectant.

She winced at him accusingly.

“In my opinion, rinsing it under the shower would’ve been enough, it’s a shallow scratch. Marie would never hurt her mom badly, not even by accident. But do what you want, doctor.”

Completely undeterred, Spencer set the spray aside to grab the cold compress meant to reduce the swelling and pressed it against her cheek for a moment — after which her hand took over on its own, holding it in place.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he declared arrogantly, glancing meaningfully at the scratch. “Since this happened…”

She kept her eyes on the TV screen the entire time, but suddenly shot him a brief sideways glance and he could’ve sworn there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips.

“It’s all because of the bed swapping. It messes with her little head. She probably thought she was attacking you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And why would she want to attack me?”

An innocent shrug.

“Possibly because I whispered her a word or two.”

Spencer went quiet for a moment not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he was scanning the living room for a certain small, black creature. And when he finally made eye contact with it, he had to let out a soft pspspsss for the naive little thing to trustingly trot over to him.

The woman pretended not to watch as he picked up Marie (whose body behaved like a loose spring, stretching downward until he settled her comfortably in his arms) but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Her eyes were supposedly glued to the TV but if someone asked what exactly she was watching, she’d stumble over the answer.

“Well hello there,” he whispered to the cat, scratching her behind the ear. “I heard someone here wanted to attack me in my sleep. How do you explain yourself, young lady?”

He glanced at the woman out of the corner of his eye, catching her gaze just as it slipped off his face and landed on Marie. He continued, “You can’t always trust your mom, sometimes she tells pure lies—”

He got smacked over the head with the cold compress.

“Hey, don’t you dare turn my baby against me!”

Beneath all that outrage, there was a solid dose of amusement — and he fully intended to bring it out. He scooted closer to her on the couch, positioning Marie right in front of her. He cleared his throat.

“She’s a little shy to ask herself but she wants to know if you’ve forgiven her. It really was just an accident, and she regrets it. She doesn’t want it to have a bad impact on the two of you.”

He said it under the weight of her stare, fixed directly on his face. Spencer finished speaking, his lips pressing together with a certain awkwardness that was entirely his, not hers. The moment he had to spend sitting in that discomfort was probably his punishment — but the kind that felt so deserved you almost went through it willingly.

Only after a long pause did she roll her eyes, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips.

“Tell her that yes, I forgive her,” she requested, leaning forward slightly to press a kiss to the cat’s head.

But suddenly, she caught his gaze and held it firmly.

“Almost.”

“What do you mean almost?” he asked, a little impulsively.

She took a calm sip of tea.

“Well, there’s one thing you could do to make it fully happen,” she announced mysteriously. Spencer patiently waited for her to tell him what that was. She tilted her head to the side, stretching her neck.

“My neck’s killing me from that couch. My whole shoulders are tense.”

“You want a massage, am I right?”

As much as understanding anything usually came to him — well, euphemistically speaking — slowly, he figured that one out almost immediately, which seemed to surprise even her. She gave him a skeptical look.

“You seem weirdly excited about that idea.”

“That’s because, as it happens, I’m an expert at it.”

She snorted, clearly not buying it. She was probably waiting for him to say he was joking, that he actually knew nothing about massages — but that moment never came. Because Spencer really was an expert at it.

Or well…at the very least, he was very good.

She shook her head in firm denial.

“No, you’re not,” she stated confidently.

Spencer nodded in agreement — but to himself.

“I am. When JJ was pregnant…”

“…you gave her massages?”

“Not her. Will. In the third trimester, she was a little moody and the poor guy kept ending up sleeping on the couch. So yes, as it happens, I can consider myself an expert in this field.”

She snorted with laughter at that little story and took the last sip of her tea, widening her eyes slightly, as if she couldn’t believe she was actually agreeing to this.

“Alright then. Let’s give it a try.”

“Alright then,” he echoed her a little absentmindedly, nodding to himself. But then he quickly pulled himself together and cleared his throat twice for good measure.

“Turn around.”

First, she made sure her hair wasn’t resting on her neck or back before fully complying with the instruction. Meanwhile, Spencer took a deeper breath. Okay — this was a little different from massaging a sleep-deprived Will, who would’ve probably been grateful even if Spencer had treated his neck with a jackhammer and called it the most relaxing experience of his life.

He deliberately hesitated before touching her — forcing himself not to give the impression he was bluffing his way through this.

First, only the tips of his fingers rested just below her ears, followed by his whole hands slowly gliding down. That’s how this process was supposed to start — warming up the skin.

Thankfully, he’d just finished his tea, so his body was naturally warm, especially his hands from holding the mug. That alone had to feel pleasant…but the woman gave no indication whatsoever that it actually did, which sent him spiraling into quiet self-doubt.

He gave that stage all the time it deserved, until his hands started moving along her neck and shoulders with growing confidence and ease. He gave it so much time, in fact, that it earned him a doubtful shake of her head.

“You know what, I’m not sure it’s supposed to—”

She abruptly cut off when his fingers found a spot on her neck where he could clearly feel the tension, pressing into it with practiced precision.

Her entire body shifted under the influence of the breath she drew in and then released as a quiet, involuntary moan of relief.

And although that sound was particularly encouraging when it came to continuing the massage, Spencer paused for a moment, his hands resting gently on both of her shoulders as he leaned over her shoulder to ask,

“So, how’s that forgiveness coming along now?”

She tried to turn her head to look at him, which didn’t work because of the way their bodies were positioned. But if she had managed it, he’d bet anything it would’ve been the most electrifying, impatient glare in the world.

“Keep that up, and then we’ll think about it.”

Spencer smiled—to himself, since she couldn’t see it anyway. He smiled with certainty, because if that small taste had caused such a reaction, he was curious how she’d respond to more.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #doctor spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #diva reader ♱#criminal minds fanfic

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rafesyangel · 2 days ago

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Rafe tells reader to block all of her friends !

AN: this is really self projecting cause my friends lowkey hate me😝

You were pouting, shoulders hunched like a scolded kid, phone face-down on the coffee table. You didn’t even need to tell Rafe what happened—he could feel it the second he walked in. Your so-called friends had said something again. Left you out. Made you feel small.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and deep, before sitting beside you and pulling you gently—yet unarguably—into his lap.

“C’mere,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you like a cage. “You crying over them again?”

You nodded, lip trembling. “I dunno, maybe I just did something wrong...”

“No,” he cut you off, voice firm but soft. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You always do that, sweetheart, ‘cause you’re too soft for your own good.” He tilted your chin up with two fingers, making sure you looked at him. “That’s why you got me.”

You blinked at him, teary and confused, chewing your lip. “But they said I act different when I’m with you…”

He chuckled low, eyes glinting. “Good. You should act different. I’m not them. I actually give a damn about you.”

His tone sharpened just a little, just enough. “You let them talk to you like that? Again? After everything I told you?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just… I got nervous,” you mumbled, eyes flicking away. You were so sweet, so unsure. He could see it—how badly you wanted someone to just guide you.

“That’s the problem. You keep thinking you know better,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face slowly. “But you don’t. You never really have, have you, baby?”

You shook your head slowly, leaning into his hand.

“That’s why I’m here,” he whispered, thumb tracing your cheek. “To take care of you. To think for you. 'Cause you got a good heart, but you let the wrong people near it.”

You didn’t say anything—just breathed softly against his chest, heart slowing under the weight of his voice.

“You don’t need friends like that,” he finished, kissing your temple. “You need me. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

You melted into his chest, your cheek pressed to the thick muscle beneath his shirt, fingers fidgeting with the hem like a scolded child trying to redeem herself.

“I’m sorry…” you murmured. The words were small, barely formed.

“For what?” he asked, brow cocked. He wanted to hear it.

“…For not listening to you.”

Rafe smiled then—just a little. That was better. “You should be,” he said, brushing his knuckles under your chin. “I tell you these things because I know what’s best for you. Not them. Me. Always me.”

You nodded, slowly, dumbly, trusting him more than you trusted yourself.

He tilted your face again, speaking slowly like he was walking you through something delicate. “You don’t need to waste energy trying to make people like you. That’s not your job. Your job is to stay close to me. Let me take care of everything. That’s all you need to do.”

“But… what if they get mad if I stop talking to them?” you asked, voice small and anxious.

“They will get mad,” he said simply. “Because they’re selfish. They liked it better when you were easy to push around. But they don’t get a say anymore.” He kissed your forehead, his thumb sliding gently across your bottom lip to still your fidgeting. “You belong to me now. That’s not up for debate.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. You felt safe. And dumb. But safe.

His hand came to rest on your throat—not squeezing, just there. Warm. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t need to think so hard, baby. That pretty little head of yours wasn’t made for worrying,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m here for. So when I say something’s not good for you, you listen the first time, yeah?”

You nodded quickl

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Now block their numbers. All of them.”

“But—”

He raised a brow.

“…Okay.”

“See?” he smirked. “That’s my girl. Nice and obedient.”

And as you curled up tighter in his lap, your phone locked in his palm as he helped you block every last contact, you didn’t even miss them.

Because Rafe was right.

He always was.

#rafe cameron x original female character #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe x you #obx fanfiction

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pinkpurplesunrises · 2 days ago

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Unraveled in her arms - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Smut - Been a while since I really deep dived into the smut... - probably not the best smut but it's something

It's been five months of loving Alexia with your whole heart. Though your relationship is still new, it feels like you've known each other forever. Everything between you just feels so natural. Like it's always meant to be.

But even though it feels like you've been together forever, you’ve both chosen to take things slow. You haven’t gone public yet. Partly because Alexia has an entire fan army behind her, and not all of them understand boundaries… or basic human decency.

Of course, the fans have been speculating. relentlessly. Sometimes it feels like they’re private investigators, and honestly, it’s a little scary. But Alexia always reassures you. She reminds you that what you two have is real and that no amount of noise from the outside world can touch it. With her, you feel safe. And that makes all the difference.

You woke up nestled in her arms this morning. Still heavy with sleep. Maybe you could drift off again… but probably not. You can feel her soft steady breathing against your neck. Her arms gently wrapped around you. She's still fast asleep. Completely at peace.

But you? Not so much. The thing is… when you're ovulating, everything feels heightened. Your body. Your mind. Your desire. And right now… with her warmth pressed against you. Her scent. Her skin. Things are starting to feel really hot. Sleep is officially off the table.

Two weeks ago, the two of you finally took the next step and became intimate. It took time. You're naturally shy, and sometimes your insecurities get the better of you. Alexia, patient as ever, mirrored your quiet hesitance. She was a little shy too, which meant neither of you rushed anything or pushed beyond what felt right.

But two weeks ago, something shifted. It wasn't planned or dramatic. Just a quiet, perfect moment where everything aligned. The trust. The closeness. The love. It all built up into something tender and real. And in that moment… you both let go of the nerves. The second-guessing. And simply reached for each other. It was soft. A little clumsy. Full of whispered laughter and quiet understanding. But it was yours. And it changed everything.

Alexia gained confidence quickly. Especially after seeing the effect she had on you. How vocal and uninhibited you became in her arms. She made you feel safe in a way no one ever had. And without that safety, you know you wouldn’t have been able to let go the way you did.

Since that night, though, things have been quiet. Not out of distance but out of life simply getting in the way. Alexia had to leave for camp and you’ve been buried in work, coming home more drained than anything else. The timing just… hasn’t aligned.

But this morning is different. Today, finally, is a day off for both of you. No alarms. No obligations. Just time. Slow. Quiet. And yours to share. And as the sunlight spills across the sheets and her arm tightens slightly around your waist in her sleep… you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the space between you is about to close again.

Of course, the insecurity creeps back in. Because as much as you want to just turn around and jump her bones. A small part of you holds back. You're worried about comng on too strong. About ruining the quiet comfort of the moment. You don't want to scare her or make her feel pressured.

And then there’s the other thing. You know how intense your desire can get when you’re ovulating. How wet you get. How needy you feel. It’s not something you can control. But past partners didn’t exactly handle it well. Some made you feel embarrassed, even ashamed. Like your body was too much. Too messy. Too inconvenient.

Before your thoughts can spiral any further, you feel a small shift behind you. Alexia stirs.

A soft breath escapes her lips as she nuzzles closer. Her nose brushing against the back of your neck. Then comes the quiet, sleepy murmur of your name. Her voice still heavy with dreams. One of her arms tightens around your waist. Grounding you instantly.

"You're awake," she whispers, warm and close.

You nod, heart racing. And before you can even begin to untangle all the worries clouding your mind… she presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"Been thinkin' about you," she adds, a lazy smile in her voice.

And just like that, the storm in your head quiets. Because she's here, holding you like she never wants to let go.

You turn slowly. Pressing your lips to hers in a lingering kiss. She shifts onto her back, pulling you closer. Wrapping her arms tightly around you until your bodies are flush against each other. Your core presses against her thigh and a sharp bite to your lip betrays just how good it feels.

She notices. Her eyes flutter open. A knowing smile curving her lips as she whispers, “You like that, don’t you?”

You nod, but then gently pull back just enough to catch her gaze. Your breath hitching slightly. There’s a quiet vulnerability in your eyes as you search hers. Silently asking if this is really okay.

She smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Hey,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to hold back. I want this. Us. Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then admit softly, “I think I’m ovulating right now… and, well, things can get a little messy. I just don’t want to freak you out.”

She looks at you, eyes warm and steady, and shakes her head gently. “Hey, that’s natural. Nothing about you scares me. We’ll take it slow, whatever you need.”

She reaches down and gently pulls you closer by your hips. Guiding you to shift so your core presses firmly against her thigh. Through your panties, she can feel the wetness. Warm and unmistakable. Tracing against her skin. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across her face as she leans in, whispering, “God, that’s so hot.”

You freeze for a moment at her words, heat rising even more as her breath fans against your ear. Her fingers trace lazy circles along your back. Grounding you. Inviting you to relax.

She moves her hand down to rest on your hip, squeezing gently. “Don’t hold back,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting. “I want to feel every part of you.”

Encouraged by her confidence, you start to move just a little more. The friction sending a delicious warmth between you both. Her thigh presses harder against your core, and you feel her smile deepen as she leans closer. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” she whispers. “I want you. Right here. Right now.”

Encouraged by her words and the warmth of her touch, you let yourself give in a little more. Soft moans slipping past your lips as your body responds. You press closer, letting your neediness show. Your breath growing heavier.

She smiles against your skin, her fingers tightening gently on your hip as she murmurs, “That’s it… don’t hold back.”

With every sound you make, every movement closer to her, the air between you thickens with desire. Raw. Honest, And entirely yours.

Still learning each other’s bodies, she notices you growing a little too close and gently lets you pause. You glance nervously at her thigh. Noticing the wetness there and worry you might be overwhelming her.

But she quickly reassures you with a soft smile. “I just want to switch things up a bit.”

With that, she slips off her sleep shirt, inviting you to press gentle kisses to her bare skin. She settles back against the headboard, hands reaching to help you out of your soaked panties and her shirt.

Then, you settle between her legs. Your back resting against her chest. Feeling the warmth of her body wrapped around you. The closeness is intimate and comforting. A new rhythm unfolding between you both as you continue to explore each other with tender curiosity.

Her hands begin their slow, deliberate exploration. Teasing along your skin with featherlight touches that make your breath catch. Fingers trail over your curves. Tracing the delicate lines of your ribs and dipping lower. Every brush sending shivers through your body. Then, with a gentle boldness, her fingers find your core.

Her breath hitches sharply at the slick heat she feels beneath her touch, and you can’t hold back. The soft whine and moan that escape you are raw and needy. Your body arching into her fingertips. She smiles against your skin, Her touch both teasing and sure. Moving in slow, tantalizing circles that make you writhe beneath her. Desperate and achingly close.

But she doesn’t rush. Her fingers pull away, traveling back up your body. Tracing the sensitive spots along your sides and collarbone. Keeping you on the edge. Craving more. Then, just as you start to lose yourself… she returns. Her touch firmer. More focused. Coaxing every ounce of your desire.

Her voice is low, sultry but sweet as she whispers against your ear, “You’re so beautiful like this… so open, so wet for me. I love how sensitive you are. How easily I can make you lose control.”

You shiver at her words, every nerve ending alive. The fear rising that you might come just from her talk alone. But she senses your tension and presses a soft kiss to your neck. Her voice calming and confident.

“Don’t be afraid, baby. I know exactly how to take care of you.”

She presses a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of your neck. Her lips warm and tender against your skin. The sensation sends a fresh wave of heat through you. Grounding you in the moment. Reminding you that you’re safe. Wanted. Cherished.

Then, without hesitation, her fingers slip inside you. Slow. Deliberate. And utterly attentive. Every movement is measured, perfectly in tune with your body’s responses. She takes her time. Exploring. Coaxing. And bringing you deeper into a space where pleasure feels limitless and completely hers to give.

You lean fully against her now. Your back flush with her front. Feeling the steady, comforting weight of her body wrapped around you. Your hands instinctively reach down to her thighs. Gripping the soft, warm skin just as her fingers move with more confident urgency inside you.

Her breath catches in a low, breathy moan. Feeling you gripping her thights. Vibrating against your neck as you move together. Her touch and your desire intertwining. The sound of her pleasure only fuels yours. Your body trembling with every stroke. Every sigh, . Every whispered word shared between you.

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. Her gaze dark and hungry. Lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“God, you’re so fucking hot like this,” she murmurs, voice thick with desire.

“And don’t think I’m done… because I’m soaked too. Looks like we’re definitely going to need a round two.”

#woso community #woso writers #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #fc barcelona femeni x reader #woso imagine #woso smut #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas smut

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kozykricket · 1 day ago

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i think theres a lotta good points in the above posts ^ but id like to add some of my own two cents.

ive talked to friends about like, themes of Preservation in deltarune, and like... yea, i think something that undertale and deltarune will end up both confronting in their own ways is... yearning for the past. in undertale, asriel... admits that he really just wants to reset everything, and go back to how things were. he misses the old days with chara. and what do we see in deltarune? well, two families: the dreemurrs and holidays... who seemingly had a fun past together - one spoken of very fondly, at least. Tenna sure speaks of asriel, dess, and noelle fondly.

I think... the main motive / theme around everything going on with Dess and the Knight .. is about bringing back that lost past. Carol particularly seems... very nostalgic and very determined to preserve what is left of the past. I mean, shes shown to be a bit obsessive with the whole "getting paper snowflakes bronzed so as to not lose them" she keeps dess' stuff completely untouched. She doesn't want to move forward... but now things are different and also! asgore! seems to be involved in all this weird stuff, and he for sure misses the old days of a happy family life. he wants it back.

I think it all ties in well with the clear themes of escapism. Escaping from the rough experience of the present, to the idea of different events having taken place, leading to a different present. But... we can't go changing the past or yearning for how things couldve gone. We can only change the future, y'know? Embrace the new, be hopeful of a new future. Maybe there seems to be only one path forwards now, fundamentally a sad one, but… its not just about that One Sad Way Forward . its about what you can change about the path. How, yes, there IS perhaps only one way to go from here, only one ending.

idk, this is very unorganized, which is funny bc this is the second draft. but. I think deltarune as a whole might dive particularly deep into how... maybe we are "stuck with one way to go" as in, forward. but we can still change how we approach that way forward, and... as toby has said, theres something more important than reaching the end. We can make little changes, here and there, to make that one-way-forward into a better one. And, I think susie represents a bit of both past and future. she wants a better future, but she also... like anyone else, wants things to stick to the way they are. Shes certainly not an "upholder of the status quo" by any means, but i think she... wants the "status quo" of ch2 fun-times to be how things always are.

but most of all, just. Shoutouts to this post

if dess is the knight i hope we cant restore it back to normal but it still hangs around. noelle voice this is my freaky scary sibling and i love them. and meanwhile it's just floating ominously behind her.

#jake post #deltarune #deltarune spoilers

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 days ago

Text

three things

for @switcheddieweek prompt 'spit' (a little) and 'non-verbal negotiation' (mostly this one tbh)

rated e | 5395 words | also on ao3 | cw: under-negotiated kink | tags: switch eddie, switch steve, friends with benefits, bisexual steve, bondage, banter, frottage, spit kink, anal fingering, anal sex, dirty talk, choking, not actually unrequited feelings, open ending but we can play clue together

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Steve’s jittery and it’s making Eddie fucking jumpy. From the second he walked in the door, Steve’s been bustling around, moving things he doesn’t need to, taking sips of Eddie’s drink, knocking into things. Eddie’s ready to tie him to a chair and—

Well, that’s an idea.

Just as he considers acting on it, Steve groans.

“Do you think I’m too high strung?” He asks as he paces the floor anxiously.

“In this moment or in general?” Eddie has to tread carefully here. Whatever’s got Steve on edge like this needs to be taken seriously. One wrong word and Steve will shut down and it’ll be a long fucking night of trying to pull him back in.

“Like, always? Or most of the time.” Steve stops pacing, sets his gaze on Eddie where he’s sitting comfortably at the kitchen table. “Do you think I think too much about little things?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. Where the hell is this even coming from? Steve’s not usually high strung. He gets anxious sometimes, like when he knows they have to do their annual check in with the government doctors, but that’s not unreasonable. If he knows one of the kids is flying, he gets a bit nervous, but Eddie just keeps him distracted as best he can and it passes.

“Suzie mentioned that sometimes I get stuck on small problems and they ruin my day,” he continues. “Do you think that’s true?”

Suzie is going to school to be a therapist and likes to psychoanalyze her friends. It’s equal parts fascinating and annoying, especially when she talks to Steve. He takes everything she says seriously, even though she isn’t licensed yet and probably shouldn’t be giving her professional opinion to him anyway.

“I think that you do what every normal human does sometimes and catastrophize a little when you worry. It’s probably the trauma,” Eddie shrugs and stands, moving close to him, but leaving him space to get away if he needs to. He’s acting a bit like a cornered animal right now. The last thing Eddie needs to do is actually corner him. “If you think it’s harming you, maybe you could talk to a licensed therapist.”

“Suzie’s as good as licensed.” Steve folds his arms across his chest. “And she said I rely too much on you.”

“Did she?” Eddie scoffs. Steve doesn’t. Steve doesn’t rely on fucking anyone. He’d be better off if he did rely on someone more. “What made her come to that conclusion?”

“Apparently I talk about you too much. She thinks you’re my only friend.” Steve sighs. “Now that I say it out loud it does sound wrong. I have friends.”

“No shit.” Eddie grins, leans in until he can smell the cologne Steve always wears to work. “I’m just your best friend.”

“Other than Robin.”

“Other than Robin,” Eddie agrees. He straightens his back and nods his head back towards the chair he was sitting in before. “You wanna sit while I heat up leftovers?”

“Oh, not sure I can stay.” Steve suddenly won’t meet his eyes. “I uh, I have a date.”

Eddie ignores the way his heart clenches in his chest, painfully tightening. Steve’s still antsy, he can tell. He’s gonna go to his apartment and pace and worry until he has to pretend to be fine for his date. And the date won’t realize he’s faking it, that he’s pretending to be fine when he’s not. Eddie can’t let that happen.

“You should cancel.”

Steve gives him a look, one that says he knows what Eddie’s doing and he isn’t gonna fall for it. He has before, though. He probably will this time.

“She’s nice. I’m not gonna cancel just for us to fuck around. What about that guy you saw last month?” Steve snaps his fingers while he tries to remember the quite frankly unremarkable guy Eddie sucked off at a club. “Jeremy? Joey? James?”

“Isaac.”

“I was close!” Steve claps.

“Alphabetically, sure,” Eddie groans. “He was boring. Didn’t even fuck my face when I told him to. He’d probably run screaming if I showed him my plug.”

“I almost ran screaming when you showed me that thing,” Steve laughs. “I’m gonna head out. You find someone more interesting than Isaac.”

Eddie could beg. He’s done it before.

He could go along with it and wait for Steve to inevitably show back up at his place later when he didn’t get what he wanted from whoever this woman is. He’s done that before, too.

He could turn on the waterworks and guilt him into staying. That’s not something he’s tried before. Bound to work, though.

Before he can muster up the fake tears, Steve is walking around him and staring at the chair.

He looks back at Eddie and squints, then back at the chair.

Eddie waits because that’s all he can do. Steve’s either gonna leave and go on his date or he’s gonna stay and they’ll fall into their comforting pattern of being the only people who understand what the other needs.

Steve walks to the phone on the wall, grabs a piece of paper from his wallet, and angrily dials.

“Julie! Hey!” Eddie rolls his eyes, mouths Julie and makes kissy lips while Steve’s back is to him. “Sorry this is so last minute, but they need me to close tonight. Maybe next week?”

Eddie watches as Steve’s shoulders slowly relax. Julie’s probably letting him off the hook, thinking he’s such a hard worker for staying when asked. Maybe she thinks he’ll be up for a promotion, making the big bucks soon.

Eddie knows that Steve’s gonna fuck him up tonight.

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, only focusing back in when the phone drops back on the hook and Steve laughs.

“You should get the ropes.”

It’s not a suggestion as much as a demand, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to do it. Steve doesn’t like getting tied up, not even if Eddie’s the one doing it, but he loves tying intricate knots around Eddie’s wrists and ankles, sometimes his chest and neck if they have time. It helps ground him, keeps his mind from wandering into anxious territory.

It’s perfect for tonight.

Eddie keeps his ropes in his closet, hung up so they don’t get tangled together. He grabs all of them, in too much of a rush to make a decision about which ones to use.

Steve’s pulled the chair to the center of the room and he’s wringing his hands together like he needs something in them. Robin mentioned getting him a keychain that doubled as a silent clicker so it would keep his hands busy when he needed it, but Steve turned it down. Maybe Eddie can convince him later.

After.

Eddie sits, holds the ropes in his lap, and waits.

Steve circles him like a predator circles their prey before they attack. He’s hot and his heart is racing, and he hopes that he can be forgiven for being selfish enough to get Steve to stay.

He kneels in front of Eddie, grabs his face in his hands, and grins.

“You wanted this.”

It’s true. But he never said it explicitly. Steve just knows. It’s why they work so well.

“I wanted you.”

It’s a bit too honest for them, but Steve doesn’t stop to take Eddie’s words in. He’s up and grabbing the rope from his hands, shoving his shoulder back until he’s almost worried it’ll bruise. Eddie’s pale and Steve’s rough and as much as he likes the reminders of what they do, he’s going to visit Wayne this weekend and doesn’t wanna risk him seeing it.

“Hey. Easy,” Eddie says with just enough bite to make Steve pause. “No bruises.”

Steve nods, apologizes, but continues his work. Eddie lets him.

He closes his eyes and breathes.

There’s something peaceful about letting Steve tie him up, making him helpless in the middle of his own apartment. He knows he’s safe, they’re both safe. He doesn’t have to feel the emptiness inside that he feels when Steve’s not with him.

He feels full, even without the plug.

“Eddie. Look at me.”

Eddie does. His eyes feel heavy for a moment and then he sees how dark Steve’s eyes are, how blown his pupils have gotten. How long has Steve been working on him? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

“Too tight?” Steve asks, for what must not be the first time. Eddie shakes his head. “Okay. I’m gonna grab the plug.”

Eddie’s not sure why, but he knows it’ll come to him eventually. He nods and waits. Steve’s only gone for a moment, familiar enough with where Eddie keeps everything to be quick.

He sets the lube and plug on the table, then turns to Eddie.

Eddie’s a bit in love with him, he has to admit. It’s pretty terrible to be in love with your best friend, especially when it’s a guy who has made it pretty clear he’s never gonna be ready for a relationship with any man, let alone Eddie.

But he drops everything to do this with him, and he comes here right after work even when he’s exhausted, even if it’s just for a few minutes, even though it’s two miles out of his way. He sleeps in Eddie’s bed when they get too high for him to get back to his place, curled up into his side or around his back. He uses Eddie’s soap in the shower and wears Eddie’s shirt when he forgets to bring the clothes he keeps here home to wash them. He leaves notes around the apartment for him to take his meds and to call Dustin and take out the trash. He does everything with love and it’s hard for Eddie to separate it sometimes.

Steve straddles his lap and waits.

It’s Eddie’s turn now. Focus.

“Gonna be good and listen to me?” Eddie asks him, voice rough.

Steve shivers in his lap. “Yeah. Tell me.”

Eddie uses all his strength to sit up a bit straighter, appear bigger. Steve loves when he’s tied up and bossing him around. He loves being told what to do while Eddie’s like this.

“You gonna stay dressed?” Eddie asks, not caring much either way. Might be hard to get the plug in, but they don’t have to do anything with it if Steve changed his mind.

“For now.”

“Then touch yourself.”

Eddie watches as Steve runs his hands down his chest, skims the edge of his shirt, slides them underneath. He wants him to strip it off, wants to see the way his nipples harden under his own touch, the way his chest hair darkens as sweat beads on his skin the more worked up he gets. He doesn’t make any noise when he pinches his own nipple, just lets out the breath he must’ve been holding for a while.

“Now the other one.”

Steve listens, stays quiet and obedient, just the way Eddie likes him.

“Feel good?” Eddie asks, but he already knows it does. Steve’s nipples are sensitive. He loves having Eddie’s teeth on them, tugging and sucking them into his mouth.

“Yeah, but I want more.”

“Greedy, but fine.” Eddie glances behind him, sees the bottle of lube. “You planning on using that or no?”

Steve follows his gaze, hands never leaving his chest. “The lube or the plug?”

“Either. Both.”

Steve shivers. “Maybe. Rather you do it later.”

Eddie’s not opposed. He likes watching Steve, but if he gets to have his hands on him later, have his plug in him, then he can wait.

“You gonna get yourself off like this then?” Eddie thinks he might be able to if they play their cards right. He’s never come just from playing with his nipples, but it doesn’t seem impossible. He’s riled up right now. On edge in every way. It might be time to try it out.

“Don’t think I can,” Steve admits, pouting his bottom lip out. It should look ridiculous, but it makes heat coil in Eddie’s stomach. He wants to bite it, suck it into his mouth and taste the spit pooling on his tongue. He wants to make him bleed so he can taste that too, find out if it’s as sweet as the rest of him. “Not without a hand on me.”

“I think you can.” Eddie laughs when Steve groans at him. “C’mon. I’ve seen you do harder things. Find a way.”

“Don’t have to be mean. I canceled a date for you,” Steve bites out, pinching his nipples again and scooting forward in Eddie’s lap. His dick is hard in his jeans, but he’s not gonna find what he needs with the way Eddie’s chest and stomach are pulled back with the ropes. Not unless he gets real close. “I’m not doing it all by myself.”

“You tied me up,” Eddie snorts. “I assumed that meant you were gonna do it yourself.”

Eddie’s own dick is straining in his jeans. It’s getting a bit uncomfortable, but he knows Steve will be pissed if he asks him to unbutton his pants. He’s supposed to sit here and take it, and Steve will sit there and do what he says. That’s how this works.

“Sit still then.” Eddie hasn’t moved, but he wants to now that Steve’s made the demand. He scoots even further up, so his dick is rubbing against Eddie’s stomach. It’d feel better if he took his pants off, but he’s stubborn. “I’m gonna get off like this.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Eddie.

“I’ll wait.” Eddie smirks when Steve narrows his eyes at him. “Go ahead. I’ve got all night.”

His legs are a little numb from being tied and having Steve’s weight on them like this. The dining room chair isn’t exactly comfortable to begin with. He’s a little shocked it’s holding both their weight like this.

Steve ruts forward once, twice, groans before he drops his head to Eddie’s shoulder. He isn’t gonna get as much friction as he wants like this, but he can get the job done.

“That’s it. You just need something to rub your dick on, huh? Anything would work,” Eddie teases, voice low. “So desperate.”

He tries to sound annoyed or uninterested, but he knows he sounds a bit awed. Steve’s hips move faster as he talks, the room gets hotter, and the air gets thicker. Eddie gets impossibly harder in his jeans. If it’s possible to break a zipper, he may do it any minute.

Steve whimpers as he bites down on Eddie’s shoulder. He’s a bit sweaty from the day, and he knows his shirt can’t smell or taste good. Steve doesn’t seem bothered.

“Can’t believe you tied me up just to hump me like a dog,” Eddie grins around the words. “You know there’s better ways to do this.”

Steve pauses in his movements, but doesn’t sit up or move his face away from Eddie’s neck. It’s all Eddie needs to know that he can keep going like this.

“So stubborn. I should make you use the wall next time.” Steve whimpers and ruts forward. “You’d love it. I could sit here and watch. Probably hurt after a while, huh?”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything. Eddie smiles to himself.

“You like when it hurts though. That’s why you can’t stop what you’re doing now.”

“Mhm. Like it when you hurt me, though.”

Eddie bites his lip. God, he does love hurting Steve. He’s so good at being hurt. Takes it so good and then gives it right back to Eddie as if he isn’t covered in bruises and scars left by Eddie’s teeth and fingers.

“I like it too,” Eddie allows himself to say. It’s important to keep the boundaries there, but sometimes he can be vulnerable. If Steve starts it, he can follow. “You gonna let me touch you?”

“Maybe in a minute.”

“You’re only hurting yourself, baby.” Eddie rolls his shoulders, breath hitching at the way it tugs the ropes tighter around his wrists for a moment. Baby is allowed. Steve said it first months ago, one of the first times they did this, and it stuck. It’s fine, especially when it’s slightly mocking like this. “I could make it feel so good. You know I take care of you.”

Steve tenses, almost like he’s going to come, then groans and pulls his head back, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

Eddie looks back at him, calculating, trying to get a read on what’s going on in his head.

He’s still unsure what truly caused his panic earlier, other than Suzie’s words. Something had to, though. He’s still sifting through it, not quite over the tension.

And then it hits him.

His date.

Steve hasn’t had a real date in months. He’s definitely done questionable things in bar bathrooms, but he hasn’t taken a girl out since…

Since they started this.

Eddie rushes to think back to what Suzie told him, thinks about things Steve probably left out of his explanation. How quick he was to cancel the date once he knew what was on offer.

Steve struggles with being the one to call the shots. Not just in bed, but always. He always asks others to choose what they do, and usually tries to leave another adult in charge as often as he can.

Other than life or death situations, Steve Harrington likes to follow someone else’s lead.

This thing they have, whatever it may be, it works. Eddie calls the shots a lot, but there’s still times when Steve’s in charge. Like now, when Eddie’s tied up, completely at his mercy. He may be encouraging Steve to do things, but he’s not the one making the decisions, not really.

It’s Steve’s safe place to call the shots. Eddie’s his safe space. Not this girl he was going to take to dinner or a movie or back to his place.

“Hey.” Eddie wants his hands free, but it’s selfish. His mind is reeling as he thinks of a way to do this without making Steve lose the control he has. “You’re gonna do something for me.”

It’s another demand, but he knows Steve will listen.

“What?” Steve asks, flushed and struggling not to find any more friction.

“Tell me three things you want me to do.”

Steve’s shaking and Eddie doesn’t know if it’s from being so close to the edge or from nerves or from being overwhelmed with all of it at once. He’s never looked so unsure when they’re doing this, not even the first time when they hadn’t figured out how to communicate yet.

“Like…now?”

“I want you to answer now, but it can be stuff you want me to do later.”

Everything shifts again; A whine marks the moment that Steve gives in.

“Can you-”

“No.” Eddie leans in, gets close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against his own lips. “Don’t ask me. Tell me.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes, and relaxes his shoulders. Eddie watches, waits patiently. His legs are starting to get tingly, almost painfully so. The feeling comes and goes as Steve shifts in his lap, moving weight from one leg to the other and then settling on both.

“Open me up.” Steve says so quietly Eddie almost asks him to repeat it. “I want four fingers.”

“Four? You sure?” Eddie’s never given him four. Steve’s never given himself four as far as he knows.

“Yeah. I can take it.”

“Okay. That’s one,” Eddie wants to kiss him, but he won’t. He can’t. Even if he weren’t tied up, he wouldn’t. “Another one.”

“I want you to fuck me.” Steve pauses like he’s going to say more. Eddie waits again, less patiently now that he knows what the next hour might entail. “In your bed.”

The silence that follows his request is louder than their breaths, louder than the thud, thud, thud of their hearts beating in their chests.

They don’t do that. They do a lot of shit, but they don’t do that. They fuck on the couch, the chair, against the wall, the shower, the floor. Never the bed. Not Eddie’s, not Steve’s.

It’s like kissing, in a way: silently forbidden.

Steve tenses when Eddie doesn’t respond. He starts to scoot back to get up, but Eddie lets out a noise close to a whine. He wants to move his hands, grip Steve’s hips so hard that there’s no way he doesn’t have bruises in the shape of his fingertips in the morning.

“What’s the third thing?” Eddie asks, making sure he knows he needs to stay right where he is.

Steve doesn’t say it. He’s pushing Eddie, seeing how far Eddie will push back. He could get up right now, go to Eddie’s bed, and they’ll forget all about the third thing. Eddie will let it be left in this room, never to be mentioned again.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He should insist on it now, but he won’t. Steve’s taking the reins now.

“Untie me.”

Mostly.

Steve works quickly, letting the ropes fall to the floor as Eddie slowly moves his limbs to get feeling back. He shivers when Steve’s fingers brush against his wrist, pulse speeding up under his careful touch.

“Anything hurt?” Steve asks, checking in the way Eddie showed him to the first time. Eddie taught him a lot of things. “Need anything?”

“No, baby, I’m good,” Eddie smiles, a real one, a soft one. Something almost too gentle for what they’re doing. “Let’s get in bed.”

He almost forgets to grab the lube and plug on the table behind him, but remembers when he watches Steve adjust himself in his pants and awkwardly half-waddle out of the room. He wants to use them when they’re done, after Eddie’s fucked him until he can’t talk.

Steve’s finally undressing, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. It feels like they belong there, like they could find a home in Eddie’s laundry basket, and then in his closet. Like pieces of Steve could stay.

Steve looks good in his bed, on his back, parting his legs. His hand cups his balls, lifts them as if he’s showing off exactly where he wants Eddie to go. Eddie’s dick leaks at the thought of being inside him.

He could probably lick him open and shove inside him with no argument, even though it would be uncomfortable and probably a little too painful even for Steve’s taste. He likes feeling the pinch of too much, the drag of skin that should be wetter. Maybe next time.

Eddie’s not gonna be mean like that, but he is gonna be quick. He’s not patient enough to take his time the way Steve may have thought he would.

He spits on Steve’s dick as he settles between his legs.

“Keep touching yourself. Don’t come,” he orders, pouring lube onto his fingers. “If you come, we stop.”

Steve whimpers and nods, accepts the challenge for what it is. His hand moves slow, languid in finding the perfect level of pleasure to keep him on the edge but not sending him over.

Eddie starts with two fingers, a happy medium between the pain Steve likes and the pain Eddie wants to try someday. It’s still enough to have Steve tighten around him, letting out a noise he’s never made before.

Eddie pauses and raises a brow up at him. Steve relaxes. Eddie continues.

He’s not gentle, but he could be a lot rougher. He has one purpose: open Steve up. He doesn’t even try to find his prostate until he’s ready to add the fourth finger that Steve wanted so bad.

Steve’s barely moving his hand anymore, just squeezing the base of his cock like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth. He’s burning up inside and out, sweat building on his thighs, darkening the hairs just enough to be noticeable.

As soon as Eddie pushes the fourth finger into him, Steve goes still and silent. Any sign of the anxious mess of a person who was pacing his kitchen floor earlier is long gone.

Eddie only gives him a second before he moves, pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in. It’s tight, really tight.

“Gotta relax or I can’t fuck you like you wanted,” Eddie reminds him. He looks down at where he’s stretching Steve, watches his hole flutter around his fingers as he desperately tries to relax. “Bet I could get my whole hand in if I used more lube.”

Eddie’s actually not sure he could with how tight Steve is now with just four, but Steve pants, nods like he agrees. Maybe they can try that, too.

Now that the bed is an option, Eddie could try a lot of things. So could Steve. Eddie thinks feeling his entire hand inside him might be enough to send him over the edge, dick untouched.

Steve finally relaxes enough around him so he can move and there has to be a direct connection between his fingertips and his own dick with how it jumps when he stretches his fingers. He’s sweating now, too, using his free hand to brush the hair off his shoulder for a moment.

“Your hand’s so big,” Steve whines, lifting his legs back further with what little strength he has left. ”So much.”

Eddie agrees. He’s watching how much he’s stretching him out and thinks it should be impossible.

He feels lost right now, shocked into watching what he’s doing rather than doing what the logical next step is: getting his dick inside Steve. It’s mesmerizing.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is unsure. “Look at me.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to his face, unblinking.

“You need me to tell you what I want?” Steve asks, letting his legs fall to the bed. The new angle shifts his fingers so they brush against Steve’s prostate. He bites back a moan, but so does Eddie. “Let me.”

Eddie nods. He can’t fucking think for himself right now. Some switch flipped when he saw the way Steve took him, and he’s not sure he can switch it back by himself.

“Touch yourself. Get yourself wet.”

He does it. How can he not when Steve is taking deep breaths to keep himself calm? How can he not when he’d do anything that Steve asks of him?

He misses Steve around his fingers, misses the heat of it, the warmth that ran from his hand to his chest. The direct link is gone, even if just for a moment.

Eddie spits on his hand, makes the glide of his hand easier. He knows not to come, but he knows he could. Steve’s eyes are on him, watching and assessing, figuring out what he’ll do next.

Steve isn’t the type to drag this on. He doesn’t like delaying his own pleasure. He’ll make Eddie come inside him the way they both want, he knows that.

But he still worries this will be the time he can’t hold back, that Steve will watch him until he comes and then the night will be done.

“Just the tip.” Steve’s words make Eddie whine. It’s not enough, but it might be too much. “Take it slow.”

Eddie leans down, lines himself up. The moment he’s inside Steve, he groans and his brain resets, focuses.

He waits for Steve to say he can give him more. He wants to give him more, he needs-

“More.” Steve is barely holding it together at this point, Eddie can tell from the way his voice shakes and his hand grips Eddie’s shoulder like his life depends on it. “Slow.”

Eddie goes slow. One inch further, one degree warmer.

Another inch and Steve’s grip is harder, bringing him back to earth.

He shares a look with Steve, sending the message that he’s good, he wants to take things from here. Steve will let him.

“You’re so good,” Eddie groans against his mouth as he kisses him, pushes in until he feels tight heat surrounding him completely. “Always so good for me.”

Steve tightens around him, legs wrapping around Eddie’s back and tugging him closer. It feels too much like something he can hold onto, something way more than what it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t comment on it. He can’t.

Steve tilts his head back, lids heavy as he begs Eddie for something only Eddie can give him.

He wraps a hand around Steve’s throat, squeezes once, and fucks into him hard.

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s wrist, his silent permission to keep going, understanding of what he has to do for this to keep going.

They’ve never properly talked about this. It’s stupid and Eddie knows he needs to be careful.

He is. He’s always careful with Steve.

He only does it twice more, but it’s enough to have Steve pushing back against him, asking for more. Eddie removes his hand, grazes it down his chest, grips at his chest hair and tugs.

Steve yelps and Eddie smirks. “Thought you liked when I was mean,” he says to be extra mean. “You beg me to be rough all the time.”

“Be rough. But slow.”

Eddie is too close to go slow, but he thinks Steve’s in the same boat. He can probably get away with a few minutes of being rough before he comes.

“Wanna taste you,” Steve says, and it sounds like it might be the third thing he wanted. Eddie’s not sure what he means, though. They don’t kiss so it can’t be that. “Please, let me taste you.”

Eddie holds his chin, considers his next move as he fucks into him once, twice, grinds into him until they’re both breathless. He digs his fingers in, keeps Steve’s jaw open.

He leans in close enough to feel Steve’s breath in his own mouth.

“You wanna taste me?” He whispers.

“Yes.”

Eddie licks Steve’s bottom lip, so quick he could almost convince himself it didn’t actually happen.

Then he spits. Right in Steve’s mouth, watches it pool on his tongue.

Steve swallows it without being told to, closes his eyes and groans. He looks blissed out, cheeks red and forehead shining with sweat. He’s never been more beautiful, never made Eddie want to devour him quite like this.

It’s hard to keep things slow after that, but god, he tries. He would do anything for Steve, but he’s only human. He can’t be this close for much longer.

Steve’s eyes open and he doesn’t have to say anything for Eddie to know he’s too close to keep going.

They come seconds apart, so close Eddie’s not even sure who got there first.

Eddie fucks into him until he physically can’t anymore, wincing when it’s too much for his softening dick. He always pushes too much.

Steve lets out a laugh as Eddie falls to the side, grunting when his cheek smacks against Steve’s arm. He sighs and rests his lips against the skin there, scared to bring attention to it, but not wanting to put space between them yet.

It’s quiet for a while, their breathing evening out slowly as they come down. He still doesn’t move, but his brain’s starting to catch up and he’s left wondering something. He probably shouldn’t ask.

“What’s the third thing you want me to do?” Eddie asks anyway.

Steve is still, and Eddie thinks he hears his breath hitch.

His other hand comes up, resting gently on Eddie’s head. It’s a heavy weight on him, making him hotter when he’s already overheated. A comfort when he’s been giving and taking so much.

“Love me.”

Eddie should be more surprised to hear it maybe. He doesn’t even have a reaction at first, just soaks in the words.

Loving Steve Harrington has been easy so far, even though it’s been in silence. Understanding who he is, what he likes, what makes him tick, all of it has been a gift.

Even when he overthinks things, even when he’s high strung.

But loving Steve Harrington loudly, in the way he needs, the way he craves, might be even easier.

So he lets his lips pucker, kisses Steve’s arm.

“Is that all?” He asks, looking up at Steve with a smile.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #switch eddie week #switch eddie munson #switch steve harrington

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